Arch 3: Maids of Thorns

By the third day, the Crown Prince sent for her again.

This time, it wasn't in the quiet corner of the library. It was his personal garden, where roses grew like offerings and guards stood far enough away to pretend they weren't listening.

He handed her tea with his own hands.

A servant. A slave. And still, he poured like it was courtship.

"You don't belong in the servant's wing," he said quietly. "I'll have chambers prepared. Near mine."

Aris blinked, slow and innocent.

"You're generous, Your Highness. But… won't they talk?"

He smiled, nervous. "Let them. You've done nothing wrong."

> System: Oh no. Not the savior fantasy. That's the most fragile one.

Also, "done nothing wrong" is a bold take. But sure.

Aris tilted her head, just enough for the morning light to kiss her cheek.

"You don't even know me," she whispered.

He looked like he wanted to. Desperately.

Perfect.

Word spread.

By dinner, she was no longer a shadow among the maids. She was the girl—whispers behind hands, sharp glances in corridors.

Even the Matron said nothing when Aris was reassigned to "inner service." She just narrowed her eyes, like she knew what was coming and hated how helpless she was to stop it.

And the Saintess?

She came to Aris the next morning, uninvited.

The chapel was empty. Aris had been lighting candles. The Saintess entered like grace itself—white robes, pale gold hair, a voice that could calm storms.

"I know what you are," she said softly.

Aris didn't turn.

"That's funny," Aris replied, touching the flame with one finger. "Most people see what they want."

"You're manipulating him."

Finally, Aris looked at her. The Saintess's face was still sweet, but her hands were clenched tight.

"I smile when he speaks," Aris said. "He gives me cloaks. It's not exactly treason."

The Saintess stepped closer. "He's pure."

Aris laughed—soft, wicked, tired.

"No one is."

They stared at each other. Light through the stained glass painted them both in gold and red.

And for the first time, Aris saw it.

Not jealousy. Not anger.

Fear.

The Saintess was afraid of her. She didn't understand her, couldn't place her—and that made her dangerous.

> System: Ding ding. Emotional threat detected.

Saintess has realized she's not the main character in his heart anymore. Tragic.

That night, she served wine in the high court.

Her eyes stayed down. Her steps light. She passed the goblets like she wasn't being stared at.

The Prince whispered her name when no one could hear. The advisors looked away politely.

The Knight, though—he watched.

He didn't say anything. But Aris could feel his stare like a weight between her shoulder blades. Not hungry. Not curious. Just…

Suspicious.

Good.

She liked the ones who made it interesting.

Back in her new chambers—silk pillows, private bath, unlocked door—Aris laid down on the cool bed.

The System chimed softly in her skull.

> System: Update: You now have one obsessed prince, one paranoid Saintess, and one suspicious Knight.

Congrats. You're officially a court problem.

Aris rolled onto her side.

"He's sweet," she whispered.

> System: Which one?

"Yes."

A pause.

> System: You're a menace.

She smiled into the silk.

That was the plan.