Standing at the very end of the last row of beautiful girls in dazzling dresses, I tug at my oversized black gown, trying to stop it from dragging in the dirt as I impatiently wait for this nightmare to end.
We're all lined up in the palace courtyard, waiting for the crowned prince to choose his personal servant.
I shift uncomfortably, the wig Aunt Christabel forced on me itching unbearably.
My gaze flits across the courtyard—rows upon rows of girls are fidgeting with nervous excitement.
Their colorful gowns shimmer under the sunlight, and their perfect hairstyles speak of hours of preparation.
I shouldn't even be here.
"Tomorrow, get ready. I've found a dress for you," my aunt had said last night, her tone as sharp as the needle she used to stitch my fate. "You'll be near the crown prince. Imagine that!"
But I don't want to imagine that. Why would I imagine that?! Am a boy, not a girl who dreams of a crowned prince!
I want to forget that I'm here pretending to be something I'm not, surrounded by girls who dream of being chosen.
●All this started days ago, when news spread like wildfire through villages of our kingdom.
~Girls were needed in the palace for the crowned prince to personally choose his servant~
People were confused—it wasn't time for the palace's usual worker selection, where young men and women were hired for five-year terms.
This is done in our kingdom to raise the living standard of everyone in Sabia kingdom, as all the workers are paid well.
Still, the announcement ignited a frenzy. Girls across our Kingdom prepared with excitement, dreaming of a life in the palace, of catching the prince's attention.
But for me, it was nothing short of a nightmare.
My aunt, Christabel, used this opportunity to get rid of me in her house. She claimed her "illness" needed treatment, and sending me to the palace would bring in money. But it was a lie. She has three daughters she could have sent, yet she insisted on me.
"You are delicate-looking enough to pass for a girl," she said with a sneer.
I didn't understand her hatred. I didn't want to. But when I tried to resist, her final words crushed me.
"If you're not chosen, don't come back here," she spat. "Eighteen years of feeding and sheltering you is enough."
I decided then that I would go, fail, and return to my late uncle's house—her threats be damned.
○●○
"The royal family has arrived!" a booming voice declares.
The courtyard falls silent as everyone turns their attention to the grand platform. My view is partly blocked, but I catch glimpses of the royal family stepping into place.
The king and queen exude authority and grace, their robes embroidered with golden patterns that glint in the sunlight. Behind them stand the two princesses, both poised and elegant, their jewels sparkling as they survey the crowd.
And then, there's the crowned prince.
My breath catches in my throat. Even from a distance, his presence is magnetic. His tall frame is clad in a regal robe that shimmers faintly with each step.
His dark hair is perfectly styled, and his expression is calm, almost detached, as he scans the rows of girls.
A murmur ripples through the crowd as he steps forward, his movements deliberate and commanding.
The whispers grow louder at the back where am located.
"He's even more handsome than I imagined," someone breathes nearby.
"I heard he's only twenty-three," another says.
I try not to listen. I try not to look. But I can't help it. And when I look at him , the only thought that rush in my mind is that , this is the kind of man people dream about but never actually meet.
After straining so much, trying to feed my eyes , I let myself think of my future after I leave this place since I have no business with it , my mind roam around until I almost forget where I am.
Suddenly I freeze when two guards grab my arms without explanation and drag me toward the front.
My mind races with panic. Did they figure out my secret? Are they going to expose me in front of everyone?
I'm shoved to the base of the platform, right in front of the prince and other royal family members.
I don't dare look up.
"What is the meaning of your delayed response?" he asks, his voice calm but sharp. "Is it that you don't know the difference between rows and columns, or perhaps you've forgotten the color of your dress?"
My lips part, but no words come out. My throat feels like it's closing up.
"Did you not hear me?" he presses. "Or is it that you cannot speak?"
His tone isn't angry, but it carries a quiet intensity that makes me want to disappear.
Before I can gather the courage to respond, a soft, feminine voice interrupts.
"Brother, why don't you choose someone more suitable? Someone more presentable? There are plenty of girls here who would fit in better."
The voice belongs to one of the princesses. I feel her gaze burning into me, her disdain palpable.
"Thank you for your suggestion, dear sister," the prince replies smoothly, a faint smirk in his tone. "But I'm choosing a servant, not a wife."
His words sting more than they should, but before I can process them, he adds:
"Take her in. I've decided on her."
The words hit me like a blow.
"I can't, my prince," I blurt out, my voice trembling. "I was forced to come here. I'm sick, and I can't do anything right. Please, spare me this responsibility!"
The prince's piercing blue eyes lock onto mine. For the first time, I meet his gaze, and there's something unreadable in his expression.
"That's precisely why I chose you," he says, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
What does that even mean?
°°●°°°●