Three days.
That was how long it had been since I last saw him.
Three blissful, unbothered days where I hadn't been summoned, cornered, or questioned by the Prince. No strange tasks, no veiled insults cloaked in polite words. Just the endless rhythm of servitude. Scrubbing stairwells, polishing crystal, arranging flowers I didn't care about for nobles I despised.
It should've driven me mad. But it didn't.
Because without him watching me like a predator watches a trembling hare, I could breathe. I could think. I could do what I came here to do.
Kill the king.
It was still a whisper in the back of my mind, a promise I'd carved into my bones so deep nothing could erase it. And now, with the Prince seemingly distracted or otherwise occupied, I had room to start chipping away at the walls of this palace—to dig my hands into the rot beneath the surface and see what secrets festered there.
The King wasn't just some figurehead lounging on a gilded throne. He was the rot. The poison. Everything wrong with this realm traced its roots back to him, to the shadowy decisions made behind the marble walls of his court. But unlike the Prince, who moved like a blade with a pulse, the King was elusive. Quiet. Hidden.
I needed information. Real information. Not just whispered rumors among trembling kitchen maids or the occasional stray word from visiting lords. I needed his habits. His routines. His weaknesses.
And if I wanted to get them, I'd have to start small.
--
The laundry hall was loud—always was. Iron cranks hissed, buckets sloshed, voices shouted over the roar of steam and suds. No one looked at me twice as I slipped in, balancing a bundle of silken sheets against my hip. The warmth in the room stuck to my skin, and I let the familiar weight of sweat and soap do their work. It was one of the few places in the palace where no one tried to act perfect. But more importantly, it was a place where people talked.
"Did you hear?" a younger girl whispered behind me as I set down my bundle. I didn't turn, but I listened, hands moving as if distracted with folding.
"Mistress Taline was dismissed. No warning. Gone just like that."
"Gone? Why?"
"Something about a misplaced letter. No one knows who it was from."
A letter. Dismissed for a letter?
Another voice chimed in, lower, older. "Not misplaced. Read. There's a difference."
That caught my attention. I kept folding.
"I heard she touched something meant for the King himself," the older voice continued. "Didn't even know it. By morning she was gone."
Another young voice gasped. "Gone where?"
No answer. But the silence that followed said enough.
I waited until the talk shifted to gossip about new court gowns before slipping out, my hands itching to shake out the static crawling under my skin. The King didn't tolerate disobedience. Even by mistake. That made him cruel, yes—but also paranoid. And paranoid men were easier to kill.
But only if I could get closer.
--
The kitchens were next.
They didn't see me as anything but another shadow flitting through the halls—Lira, the quiet maid, the one with good posture and faster hands. I kept my ears open as I washed and dried and fetched, waiting for the right words to fall from careless mouths.
It took two more days before I found what I needed.
"His Grace doesn't eat past sunset," one of the cooks muttered to another. "No spices. No root vegetables. And everything must be tasted first."
The other cook rolled her eyes. "A fear of poison in a castle full of loyal servants. As if anyone would dare."
I dared.
But it wasn't the food I was interested in. It was the schedule. No food past sunset. If I timed it right—if I found out where he went afterward, if he ever left his chambers at all—maybe I could learn his patterns. Kings were creatures of control. Predictable. I could work with that.
--
That evening, I traded laundry duty with a shy, stammering scullery boy in exchange for his upper-floor dusting shift. The corridors near the royal wing were usually off-limits to lower servants like me, but if I acted like I belonged, like I had every right to be there, most wouldn't question me.
Confidence could be more powerful than magic, sometimes.
I carried a feather duster and a half-empty bucket like it was my birthright, moving with swift, bored precision. The guards didn't even glance at me as I passed the marble archways, heart pounding in my throat.
The King's chambers were at the end of the hall. I didn't go near them—just swept the hallway outside, humming a nonsense tune under my breath. Then I saw him.
Not the King.
The steward. A tall, hawk-nosed man with a gait too smooth and a gaze too sharp. He stepped out of the King's chambers carrying a velvet satchel clasped tight. Two guards escorted him, silent as stone. I memorized every detail—what time it was, what corridor they took, the way his shoulders tensed when one of the guards glanced at the satchel too long.
It wasn't much. But it was something.
--
Later that night, I sat in the corner of my tiny quarters, back pressed to the cold stone wall. I hadn't lit a candle. I didn't need to. I replayed everything I'd gathered—Taline's disappearance, the strict food routines, the paranoid tastes, the steward's satchel, the guards. The King was afraid of something. Afraid enough to keep everything under lock and key, to ban certain foods, to dispose of people who got too curious.
Good. Fear made people sloppy. I just needed more.
--
The next morning, I volunteered for errands—quick tasks, simple ones. Delivering linens, fetching ledgers, sweeping corridors no one cared about. I mapped out every hallway I passed. Every guard rotation. Every door without a handle. I memorized the rhythm of the bells, the clatter of boots, the shifts in light through stained glass.
Knowledge was power. And I would have all of it.
By the time the sun dipped below the palace spires and bathed the halls in firelight, I had filled another page in my mind's growing ledger. I was still no closer to the King's inner sanctum—but I was closer to knowing how to get there.
I would keep watching. Keep waiting. And when the time came, when I knew enough—I would burn this kingdom from the inside out.
Starting with its crown.