The Quiet Concern

The grand ballroom echoed with the last remnants of music, now fading into the silence of aftermath. Golden goblets lay abandoned on tables, stained with half-drunk wine. Crimson petals littered the marble floor, once part of the elegant centerpiece, now crumpled under heavy boots and silk heels. Everyone had left, but Nora remained — quietly moving between the mess like a shadow.

Her hands trembled slightly as she picked up broken glass, the reflection of the chandelier flickering in her tired eyes. Her uniform was stained from spilled wine, her fingers red from scrubbing the stubborn corners of the stone floor. She didn't complain. She never did.

Behind her, footsteps echoed — firm, deliberate. She froze.

"Are you alright?" came the low, steady voice.

She turned slowly. Zayan stood there, tall and unreadable, his eyes locked on hers. For a moment, she forgot where she was, or who he was. She blinked. He was talking to her.

The other servants nearby paused mid-step, wide-eyed. The devil prince speaking to a mere maid? With concern?

Nora quickly looked down. "I'm fine, Your Highness."

He took a step closer. "You're trembling."

She gripped the mop harder, trying to still her hands. "Just tired."

He didn't move for a moment, then asked, "How old are you?"

She hesitated before replying. "Seventeen."

His gaze narrowed, thoughtful. "When?"

"April fifteenth."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's not far off."

She nodded. "Yours is soon too, isn't it?" The words slipped out before she could stop them.

His lips twitched — almost a smile. "February twentieth."

She quickly lowered her eyes again, scolding herself silently. She was saying too much.

But he only gave a slight nod. "Don't push yourself too hard."

With that, he turned and walked away, the weight of his presence lingering long after he had disappeared. The other servants whispered behind her back the moment he was gone, but Nora had no strength to care.

From that night on, she worked harder. Not because she wanted to impress anyone, but because it was the only way to stay out of trouble — to disappear into routine, to keep herself small and invisible.

The head maid noticed. And pushed her even harder.

"Faster, girl! That silver won't polish itself!"

"Don't dawdle! There's still the east wing to clean!"

Nora didn't speak. She simply worked — through the pain in her hands, the ache in her back, and the fog in her mind. Her body screamed for rest, but she refused. She wouldn't give them a reason to hate her more.

Then one morning, while scrubbing the long hallway near the throne room, her vision blurred. The bucket slipped from her grip and water spilled across the stone. Her knees buckled.

Everything turned white.

And then — nothing.