As I arrived in my room, I quickly changed into the new uniform. I stood before the small, slightly aged, and dim mirror that hung on the wall. As I inspected the uniform, I realized it was even larger than some of the ones I had seen earlier in the palace wardrobe. In my haste to obey the Court Mistress's orders, I had grabbed the closest garment, and now I regretted it.
The oversized fabric hung awkwardly on my frame, making me feel more displeased with each passing second. I sighed, frustrated at how ridiculous I looked, but there was no time to dwell on it. The Court Mistress had summoned us for the next activity of the day, and I couldn't afford to be late again—especially not over the fit of my uniform. I gathered myself quickly, trying to ignore how the ill-fitting clothes draped over me, and hurried back to the meeting room.
As we all gathered in the meeting room, the Court Mistress sat at the front, her usual calm authority filling the space. This time, her message was clear and concise, but it carried a weight that settled over the room like a blanket of tension. We were to present ourselves at the court—the court. The place where the king himself sat, where the throne loomed in all its grandeur, the place where he met with his people. We were to be formally introduced to the king. The thought sent a wave of anxiety through me.
At the mere mention of the king, my heart skipped a beat, a tightness forming in my chest. Tension crept into my every muscle. We're going to meet the king. The realization hit hard, and questions buzzed through my mind. Would he see something suspicious about me? Would I be able to maintain my composure? According to the Court Mistress, once we were in his presence, the king would assign us to our respective roles—his personal maids, those in charge of his meals, his wardrobe, and other personal tasks. Each of us stewards would be appointed to our duties, and some of us would even be assigned to serve closest to him.
The Court Mistress's explanation only fueled my nerves. As we left the meeting room and headed toward the courtroom, my thoughts spiraled in every direction. I was finally going to meet the king. I had faced countless challenges to get here, yet this felt like a different kind of battle. There was an unknown that gnawed at me, a sense of foreboding that I couldn't shake. I had never felt so restless, my mind racing with unanswered questions and the growing fear of what could go wrong.
The moment we arrived at the grand doors of the courtroom, the tension among us was palpable. We stood there in stiff silence, each of us keenly aware of what was to come. The rumors about the king echoed in my head—the tales of his erratic behavior, the whispers that the darkness had already taken hold of him. It wasn't just the formality of meeting royalty that unnerved us; it was the fear of encountering a man no longer fully himself, a king lost to the dark forces consuming our land. What if he looked at one of us with disfavor? What if he did something unpredictable? The possibilities swirled through our minds, leaving us all in silent prayer, hoping to avoid the king's displeasure.
I felt the weight of those prayers too, though mine were a bit different. My heart ached for Hei Hei, my loyal companion, who had been placed with the palace horses since our arrival. She had always been by my side, offering me the strength and comfort I needed in moments like this. Without her, I felt exposed, vulnerable, as if a part of me was missing. If only she were here, her calming presence would soothe my nerves, but instead, I was alone. I had to face whatever was coming without her.
As we stood there waiting, the anticipation grew unbearable. Each second felt like an eternity, every creak of the palace echoed louder in the silence. Then, finally, movement came from the inner chamber. We all straightened, bracing ourselves, and I could feel the collective tension rise as a figure emerged from the shadows.
The man who entered was not the king but his personal assistant. For a brief moment, we had all thought this was the king himself, but as soon as we realized it wasn't him, a mix of confusion and relief passed through the group. The assistant carried himself with the kind of confidence that spoke of years in service, his eyes sharp and unwavering as they scanned us.
He addressed us without preamble. "The king has ordered that I perform the appointments and receive the new stewards on his behalf. He will not be coming out to meet you today."
At those words, a rush of relief flooded my chest. My heart, which had been pounding wildly, slowed just enough for me to catch my breath. The king wasn't coming. For now, at least, I was spared from having to stand before him, from being scrutinized under his darkened gaze. I couldn't stop the soft prayer of thanks that slipped from my lips, a sound so audible in the otherwise silent room that it drew the assistant's attention. He turned and looked directly at me, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to figure out what had prompted such a reaction.
I froze under his stare, my breath caught in my throat. What have I done? His gaze lingered on me for a few seconds longer than I was comfortable with, but then he looked away, continuing with his task as though nothing had happened. Still, I could feel my heart racing again, a fresh wave of anxiety replacing the brief moment of relief.
