Location: Capital City of Nileil – The Palace
Laughter.
Shrill, unrestrained laughter echoed beyond the tall white double doors that loomed before us. The gilded vines carved into the wood shimmered faintly in the afternoon light, yet they failed to conceal the venom beneath the merriment that leaked from within.
The door creaked open just enough to allow a maid to step out, balancing a tray of emptied porcelain dishes. Her eyes glanced over us briefly, not with interest, but with mechanical acknowledgment of our station. She offered a shallow bow—more to the uniform we wore than to the person beneath it—and moved on without a word.
Before the door could fully close, a pale hand reached out and stopped it. Fingers, delicate yet firm, pushed it ajar once more, letting the sun's rays slice into the shadowy interior. The scene that unfolded before us seemed drenched in decadence and malice.
Laughter again.
"His Highness truly believed he could get away with that childish stunt?"
"And he called it a gift! The nerve of him!"
"He thought he'd win favor with such a pathetic attempt? Foolish."
"It was right to humiliate him publicly."
"A mere commoner, daring to jest with Her Majesty—he deserved punishment!"
"Don't worry, my sisters..." A voice slithered with satisfaction. "Her Majesty has already delivered the final blow. All that's left now is to wait... for the pieces to crumble."
The women erupted in cackles again, high-pitched and echoing like glass on marble. They reclined across silk-cushioned lounges and embroidered divans, their dresses a tapestry of status—each one clad in a different jewel tone.
At the center, Queen Sirenia sat like a blood-red flame in the midst of lesser stars. Her gown of crimson and gold shimmered with every shift of her ornate fan, which she held just high enough to veil her mouth as she laughed softly. Her eyes, however, gleamed with venom.
From behind a marble pillar, a shadow stirred—our point of view, not as a participant, but as a silent witness. The figure we followed was a girl dressed in modest gray-blue maid robes, head lowered respectfully as she emerged from hiding.
She approached quietly, back straight despite the invisible weight pressing against her. The women barely noticed as she stooped to collect the empty plates, methodically stacking them on her arm with practiced ease.
But just as her hand reached for the final dish, a sudden grip seized her wrist.
Her gaze jerked upward, meeting the amused eyes of the sixth wife.
"Isn't she a fine thing?" the woman purred, glancing at her sisters before gliding forward like a predator circling prey.
She reached out, cupping the maid's cheek with mock affection. "Such a smooth face. It's rare to see beauty in the lower ranks."
Fifth wife chimed in with a smug chuckle. "A fine one indeed. Almost too fine to be scrubbing dishes."
"Bah," second wife sneered, stepping forward. "That face will lead her nowhere. Not even to the king's bed. She's just a maid!"
Without warning, she gripped the girl's hair and yanked her back. The maid gasped, her knees hitting the floor, dishes wobbling dangerously on her arm as she fought to steady them.
The concubines laughed uproariously, except the queen.
Queen Sirenia's fan snapped shut with a soft clack. She moved toward the scene without a word, her crimson train trailing like spilled wine.
With practiced elegance, she reached down and removed the second wife's hand from the girl's hair. The reprimand was silent, but clear.
The second wife stepped back, muttering an apology.
The maid lowered her head further, trembling, then quickly gathered the last plate. With a bow so deep it nearly scraped the floor, she turned and bolted from the room. The door slammed shut behind her.
Darkness.
Tears welled up, making the corridor ahead blur. She pressed her back against the cold wall, chest heaving. Her arms ached from the weight of the dishes, but she clutched them tightly, unwilling to let even one fall and risk further humiliation.
The golden corridor stretched ahead—opulent, excessive. Paintings lined the walls, portraits of the royal wives captured in their youth and beauty. But as the maid passed them, only the portraits directly in view were clear. The others faded into shadowy voids, unseen and unremembered.
She walked briskly, passing servants who turned their eyes away, some murmuring apologies as they hurried past. The palace, usually calm, was in chaos.
Something was happening.
The maid's breath caught.
Only one event could cause this level of frenzy.
She burst into the kitchen, where clanging pots, shouts, and scuttling footsteps filled the air. The scent of roasted meats, baked fruits, and spiced broths enveloped her. She barely had time to drop off the dishes in the sink before someone shouted at her to move.
Turning on the faucet, she scrubbed quickly, the water clouding with remnants of rich sauces and royal indulgence.
But we no longer followed her.
Our vision soared upward, gliding over the heads of panicked staff. The kitchen was a symphony of noise and movement. Cooks barked orders while maids darted to and fro with trays, baskets, and silver cutlery.
A maid tripped near a boiling pot of stew, but a tall, wiry butler caught her just in time, whisking the pot away before it could tip.
He turned, gave a short nod, and walked to the grand double doors, opening them to reveal a line of maids, each one pulling a cart loaded with food.
We followed.
The carts moved like a parade, wheels humming softly against marble floors. Covered in gold-trimmed cloths, the trays revealed lush meals—whole pheasants, jewel-colored fruits, and pastries dusted with silver powder. The scent was intoxicating.
At the head of the line was a young maid, distinguishable by her lack of a headscarf. Her brown hair spilled down in waves, a stubborn lock falling over her left eye. She sighed, brushing it away as she led the group.
Ahead stood a door taller than any other in the palace—its carvings intricate, the edges traced with pure gold.
Above it hung a grand portrait of King Cian.
In the painting, he looked majestic—eyes piercing, jaw defined, golden hair cascading like molten light. A figure of regality and perfection.
But when the doors opened.
The maid almost choked.