Chapter 4

I spent the rest of the night scrubbing soot from ancient hearths and polishing marble floors until my knees ached. No one spoke much in the servant halls, and I quickly learned why: the walls here really did listen. One girl whispered a complaint about the cold tea she was forced to serve, and the next morning, she was reassigned to the outer gardens—where frostbite was a real threat, even for the Fae.

So I kept my head down. My mouth shut. My eyes open.

Every part of the palace seemed designed to remind humans of their place. The grandeur, the glamour, the overwhelming scale of it all—it wasn't just for show. It was strategy. Power wrapped in beauty, dominance disguised as elegance. The High Fae didn't just rule. They conquered, one glittering room at a time.

The palace was alive in ways I hadn't imagined. Every hallway shimmered faintly, as though the very air pulsed with enchantment. Some corridors curved in impossible ways, looping back on themselves unless you turned at just the right moment. Others were laced with illusion, their walls shifting to reveal hidden passageways or collapsing entirely into nothing. I passed one mirror that reflected not my image, but the memory of a different girl entirely—laughing in a field of wildflowers. I blinked, and she was gone.

Magic wasn't just used here. It was woven into the very bones of the palace. I'd never seen anything like it.

And I hated how easily it enchanted me.

By morning, I'd learned the routines. Breakfast served in the east wing at dawn. Linens changed by midmorning. Floors scrubbed before the court began its endless, glittering parade of politics. Then came the quiet hours, when servants disappeared into their rooms or the lower halls—unless, of course, you were assigned to the royal quarters.

Like I was.

Again.

A slip of parchment had been tucked into my trunk while I slept. No signature. No seal. Just a single line written in a flowing, unfamiliar script:

"The Prince has requested your service again. Midmorning. Do not be late."

Requested.

I didn't know what that meant. No one had ever told me the Prince requested servants. He was known for his distance, his silence. Most of the other maids spoke of him in hushed tones, if at all. They said he preferred things done without fuss, without conversation. That he'd gone months without saying a word to any of them.

And yet, somehow, he'd asked for me.

Damn. 

I dressed quickly, slipping on the same plain gray uniform, brushing my hair into a tight braid, and pinning it back. No makeup. No jewelry. Just another invisible human girl in the glittering palace of monsters.

I made my way to his chambers, the tray in my hands trembling only slightly.

This time, the door opened before I even knocked.

He stood there, barefoot and shirtless, a black silk robe hanging open at his sides like shadows clinging to him. His chest was marked with faint, glowing runes—ancient symbols I didn't recognize, pulsing gently beneath his skin.

And he was smirking again.

"You're early," he said, stepping aside to let me in.

I kept my gaze lowered. "Forgive me, my lord. I thought—"

"Good," he interrupted. "I prefer early."

His quarters were as dark and strange as before, but this time, there was a faint breeze threading through the curtains. The balcony door had been left open, letting in the scent of wild jasmine and rain-damp stone.

"Set the tray there," he said, gesturing to a small table near the hearth. I obeyed silently, placing the breakfast down and retreating a step.

He didn't move to eat. Instead, he studied me, arms crossed, head tilted slightly.

"You're not like the others," he said finally.

My heart skipped. "I—I don't know what you mean."

He took a step forward.

"You flinch less. Your fear's quieter. And your eyes…" He paused. "Your eyes hold secrets."

I forced myself to meet his gaze. "I'm just a maid."

His smile deepened. "Of course you are."

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickers of gold across his skin. I should have been afraid. He was a Prince. A High Fae. And yet, there was something in his expression. Cruelty, coldness, and… Curiosity.

And that scared me more than anything else.

"What is your name?" he asked at last.

"Lira," I lied smoothly.

"Lira." He tasted the word like wine. "Stay."

My breath caught. "My shift—"

"I'll have it excused."

My fingers twitched at my sides. "Yes, my lord."

He turned back toward the fire, pouring himself a glass of deep violet wine from a decanter I hadn't noticed before.

"I'm bored," he said simply. "Entertain me."

I blinked. "I—I don't know how."

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes gleaming. "Everyone knows how. They just forget. Tell me a story."

My mind whirled. This wasn't part of the plan. This wasn't safe.

But I nodded.

"All right," I said slowly, searching for words. "Once, there was a girl who was afraid of the dark…"

His gaze sharpened.

"But she learned that sometimes, the dark is afraid of her."

He smirked. 

And I realized, too late, that I'd just given him a reason to remember me.

I was supposed to be invisible.

But now, the Prince was watching.

And he wasn't looking away.