The tension in the room was thick as the king's assistant began calling out names, assigning each of us our roles within the palace. I stood at the back, my heart racing faster with each name called. One by one, the stewards stepped forward, receiving their tasks—some to tend to the king's meals, others to his wardrobe, and a few lucky ones as personal servants of escort.
I silently prayed to be placed somewhere distant, far enough from the king's darkened presence to avoid drawing any attention. But as the list dwindled, and I remained uncalled, my anxiety began to spike.
*Please don't place me too close. Please don't ask me anything.*
But fate had other plans.
"You there," the assistant's voice echoed, cutting through the silence. His gaze fell on me, sharp and piercing, as if he had been waiting for this moment.
My stomach lurched. I stepped forward, my legs trembling slightly, feeling the weight of every eye in the room on me. I could sense the curiosity, the unease—there was something about the way the assistant looked at me that made everyone else wary.
"Your name?" His voice was calm, but the way he asked it made me feel as though he was searching for something more than just an answer.
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. "Zara," I blurted out, my real name escaping before I could stop it.
For a split second, I froze in horror. I had written **Mara** in the palace records during orientation. That was the identity I was supposed to be using—the false name to protect myself. My heart pounded in my chest as I realized the gravity of my mistake. I could see the assistant's brow furrow slightly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"I mean... Mara," I stammered quickly, forcing a smile. "It was just a slip of the tongue. I've been so tired with all the traveling. Zara was my mother's name, and sometimes I mix it up." I tried to laugh, though it sounded forced, as I desperately hoped my explanation would be enough.
The room felt as though it had grown ten degrees colder. The assistant's gaze lingered on me, his eyes scanning my face as if weighing the truth of my words. I held my breath, praying that he would let it go, though I could see the doubt flickering in his expression.
The court mistress, sensing the tension, stepped forward. "Perhaps Mara should be given a simpler task," she suggested gently, her tone cautious. "She seems a bit... unsettled. It might not be wise to place her too close to the king, considering his current state."
I silently thanked the court mistress for her intervention, hoping she could shift me into a safer role. But the assistant wasn't having it.
"No," he said, his voice firm and final. "She will serve as the king's personal maid."
A ripple of shock went through the room. I felt my blood run cold. **Personal maid?** That meant I would be responsible for the king's well-being, always by his side, ensuring he was looked after. It was a role that put me directly in the line of his darkened gaze—dangerously close to the very heart of the palace.
The court mistress opened her mouth to protest, her face etched with concern. "But with all due respect, my lord, perhaps—"
"I've made my decision," the assistant interrupted sharply, his eyes never leaving mine. "She will serve the king. Personally."
I could feel the weight of his decision pressing down on me, and worse, I knew why he had insisted. It wasn't because he trusted me—it was because he didn't. His eyes held suspicion, and I could feel him watching for the cracks in my story. He wanted me close, not to help the king, but to keep an eye on me. To monitor every move I made.
Around me, I could sense the other stewards bristling with jealousy and resentment. The role of the king's personal maid was coveted by many—it was a position of high prestige and proximity to power. A few of the stewards exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of disbelief and envy. They had wanted this position, and now it had been handed to me—a newcomer, someone they barely knew. I could almost feel their frustration in the air, their disappointment palpable.
But to me, the assignment felt like a trap.
I kept my head down, trying not to show the turmoil raging inside me. I had been thrust into a position too close to the center of power, and too close to the king. If I made one wrong move, if I aroused even the slightest suspicion, my mission could unravel before it had even begun.
Once all the assignments were finished, the assistant gave us a final nod of approval. "You are dismissed. Go to your quarters and prepare for your duties."
The room erupted into movement as everyone filed out quickly, eager to escape the tension that had built up. I tried to slip away quietly, blending into the group, but the assistant's voice cut through the noise.
"You," he called out sharply. "Stay behind."
My heart leapt into my throat again as I froze mid-step. Slowly, I turned to face him, dread settling in the pit of my stomach. The other stewards exchanged glances as they exited the room, curiosity and unease flashing in their eyes. They were wondering the same thing I was: **What does he want with me?**
"You will follow me," the assistant said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I nodded silently, trying to mask the rising fear in my chest. My mind raced with questions as I followed him out of the room, my footsteps echoing down the long, empty corridor. **Where is he taking me? Why is he keeping me close?** The uncertainty gnawed at me, and I couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something far more dangerous than I had anticipated.
The assistant's figure loomed ahead of me, his back straight, his pace steady as he led the way through the winding halls of the palace.