That night, the palace felt unusually still, accompanied only by the sound of servants' shoes echoing faintly through the halls and the soft rustle of wind brushing against the leaves outside the windows. Dim torchlight lined the long corridor leading to the king's chamber.
In the kitchen, Hana stood carefully inspecting the dinner tray. She checked the temperature of the cream soup, made sure the toasted bread wasn't too hard, and decorated the main dish with colorful vegetables—just the way Mathien liked it.
Her appearance that night was different from usual.
A pale pink servant's dress draped gracefully around her frame. A spotless white apron tied neatly at her slim waist, and her long hair, shinier than before, was pinned up in a tidy bun—loose strands left to frame her face softly. Her face was clear, her skin bright, like calm milk in a porcelain cup. No trace of fatigue or dullness lingered as it once had. She had grown… into her own kind of beauty.
