Prince Kael sat at the ornate desk, the collected papers spread before him. His eyes scanned each script, his expression unreadable.
The maids waited anxiously, their faces reflecting their inner turmoil. Miranda's hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms.
She couldn't shake the memory of Prince Kael's words, 'I saved your life, and I need you to serve me.'
As Prince Kael reviewed the papers, Miranda's tension escalated. What if she failed? Would he truly harm her?
Lyrian stood beside Prince Kael, her gaze drifting over the maids. Her eyes lingered on Namarie, a hint of curiosity flickering across her face.
Prince Kael separated the papers into two piles. The maids' eyes followed his movements, their hearts sinking or soaring with each decision.
One pile grew steadily larger, filled with papers bearing mediocre scripts. The other pile, smaller but no less significant, held the exceptional writings.
Miranda's paper rested in the smaller pile, its beauty and insight catching Prince Kael's eye. He paused, his gaze lingering on her script.
The room held its breath as Prince Kael finished categorizing the papers. The maids exchanged nervous glances, their faces pale.
"Well, it seems we have our finalists," Prince Kael announced, his voice low and deliberate.
Miranda's heart skipped a beat. Had she made it to the next round?
Prince Kael's eyes locked onto hers, his gaze piercing. "The winners will be announced shortly."
Miranda's thoughts reeled. What if she failed to meet Prince Kael's expectations? Would he hesitate to kill her?
Kael finished reviewing the papers; his task is complete. He rose from his chair, his movements fluid, and turned to Lyrian. "Shall we depart, my lady?" he asked, offering his hand.
Lyrian's smile hinted at secrets shared. She accepted his hand, her slender fingers wrapping around his. Together, they exited the room, leaving the anxious maids behind.
The chief maid approached the table, where the results were displayed. She raised one set of papers, clearing her throat to command attention.
"The results are as follows," she announced, her voice steady. "The names I announce will proceed to the next competition."
Namarie's name led the list, followed by several other maids. Miranda's anxiety grew with each passing moment, her heart sinking.
If she failed, would Prince Kael's protection prove lethal? The memory of his words echoed in her mind: "Pass at all costs."
Miranda's palms grew damp, her breath catching in her throat. She recited silent prayers, pleading to be chosen.
The chief maid's voice continued, each name a dagger to Miranda's hopes. Despair crept in, her vision blurring.
And then the chief maid spoke her name.
"Miran-da."
Miranda's eyes widened in shock, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn't expected to advance.
A mix of relief and trepidation flooded her. What did this mean? Had Prince Kael's influence secured her spot?
The room's tension dissipated, replaced by murmurs of congratulations.
Miranda's feet carried her toward the front, her mind still reeling from the unexpected announcement. She couldn't believe she had passed.
As she reached the chief maid, Miranda's hand extended automatically to receive her paper. The chief maid handed it over with a warm smile.
But as Miranda's fingers wrapped around the parchment, her eyes widened in shock. This wasn't her paper.
The calligraphy danced across the page with strong, confident strokes, a stark contrast to her own labored script. The handwriting wasn't hers; she was certain.
Yet, at the bottom of the page, her name stared back: Miranda.
What's going on? She asked herself, her thoughts racing.
Did someone switch her paper with a better-written one?
Miranda's gaze scanned the room, searching for answers. Had Prince Kael's influence extended this far?
She folded the paper, her hands trembling slightly. The perfection of the script seemed almost... sinister.
As she turned to return to her seat, the chief maid's voice cut through the murmurs. "You are all dismissed."
Miranda's feet moved mechanically, her mind consumed by questions.
Who had written this paper?
And why?
The chief maid's voice echoed through the room, capturing everyone's attention. "The next competition will test your culinary skills. Tomorrow, you will prepare a meal fit for Prince Kael's table."
Miranda's anxiety spiked, surpassing her concerns about the exchanged paper. Cooking? She was horrible at cooking.
In her world or this one, Miranda's culinary skills were nonexistent. Burnt offerings, charred remains, and inedible disasters were her specialties.
She recalled the disastrous dinner party she'd hosted for friends back home. The smoke-filled kitchen, the fire alarm blaring, and the hastily ordered pizzas.
How could she possibly cook for Prince Kael?
Miranda's mind reeled with worst-case scenarios; she could poison the prince, serve inedible dishes, or embarrass herself in front of the entire court of maids.
She felt like she was staring into the abyss, her chances of survival dwindling.
Namarie, noticing Miranda's distress, approached her. "Are you alright? You look pale."
Miranda forced a weak smile. "I'm just... thinking about the competition."
