"Butler!"
The familiar girlish shrill cry pierced through the morning stillness. I winced, my hand freezing halfway to the silver tea service I'd been arranging in the corridor. Seven days. Seven interminable days since I'd begun serving Princess Serena, and each morning commenced with that same imperious shriek echoing through the marble halls of the palace.
I closed my eyes for a brief moment, drawing in a steadying breath.
A week. Only a week, and yet it felt like a lifetime of servitude stretched behind me. My mother's face flashed in my mind—her worried expression when she'd pulled me aside three days ago, her gentle voice offering me an escape from this gilded prison after I came and collapsed in the house exhausted after Serena made me crawl on the ground for hours to find her lost hairpin.
"You don't have to continue this, my son," she had whispered, her hands grasping mine. "I spoke with the Head Steward. There are other positions available—the kitchens, the stables, even the groundskeeping staff."
She was very worried about me clearly.
But I had refused. Pride, perhaps, or sheer stubborn determination. I couldn't let a spoiled princess break me within a single week.
"BUTLER!" The voice came again, more insistent now, accompanied by what sounded like a hairbrush being slammed against a wooden surface.
"Coming, Your Highness," I called out, my voice perfectly level despite the storm raging in my chest. I smoothed down my black uniform, adjusted my white gloves, and began the familiar walk down the corridor toward the princess's chambers.
Each step was a practiced exercise in self-control. Over the past week, I had become a master of deception—not in the way of spies or thieves, but in the subtle art of burying one's true self beneath layers of servile politeness. My reflection in the polished marble showed a face that had learned to smile on command, eyes that had grown adept at hiding contempt behind a veil of respectful attention.
The transformation frightened me sometimes. In quiet moments, when I was alone in my small servant's quarters, I would catch myself practicing those same false expressions in the mirror. The way my lips curved upward without any genuine warmth, the slight bow of my head that suggested deference while concealing the rebellious fire in my eyes. Seven days, and already I could feel pieces of my authentic self slipping away, replaced by this carefully constructed mask of the perfect butler.
I paused outside the princess's door, my hand hovering over the ornate golden handle. Through the thick wood, I could hear the rustling of fabric, the gentle murmur of her maids, and underneath it all, an unusual energy that hadn't been present in previous mornings. Princess Serena was excited about something—more excited than I'd seen her since beginning my service.
Today was different. Today was the day she would see Lord Hector Castellane.
Hector Castellane, heir to the powerful Castellane duchy, blessed with both noble blood and exceptional talent in swordsmanship and diplomacy. At merely ten, he was already being hailed as one of the most promising young nobles in the kingdom. His engagement to Princess Serena had been discussed in hushed tones since they were children—a political alliance that would strengthen the crown's position and secure the loyalty of one of the most influential houses in the realm.
I had heard the stories, of course. How the princess's eyes had lit up the first time she'd met young Hector. How she had immediately declared him to be "just like the princes in my storybooks." How she had spent the years since crafting elaborate fantasies about their future together, seeing in him not just a political match but her personal fairy tale come to life.
While she dreamed of romance and happy endings, she seemed incapable of extending even basic kindness to the servants who ensured her every comfort though…
I pushed open the door and stepped into the princess's chambers, immediately struck by the unusual scene before me. The room was alive with activity. Four maids bustled about instead of the usual two or three, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and oils. Princess Serena sat before her vanity mirror, her posture uncharacteristically straight and alert.
"Your Highness?" I said, offering a perfectly calibrated bow.
She turned to glare at me through her reflection, her violet eyes flashing with impatience. Even angry, I had to admit she was beautiful. Her dark purple hair, an unusual color even in the Alasmira House cascaded over her shoulders like liquid amethyst. Two maids worked carefully to brush and arrange it.
"Did you prepare the table in the garden as I instructed?" She asked.
"I have just finished the arrangements, Your Highness," I replied smoothly. "A white wrought-iron table has been set beneath the rose arbor, accompanied by two matching chairs with silk cushions in royal blue. The table has been dressed with our finest Ruthelphian lace cloth, and I've coordinated with the kitchen staff to prepare a selection of delicate pastries, fresh fruit, and Lord Hector's preferred tea. Light refreshments will be served at intervals, and I've also arranged for the court musicians to perform softly in the background—close enough to provide ambiance, but distant enough to allow for private conversation."
I paused, mentally reviewing my preparations. "I've also taken the liberty of having the gardeners trim the roses and sweep the pathways, and I've stationed additional servants nearby to attend to any needs that might arise during your meeting."
Instead of the approval I might have expected, Princess Serena merely let out a dismissive "Hmph."
I studied her reflection in the mirror, trying to read the subtle signs of her mood. Her jaw was set in a way that suggested she was nervous beneath her imperious facade. One of her hands fidgeted with the fabric of her dress while the other remained perfectly still, suggesting she was fighting to maintain her composure.
She was wearing a vision in white—a gown that must have cost more than most families saw in a year. The silk was so fine it seemed to shimmer in the morning light, and tiny diamonds had been sewn into the bodice in delicate patterns that caught and reflected the sunlight like captured stars. Her white gloves extended past her elbows, and I noticed she had chosen jewelry that complemented rather than competed with the dress—a simple strand of pearls and matching earrings that emphasized her natural beauty rather than overwhelming it.
The maids were putting the finishing touches on her hair, weaving it into an elaborate arrangement that somehow managed to look both regal and romantically feminine. Tiny white flowers had been woven throughout the braids, and I realized with surprise that they were real—jasmine blossoms that filled the air with their sweet fragrance.
She had put considerable thought into this presentation, and despite my personal feelings about her character, I had to acknowledge that Lord Hector would be struck by her beauty. She looked like something from one of those fairy tales she was so fond of—a princess waiting for her prince to sweep her away to a happily ever after.
