Morning light filtered through the lattice windows of the servant quarters, pale and cool. Elara adjusted the ties of her apron, the fabric still stiff from last night's wash. Around her, the air was filled with murmurs and soft clatters of wooden buckets. Every whisper felt heavier than it should have—weighted with something unkind.
When she stepped into the long corridor that led to the servants' workrooms, the noise shifted. The low hum of conversation faltered, then resumed in a hush. Eyes followed her—some curious, most sharp.
"So that's her," one voice whispered. "The one who caught His Majesty's eye."
"No wonder," another replied, tone edged with disdain. "She wears the Queen's face like a mask."
Elara forced herself to keep walking. Her hands trembled slightly, but she clasped them tight behind her back. She had survived being sold, branded, and brought here. She would survive this, too.
At the storage room, she bent to gather linens. When she turned, three maids blocked the doorway. Their leader, **Mira**, smirked—a pretty woman with curled auburn hair and eyes that glittered meanly.
"You shouldn't be here alone," Mira said. "Some of us find it dangerous to be near a demon's plaything."
Elara blinked. "I'm no plaything. I just work here."
"Work?" Mira let out a small laugh. "Oh, please. The King doesn't make personal servants out of slaves for their sweeping skills. He sees that face and forgets she's filth."
A few girls laughed softly behind her. One—a pale blonde named **Iris**—stepped closer. "You must enjoy it, hmm? Pretending to be her? The dead queen with her silver hair and emerald eyes. Poor Majesty—he must dream of her while you stand there with that same face."
The words hit harder than Elara expected. Her lips parted, but nothing came out.
"Enough," said a quiet voice. **Selene** had appeared behind them, her expression calm but eyes sharp. "You're overstepping, Mira."
"We're speaking truth," Mira said, lifting her chin. "Everyone knows it. That face is a curse. She uses it to tempt the King—to crawl into his bed with memories that don't belong to her."
Elara's hands clenched around the linen. She felt the sting behind her eyes but refused to cry.
"Stop it," Selene snapped. "You're only jealous she caught his kindness."
The slap came sudden and sharp—Mira's hand striking Selene's cheek. Gasps broke through the hall.
Before Elara could move, a voice cut through the silence.
"What is this?"
The air shifted. Every servant dropped to their knees as **Princess Liora** entered, her crimson hair catching the morning light like flame. She looked over the scene—Elara clutching linens, Mira trembling, Selene holding her cheek.
"Your Highness," Mira stammered. "We only sought to remind this slave of her place. She's been using her resemblance to—"
Liora's gaze fell on Elara. A silence stretched, long and thin. Then, with a faint smile, the princess said, "You should not raise hands in my palace, Mira. But you are right about one thing."
Her steps clicked across the marble until she stood a breath away from Elara.
"That face of yours will bring nothing but ruin," she said softly, for Elara alone. "If you're wise, you'll stay invisible."
"I never asked for this face," Elara whispered, unable to stop herself.
Liora's smile didn't reach her eyes. "And yet, it's the only thing keeping you alive."
The hall doors opened again. **King Lucien** entered, his presence drawing every breath from the room. The gold in his eyes gleamed faintly, though his expression remained cold.
"What is happening here?" His voice was low but filled with quiet command.
Mira immediately fell to her knees. "Your Majesty—we only wished to protect your honor—the slave girl was—"
Lucien's gaze slid past her and fixed on Elara. She looked so small there, clutching the linen, trying not to meet his eyes. His jaw tightened.
"Enough."
The word carried power. The air itself seemed to thrum. "Anyone who raises a hand against another servant will answer to me. I do not tolerate cruelty under my roof."
Liora's brow furrowed. "Brother—"
"Not another word," he said, softer now but no less dangerous. His gaze held hers until she looked away.
Then, to Elara: "Are you harmed?"
Her breath caught. "No, Your Majesty. I'm fine."
"Good." His eyes lingered a heartbeat too long before he turned. "Clean this mess."
When he left, silence swallowed the room. Mira glared at Elara, but no one dared speak. The servants dispersed quickly. Only Selene stayed, gently touching Elara's arm.
"He saw you," she whispered. "That alone will make them hate you more."
Elara smiled weakly. "Then I'll give them nothing to see."
---
That evening, Elara cleaned the balcony outside the western hall. The setting sun bled across the sky in hues of crimson and violet, painting her face with light. She paused, looking out at the horizon—so beautiful, so far from the world she came from.
Somewhere above, unseen, Lucien stood at his window. He watched her from the shadows, the faintest trace of conflict in his gaze.
*Why can't I look away?*
Her hair caught the dying light; her eyes glowed like emerald fire. He closed his own eyes, trying to forget the memory they evoked—the queen he lost, the woman who smiled in another life.
But fate, it seemed, wasn't done with him yet.