The banquet hall glittered like a jewel box under a hundred candles. Perfume, roasted almonds, and the faint tang of polished silver filled the air.
D—Elara—moved along the wall with a tray of goblets, blending into the tide of serving staff. She wasn't supposed to be here.
In the novel, she'd still be in the laundry room right now, folding napkins while a Maid A "accidentally" spilled wine on the crown prince, giving the heroine a chance to step in and leave an unforgettable impression.
But there was no heroine yet. The scene was… off.
The spill had already happened—just minutes ago. She'd glimpsed the aftermath when she came in: a stain of dark red across the embroidery on the prince's sleeve, A fluttering beside him, apologizing prettily while Guard 3 fetched a fresh goblet. The prince had waved it away with cool disinterest, ending the moment far sooner than in the book.
Elara suspected her presence in the hall had nudged the script already, making the "wine incident" fall flat. And now she was here, staring at the man himself.
The prince stood near the grand staircase, speaking with a duke. His coat was a rich midnight blue, the fabric catching warm gold from the candlelight. Even in conversation, his gaze swept the room, assessing, cataloging.
Elara's pulse quickened. This was her chance—if she could speak to him, if she could say her name, maybe she could carve a space for herself in his memory before the real heroine arrived.
She stepped forward, tray steady, each movement measured. The prince's gaze shifted in her direction, just enough for her to feel the weight of it. She dipped into a curtsey.
"Your Highness—"
A ripple of crimson silk cut her off.
A—flawless, confident A—slid between them with practiced grace, as if she'd been waiting for exactly this moment. Her hair gleamed under the light, her smile soft yet calculated. She sank into a perfect curtsey. She's perfect... Too perfect for a Maid A except she's important to the plot somehow...
"Your Highness," she said sweetly, "I heard about the unfortunate incident earlier. I should have been the one serving you—I promise, next time, I'll make certain nothing of the sort happens again."
The prince's mouth curved in a polite but shallow smile. "I am quite all right," he said, though his attention lingered just long enough for A to bask in it.
Elara stood frozen, her chance slipping away with every second he looked at someone else.
"Maid D," a senior maid hissed from the side, "keep moving!"
She did, her steps automatic, her throat tight with the words she hadn't spoken.
But later, as she passed a tall silver urn, she caught her reflection—and stopped.
The smooth blur where her features should have been now held the faintest impression of an eyelid. Almost invisible, but real.
It was small, but it was proof.
The script had noticed her.