The sound of approaching hoofbeats on cobblestones drew all of our attention toward the window. The rhythmic clip-clop grew louder, accompanied by the jingling of harnesses and the creaking of well-oiled wheels. A carriage was approaching—no doubt Lord Hector's transport.
Princess Serena's entire demeanor shifted in an instant. The bored, demanding princess I had grown accustomed to vanished, replaced by a young woman whose cheeks flushed with anticipation and whose eyes sparkled with genuine excitement. For a moment, she looked not like a spoiled royal but like any ten-year-old girl about to see the boy she fancied.
"Is that...?" She began, then caught herself, clearly not wanting to appear too eager in front of the servants.
"I believe it is Lord Hector's carriage, Your Highness," I confirmed, moving toward the window to get a better view.
The vehicle that rounded the corner into the palace courtyard was magnificent—a deep burgundy carriage with the Castellane coat of arms emblazoned in gold on the doors. Four matching bay horses pulled it, their coats gleaming in the sunlight, their steps perfectly synchronized. The driver and footman wore the Castellane livery, and everything about the equipage spoke of wealth, power, and impeccable taste.
As the carriage drew to a halt before the palace steps, I found myself curious about the young man who would emerge. I had heard descriptions, of course—tall, blond-haired, skilled with a sword, and possessed of the kind of natural charisma that made him popular despite being young. But descriptions were one thing; seeing the person who had captured Princess Serena's imagination so completely would be quite another.
The carriage door opened, and a figure stepped down onto the cobblestones. Even from this distance and angle, I could see why Lord Hector had gained such a reputation quickly.
He had quite a presence for a boy of my age.
"Oh," Serena breathed, her reflection in the mirror showing a expression of such pure delight that I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
Because watching her face transform with joy only highlighted how different she became when she thought she could gain something from being kind. The cruelty she showed to her servants wasn't born of some tragic flaw or misunderstanding—it was a choice, a decision to treat those beneath her station as less than human while reserving her charm and sweetness for those who could advance her interests.
Unfortunately Hector wouldn't one of them since he would rather choose Serena's cousin than herself.
"Your Highness," I said quietly, "shall I inform the staff that Lord Hector has arrived?"
She nodded eagerly, then caught herself and assumed a more dignified expression. "Yes, of course. And make certain everything is perfect in the garden. I want..." She hesitated, and for a moment, her mask slipped entirely. "I want him to think I'm wonderful."
I observed her stunned for a moment.
She really can be cute when she wants…
But the moment passed quickly, and her imperious expression returned. "Well? Don't just stand there! Go!"
"At once, Your Highness," I replied, offering another bow before turning toward the door.
I rushed through the corridors, the echo of my footsteps bouncing off the stone walls as I descended the grand staircase. My voice carried as I relayed the news to the staff: Lord Hector has arrived. Each person I passed snapped to attention, scattering like clockwork gears to prepare for the honored guest.
By the time I reached the entrance hall, the others were already assembling in formation, their uniforms immaculate, their expressions trained to neutrality. I took my place among them just as the heavy doors were pulled open.
Lord Hector stood at the front of the procession. At his side was Sebastian, our head steward, and around them a small entourage of knights clad in the armor of House Castellane.
But it was the man behind Hector who seized my attention.
Tall and imposing, with the same eyes and proud bearing — only sharpened by age and authority — the resemblance was there. Duke Castellane himself. He came as well?
It wasn't every day a ruling Duke graced the palace with his presence.
Sebastian bowed deeply to the Duke, his posture crisp and respectful, and then spoke in hushed tones only the two of them could hear. The Duke gave a short nod, his gaze sweeping across the hall.
When Sebastian turned and caught sight of me, he gestured subtly. "Lord Hector," he said aloud, "I shall entrust you to Her Highness's personal butler. He will escort you to the gardens—Her Highness is awaiting your arrival there."
Hector's cold gaze flicked to me. "Hm." He gave a nod.
Duke Castellane cast a brief glance in my direction — unreadable, perhaps even indifferent — before he followed Sebastian toward the royal wing, likely on his way to meet the King.
"What's your name, butler?"
Hector's voice was lower and clearer now that the formal greetings were over.
I straightened, placing my hand over my chest and bowing my head with precision. "Senay, Milord."
He tilted his head slightly, looking at me with narrowed eyes. "You're my age, aren't you? If you're Princess Serena's personal butler, you must be quite capable."
His tone was neither mocking nor kind — simply... observant.
"I am honored by your words, Milord," I replied carefully. "Master Sebastian has been guiding me with great patience. I still have much to learn, but I will do my utmost. I hope I will be worthy of your indulgence."
Hector's stern expression softened for the briefest moment, just a flicker of something like amusement or approval crossing his face. "Good. Then take me to Her Highness."
"As you wish, Milord." I turned on my heel, ready to lead the way.
But then— a distant sound. Hooves again.
Hector and I both turned toward the gates. A second carriage, even more opulent than Hector's, was pulling into the courtyard. Its frame shimmered with silver-gilt edges and carvings that caught the sunlight like polished crystal. The crest emblazoned on the door glowed enough to make me recognize it.
The House of Alasmira.
The Queen's house? Another Ducal family?
This wasn't protocol. Two high-ranking noble arrivals within the hour? Something was happening or what?
The carriage slowed to a halt, and a knight stepped forward, opening the door with the reverence afforded only to royalty.
A slender hand emerged—and then she stepped down first.
She was my age—maybe a little younger— but the sheer presence she exuded made her seem timeless. Her hair, a curtain of luminous platinum blue, fell like woven silk over her shoulders, catching the light in hues that shifted between silver and moonlit blue.
I recognized her instantly.
The heroine.