The Duskbane carriage rolled through the streets with the weight of silent authority. The sun sat high above, washing the cobblestones in gold, and yet the eyes of the people followed only one thing: me.
The white-haired girl who bore the gods' marks. The girl who had changed overnight.
Rumours had run faster than wheels. They whispered I was cursed, blessed, dangerous, divine. Some bowed their heads as the carriage passed. Others looked away quickly, as if meeting my gaze might shatter them.
I leaned back against the velvet seat, breathing slowly. My gown was silk, deep sapphire, cut to hug the waist and flow in waves when I walked. A slit revealed one pale leg, adorned with silver-thread stockings. At my throat, pearls gleamed, and at my wrists, slender bracelets chimed softly with each movement. My hair fell unbound, white as moonlight, flowing down to my ankles.
When the carriage stopped, I stepped out into the square.
And silence fell.
The notice had been posted three days before: Lady Elara Duskbane seeks young women to serve as her personal maids. Report to the market square.
Dozens had gathered. Girls no older than me, some younger, dressed in plain wool dresses and patched shoes. Some clutched rosaries, some folded nervous hands, and others—others stared at me with bold, sharp eyes that did not look away.
I smiled faintly. The mask I had worn in my old world would not return here, but something colder took its place. A smile that showed nothing but command.
"Step forward," I said.
They came one by one.
The first was timid, dark-haired, her hands trembling as she curtsied. "M-my lady, I can sew and mend well. I can clean, fetch, and cook simple meals."
Her voice shook, but her eyes did not falter completely. She had strength, buried beneath fear.
The second was taller, red-haired, her chin high. "I am fast. I can run messages, carry trays, learn anything you ask of me."
Ambition glittered in her tone. Dangerous, but useful.
The third, a pale blonde, spoke with too much ease. "My lady, I have served in noble houses before. I know how to dress, how to gossip, how to listen."
Too much ease. Too much confidence. A spy's tongue, perhaps.
I listened to each, weighing not just words but tone, glance, posture. My years in the old world—exposing cheaters, hunting lies—served me here. Masks were familiar. I had worn one long enough to recognize them.
By the twelfth girl, I knew. Some would be loyal. Some would break. And one or two—perhaps—had not come for me at all, but for the whispers of kings.
That made them dangerous. But also valuable.
Because spies, once caught, became the most loyal servants of all.
When the last girl had spoken, silence fell.
All eyes were on me. My gown shimmered in the sun, my hair rippled faintly in a breeze that had not touched anyone else.
"You came here to serve," I said softly, my voice carrying across the square. "But understand this—serving me is no small task. I am not like others. You will be near me when others dare not be. You will hear things that may cost your lives. You will see things that you cannot unsee.
If you cannot bear that—leave now."
A shiver ran through the crowd. Three girls backed away immediately, tears streaming down their cheeks. One bolted altogether.
The rest stayed. Good.
I raised my hand, pointing one by one. "You. You. And you."
I chose Four. Four girls of different shapes and colours, and voices. Timid, ambitious, bold, secretive. A mix. A test.
The rest bowed and scattered, whispers chasing them as they left.
The four girls remained standing tall, their faces pale but their spines straight.
I smiled faintly. "You belong to me now."
When we returned, my mother met me in the hall. Her eyes flicked over the six girls behind me, her lips curving faintly.
"You chose yourself," she said.
"I did," I replied.
"And you think you can tame them?"
I held her gaze. "I don't tame. I command."
Her laugh was low, dangerous, but not unkind. "Then command well. Or they will devour you."
The Palace in Turmoil
Far away, in the marble palace, Evelyne's fury shook the walls.
She had not slept since the ball.
Her chamber was littered with broken glass, silks torn from hangers, perfumes spilled in rivers across the floor. Her maids huddled in corners, trembling.
"She stole it!" Evelyne screamed, her hands tearing at her golden hair. "All of it—the whispers, the eyes, the prince's dance! She was nothing. Less than nothing. And now—now they speak her name louder than mine!"
Aurelia and Isolde stood in the doorway, silent. Alaric stood further back, his expression unreadable.
The queen entered, her presence silencing even Evelyne's shrieking.
"You will calm yourself," the queen said coldly. "Or you will lose more than whispers."
Evelyne's eyes burned. "I am the chosen of the goddess of health. She cannot rival me. She cannot."
The queen's lips curved faintly. "And yet she does."
The king arrived soon after, his voice cutting the air like a blade. "Enough. This girl, Elara Duskbane, grows bolder by the day. She takes maids. She trains. She moves as though she believes herself queen already."
In the council chamber, the king and queen sat with their children. Evelyne's fury echoed faintly down the hall, but none dared comment on it.
Instead, the king's voice was low, deliberate.
"The Duskbane girl has power now. Gods' marks. A following. Rumors that make her name swell beyond our reach. If we do not act soon, she will be more than a nuisance—she will be a rival."
The queen folded her hands. "And the stranger she kissed. If she truly is the lost heir…"
"Then Elara Duskbane has more than power," the king finished. "She has a claim."
The chamber stilled.
Alaric's cold voice broke the silence. "What do you intend, Father?"
The king's eyes gleamed, sharp and merciless.
"Invite her again. Show her favor in public. And while the world watches her rise—let us learn where her weakness lies. If she falters, we will strike."
The council murmured, divided. Some called for her death. Others for her marriage into the crown.
The queen's voice silenced them all.
Back in the manor, I trained until sweat slicked my skin and my arms ached. Caelum corrected my stance, pushed me harder. My sisters watched from the balcony, whispering, amused.
And then—something strange.
As I swung, my breath caught. The mark of music on my forehead burned faintly. A rhythm rose in my chest, steady and sure.
I swung again. Stronger. Faster. The post cracked beneath the blow.
Caelum blinked, startled. "What did you—"
But I knew.
The gods had not given me only mana. They had given me Mana Core. Not one path, but many. Sword. Bow. Song. Spell. The doors in my dreams had been warnings, yes—but also invitations.
I could walk where others could not.
And that made me more dangerous than even I had known. But I still need to grow stronger, so I can protect those I love and care for.
That night, when I lay in bed with Lysandra, her arm around me, I whispered the truth into the darkness.
"I can feel my mana core now, and it's stronger, but I need to grow more," I said.
She stiffened slightly. "You can?"
I nodded. "I felt it. Today. It's real."
Her lips pressed against my hair, her voice low and tense. "Then they will fear you even more."
"Good," I whispered back.
But even as I said it, I could feel the weight of the palace's gaze pressing closer, sharper, waiting to strike.