Chapter 6

It had been four days since I last stood in that cursed chamber under the Prince's eyes, and I savored every second of his silence like it was my first taste of freedom.

No summons. No games. No taunting eyes watching my every breath.

Good.

Very good.

Let him forget me.

I kept my head low, hands busy, posture obedient. The perfect servant. I folded linens, scrubbed floors, and delivered silver trays with precisely the right amount of deference. I murmured soft "yes, milady" and "no, my lord" like they were spells, weaving my way through the court like a shadow that barely existed.

I was a ghost here.

A harmless little maid.

Exactly what I needed to be.

Because this place reeked of rot beneath its golden trim and jeweled floors. The Fae nobles with their painted smiles and cold laughter treated cruelty like sport. I watched one nobleman bind a courtier's tongue with magic simply for stuttering in front of him.

And no one blinked.

They feasted and danced and drank red wine while the kingdom burned at the edges. While their King ruled like a god and his son learned at his feet how to dismantle anything soft.

I scrubbed blood from a staircase that morning. No one told me where it came from. No one cared. I didn't ask.

I just cleaned.

But the silence around the Prince lingered like a blade waiting to fall. He was too calculated to lose interest completely. Too methodical to simply forget a new piece on his board.

So why hadn't he called for me?

Each day that passed without a summons felt like borrowed time.

And it made me nervous.

Because silence wasn't just safety. It was strategy.

I was cleaning the southern wing's glass corridor when the tension finally snapped.

"Lira," a voice snapped behind me, sharp as a whip.

I turned slowly, polishing cloth still in hand. "Yes?"

One of the court attendants stood there, dressed in the fine robes of a minor noble—barely more than a glorified messenger with an ego. His lips curled in distaste, as if speaking to me dirtied his mouth. "The Prince has requested your presence."

I blinked, and not because I was surprised. No, I had been waiting for this. Expecting it.

It just made me want to scream.

"Now?" I asked, careful to let only nervous obedience slip into my tone.

"Obviously," he sneered. "Do you plan to keep him waiting?"

No. But I did plan to kill him.

Not today. Not yet. But the thought alone kept my expression sweet as honey. "Of course not, my lord. Forgive me."

He didn't respond, only turned on his heel and disappeared down the corridor, leaving me to drop my cloth and smooth my skirts with trembling hands.

The Prince. Again.

I took a steadying breath.

You've faced worse.

I had. I'd faced starvation, torture, betrayal, and fear so thick it nearly drowned me. The Prince was just another wall to climb, another mask to fool.

He wasn't interested in me. He didn't care. I was just a mildly entertaining insect crawling through his palace, and eventually he'd lose interest and crush me.

Unless I moved first.

I walked the path to his chamber with practiced ease, every step measured. I forced myself to focus—not on the rising storm in my chest, but on my surroundings.

Guards at the hall corners. Servants too busy to look up. No extra guards by his door. Good.

I knocked twice, as I had been trained.

No answer.

I waited.

Then—"Enter."

His voice, bored and low, like I was an errand he regretted assigning.

I stepped inside.

The room hadn't changed. Rich velvet curtains. Carved wood. Cold stone hearth. A fire burned low in the corner, casting the chamber in flickering gold.

The Prince stood by the window, his back to me. "You took your time."

"I came the moment I was called, my lord."

"Mm."

A pause stretched between us like a thread pulled too tight.

Finally, he turned.

His eyes met mine, and I saw nothing there. No hunger. No interest. Not even amusement. Just a dull, calculating void. A man playing a game only he understood.

He didn't sit. Didn't offer a task.

He just watched me.

And I watched him right back, quiet and composed, heart thrumming like a war drum in my chest.

"What am I, Lira?" he asked at last.

The question caught me off-guard. I masked it.

"My lord is the Crown Prince," I said carefully.

"No," he said, voice soft. "What am I. To you."

I hesitated. Trapped.

He stepped forward. "A charming ruler? A tyrant? A puzzle?"

A monster, I thought. A target.

I dropped my eyes. "You are my master, my lord. Nothing more."

Another step. "Liar."

I didn't look up. "I would never lie to you."

"Oh, but you do." His voice was cool, almost amused now. "You lie with every breath, little maid."

I stiffened.

"You think I don't see it?" he went on, voice barely above a whisper. "The way you walk too carefully. Speak too cautiously. Smile too... perfectly."

He was close now. Too close.

I said nothing.

He leaned in, close enough for me to smell the faint spice of his wine. "You're hiding something."

So are you, I thought.

But I bowed. "If I have displeased you, my lord—"

"You haven't," he interrupted, stepping away as quickly as he'd approached.

I looked up, startled, but he wasn't looking at me anymore. Just at the fire. He poured a glass of wine. "You may go."

Dismissed. Just like that.

No explanation. No task. Only a look over his shoulder, a whisper like ice: "But be careful, Lira. Secrets don't stay buried here."

I bowed low. "Yes, my lord."

And this time, I fled.

Because for the first time since arriving at court, I didn't feel like I was fooling him.

For the first time, I felt like he was letting me play the game.

And I hated that even more.