By morning, rumors of the Crown Prince’s unexpected presence had spread like wildfire through the palace. Alcoves and corridors hummed with whispered gossip as maids and stewards shared hurried speculations. Cassie moved through the halls like a shadow, her ears catching fragments of their conversations.

  “Did you see him last night?” a maid murmured near the kitchens. “He rarely comes to this wing. Must’ve been something important.”

  “Or someone important,” her companion replied, her voice heavy with implication.

  Cassie said nothing. She walked with a purpose that discouraged questions, her focus on the work assigned. Yet as the morning passed, she couldn’t ignore the subtle shifts. The corridors hummed with energy, servants moving a fraction faster than usual, their expressions tense and their voices low.

  In one corner, a pair of kitchen hands whispered furiously, glancing over their shoulders as if the walls themselves might report their words. “Did you hear?” one murmured, her flour-streaked hands clutching a tray. “The Crown Prince was in the east wing last night.”

  “Impossible,” the other hissed, his eyes darting toward the door. “Why would he—?”

  A sharp cough from the head cook silenced them, and they scattered like startled birds.

  Cassie moved on, her ears tuned to similar conversations as she passed through the winding hallways. Every scrap of rumor painted the same picture: the Crown Prince had made his presence known, and the entire palace buzzed with the implications.

  Even those who said nothing betrayed their thoughts in subtler ways—the straightening of their spines, the nervous flick of a duster, the occasional slip of a hand fumbling with a tray. Power like his didn’t need to be announced. It rippled outward, shifting the air in its wake.

  By the time she reached the grand dining hall, the weight of the morning’s atmosphere pressed on her shoulders. She paused at the threshold, taking in the spacious space before stepping inside.

  Gilded chandeliers hung above like suspended stars, their flickering light reflecting off polished marble floors. Long tables stretched beneath them, their surfaces gleaming with the care of countless hands. Cassie worked quietly, cloth in hand, wiping down the high-backed chairs with swift, efficient movements.

  Overall, the grand dining hall stood as a testament to luxury and refinement. But to Cassie, it was a battlefield.

  Her gaze flicked upward occasionally, catching the subtle signs of the Crown Prince’s reach. Portraits of his lineage lined the walls, their eyes dark and imperious, gazing down at her like silent judges. Servants passed through the room in hushed tones, their deference unspoken but undeniable.

  From across the hall, voices carried—a pair of nobles discussing court matters over a light breakfast. Their words, though muted, betrayed unease.

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  “... ruthless, they say,” one remarked, his voice strained. “Do you recall the Velorian envoy last spring? Not a single compromise.”

  His companion exhaled sharply. “And you’re surprised? The Crown Prince doesn’t yield to weakness. He never has.”

  Their conversation drifted into murmurs, but the tension lingered like a specter in the room.

  As Cassie moved to the far corner, her focus shifted to an older servant crouched by the base of a marble column. He was meticulously scrubbing the floor, his wiry frame bent with age. She heard him mutter something—a story spilling from his lips as if to lighten the weight of his labor.

  “... the envoy begged for mercy,” he said, almost to himself. “But the Prince? He didn’t even blink. One gesture, and the guards took them away. Efficient, cold. They say that’s his strength—he’ll do what others won’t.”

  Cassie paused, her cloth stilled mid-swipe. The words carried a gravity that resonated with what little she had seen of the Crown Prince. Efficiency was a weapon, and he wielded it without hesitation.

  Later that afternoon, Cassie found herself in the royal gardens, a sprawling sanctuary of sculpted hedges, vibrant blooms, and winding paths. The assignment was deceptively simple—tend to the fountains and clear away the fallen petals—but the location made her uneasy. Nobles strolled the grounds, their presence a reminder of her place beneath them.

  The rhythmic sound of boots against stone pulled her attention. She turned her head subtly, catching sight of the Crown Prince at the far edge of the garden. He stood with a young knight, their conversation quiet but charged.

  Cassie’s hands worked mechanically as she watched, careful to avoid lingering too long. The Prince’s tone, even at a distance, carried an edge of authority. The knight, barely older than herself, was visibly nervous, his posture stiff.

  “You dropped your guard,” the Crown Prince said, his words sharp but measured. “That mistake could cost you your life—and mine.”

  The knight stammered out an apology, his voice cracking under the weight of his failure. “It won’t happen again, Your Highness. I swear it.”

  The Prince’s expression softened slightly, a flicker of something almost human passing through his features. “See that it doesn’t,” he replied. Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode toward the east wing.

  Cassie’s gaze lingered on the knight, who sagged in relief the moment the Prince was out of earshot. The scene stuck with her—the balance between ruthlessness and restraint, the precision of the Crown Prince’s power.

  The day’s light waned as Cassie carried a basket of trimmed branches toward the compost heap near the stables. She was almost finished when a ripple of tension swept through the air. Turning, she saw her—a woman whose presence demanded attention.

  Lady Esther, the Crown Prince’s fiancée.

  She moved with a regal confidence that bordered on arrogance. Her gown, a masterpiece of silk and embroidery, swayed with every calculated step. Sharp cheekbones framed a flawless face, her dark eyes lined with kohl sweeping the courtyard with cool disdain. Waves of dark hair, pinned back by jeweled combs, caught the light with every step.

  A faint smirk curved her lips, as if the world itself amused her, and when her gaze flicked briefly to Cassie, the weight of it lingered, cold and dismissive, before moving on. “Another one of those,” she muttered, her voice low but audible.

  Cassie’s back straightened, her grip tightening on the basket. She didn’t meet the woman’s eyes but felt the disdain radiating from her like a physical force.

  Esther continued without pause, her handmaid trailing behind her in silence. The encounter was brief, but the impression lingered.

  Cassie turned back to her task, her movements slower now, her thoughts unsettled. The Crown Prince’s world was one of sharp edges, each figure within it a reflection of power wielded in different forms.

  And she had been seen—though not as she intended.