Three weeks.
Selene had been in the castle for three weeks, and she'd managed to avoid any direct contact with the King. She'd seen him from a distance at feasts, caught glimpses of him walking the gardens at dawn, heard his voice echoing through corridors.
But she'd never been close. Never been in the same room. Never risked him actually looking at her.
Until today.
"Sera, you're on private dinner service tonight," the head servant, Marcus (not the mean footman, a different Marcus), announced during the afternoon assignments.
Selene's stomach dropped. "Private dinner service?"
"Small gathering. Six nobles and the King. Lesser hall, east wing. You'll be serving wine with two other servants. Think you can handle it?"
Selene forced herself to nod. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Report to the lesser hall at sunset. Don't be late, don't spill anything, and for the Moon Goddess's sake, don't speak unless spoken to."
"Understood."
