The palace gardens were always quiet at this hour—early enough that the dew still clung to the roses, late enough that the birds had found their voices. Elara carried a tray of tea toward the west pavilion, her steps careful on the gravel path.
The script of the novel didn't have her here. This scene belonged to someone else. Yet here she was, breathing in the scent of jasmine and wet earth, the world around her drawn in sharper strokes than before. The green of the leaves was richer, the gold on the pavilion's columns brighter. Even the air felt… fuller, as though the story itself was stretching to fit her.
At the far end of the path, the prince stood beneath a flowering tree, speaking with Guard 2. The sunlight caught in his dark hair, turning it almost bronze at the edges.
Her steps slowed.
This was her chance.
She adjusted the tray in her hands, readying the polite smile that would match the scene of a dutiful maid offering tea—enough to be noticed without overstepping.
Then, just as she drew close, A emerged from behind a hedge, her dress fluttering with practiced grace. She stepped neatly into the space between Elara and the prince.
"Your Highness," A said, dipping into a perfect curtsey, voice like silk. "I thought you might enjoy a fresh cup—"
But the prince's eyes moved past her.
"Is that for me?" he asked, looking directly at Elara.
For a moment, the garden seemed to still. Even Guard 2's gaze flicked between them in surprise.
Elara shifted the tray to one hand, dipping her head. "Yes, Your Highness."
He stepped toward her, close enough that she could see the faint crease between his brows. "I don't believe we've met."
Her pulse quickened. In the original story, this line had been meant for the heroine's first entrance—not for a faceless background maid.
"I'm… D, Your Highness." The name sounded strange in her own mouth now, too small for the way his attention anchored to her.
"D," he repeated, as though testing it. "Thank you." He took the tea directly from her hands instead of letting A present it, his fingers brushing hers.
A's smile was still fixed in place, but her knuckles tightened around the handle of her own tray.
The prince sipped, then nodded. "Excellent." He looked at her again—longer, this time. "I'll see you at tomorrow's garden service."
Tomorrow's service.
Her heart stumbled. That wasn't in the original plot.
"Yes, Your Highness."
When she turned to leave, the edges of the world felt different—clearer, deeper, almost as if she could feel the weight of the sun on her skin, the subtle tug of the breeze through her hair. She passed the bronze watering can by the rose bed and caught sight of her reflection.
Her eyes were there now.
Fully formed.
And they were looking back at her.
---