Namarie's expression turned sympathetic. "Don't worry, Miranda. We'll help each other. We can practice tonight."
Miranda's gratitude was genuine, but her fears lingered. Practice wouldn't transform her into a skilled chef overnight. Besides, Namarie wasn't a generous person to help someone after she injured her. How could Miranda think of joining hands with her?
As the maids began discussing recipes and cooking techniques, Miranda's worries intensified. Tomorrow's competition seemed insurmountable.
***
Night shrouded the palace corridors, the flickering torches casting eerie shadows. Miranda walked, lost in thought, her mind still reeling from the cooking competition announcement.
As she turned a corner, she spotted Namarie issuing orders to a group of maids. Miranda halted, observing from a distance.
Namarie's authoritative tone and the maids' hurried obedience painted a clear picture: Namarie was a force to be reckoned with.
Miranda's initial instinct to ask for Namarie's help wavered. She couldn't shake the feeling that Namarie's aid would come with a steep price.
Just as Miranda turned to leave, a figure emerged from the darkness. Abel.
The question still lingered in her mind: who exchanged her paper?
As Abel approached, Miranda's gaze locked onto his. She had a hunch.
"Abel," Miranda whispered, beckoning him to follow her.
They stepped into a secluded alcove, the shadows swallowing them whole.
"Are you the one who exchanged my paper?" Miranda asked, her voice barely audible.
Abel's smile spread, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "You're a smart woman, Miranda. How did you realize it?"
Miranda's eyes narrowed. "You collected the papers. It was the perfect opportunity."
Abel chuckled. "Indeed. But what made you suspect me?"
Miranda's voice took on a hint of accusation. "What if someone had seen you? You could have gotten me expelled."
Abel's expression turned serious. "It was Prince Kael's order, Miranda. He wants you in that position, no matter the cost. You'd better do your best in tomorrow's competition."
Miranda's heart skipped a beat. Prince Kael's influence reached further than she'd imagined.
"What does he want from me?" Miranda asked, her voice laced with trepidation.
Abel's smile faded, replaced by an unreadable mask. "That's for Prince Kael to reveal."
Miranda's mind reeled as she stood beside Abel in the secluded alcove. His words echoed in her thoughts: "It's up to Prince Kael to reveal what he wants from you."
The unspoken warning hung in the air: fail the competition, and Prince Kael's protection would vanish. Probably he will her for sure.
Miranda hesitated, weighing her options. Should she confess her cooking ineptitude to Abel?
Perhaps he could help her again, as he had with the paper.
"Abel," Miranda began, her voice barely above a whisper. "I have something to admit."
Abel's gaze met hers, curious.
"I really don't know how to cook," Miranda confessed, her cheeks warming.
Abel's expression transformed from curiosity to surprise.
"So, what are you going to do about tomorrow's competition?" Abel asked, his tone laced with amusement.
Miranda's confidence surged. "Won't you help me, like you did today?"
Abel chuckled, shaking his head. "You're a shameless woman, Miranda. How can I help you when I don't know how to cook myself?"
Miranda's heart sank. Abel's reluctance was palpable.
"Besides," Abel continued, "tomorrow's competition won't be easy. Everyone will be watching as you cook. Do you want me to stand by your side, cooking?"
His sarcasm sting.
Miranda's stress escalated. What would she do now?
Miranda's eyes sparkled with determination as she stood before Abel. "If you can't help me, then do something for me." She asked, her voice low and mysterious.
Abel's brow furrowed, intrigued. "What is it?"
Miranda's smile hinted at mischief. She gestured Abel closer, her lips brushing against his ear. As she tells him what to do.
Abel's eyes widened in shock. "You're mad!" he exclaimed, recoiling.
"I'm not doing that," Abel declared, his tone firm.
Miranda's grin spread, her eyes glinting. "It's the only way for me to win this competition."
Abel shook his head. "No, Miranda. I won't risk—"
Miranda's voice took on a steely edge. "If I fail tomorrow's competition and Prince Kael asks me the reason, I'll surely bring you down with me."
Abel's eyes narrowed. "Are you threatening me?"
Miranda's smile grew wider. "It's blackmail, Abel. And I'll use it if necessary."
Abel's face paled. "Do you think Prince Kael will believe you?"
Miranda's confidence was unwavering. "I have nothing to lose if it's to bring you down with me, do I?"
Abel felt the weight of Miranda's words. He knew Prince Kael's wrath would be merciless.
With a heavy sigh, Abel nodded. "Fine. I'll do it."
Miranda's smile triumphed. "Thank you, Abel."
As she bid him goodnight, Abel's thoughts reeled with the consequences of his actions.
He had underestimated Miranda's determination.