The east corridor smelled faintly of lemon oil, the polished floor catching thin bands of morning light from the tall windows. D—Elara—knelt with her brush and bucket, scrubbing the marble until her fingers were numb from the cold water.
In the novel, this was one of her nameless tasks. She'd be in the background here—kneeling in silence as A passed by on her way to more important scenes. But that was before the banquet. Before the prince's eyes had almost met hers.
Footsteps echoed against the marble, slow and deliberate.
A's voice came first. "Oh my… what is this?"
Elara looked up to see her framed in the morning light, a splash of crimson ribbon in her hair. Behind her, B carried a folded stack of fresh towels, and C trailed with a pail. All three stopped.
A walked to where Elara had been scrubbing and bent down, examining the floor. "You've left streaks."
Elara followed her gaze. The marble was flawless—gleaming white, no streaks in sight.
"Perhaps you can't see them from your… angle," A continued, smiling just enough to make it worse. "But His Highness would notice. He notices everything."
A ripple of amusement passed between C and another maid down the hall. B stayed silent, biting her lip.
"Try again," A said, straightening. "And when you're finished, do the entire stretch again from the top of the stairs. Properly, this time."
Elara swallowed the reply that rose in her throat. She dipped the brush back into the water, the icy bite grounding her.
But A wasn't done. She turned to the others, speaking loudly enough to carry. "Standards have been slipping lately. We can't have the wrong sort of attention, can we?"
The implication hung in the air—the wrong sort being Elara.
When they finally left, Elara set the brush aside and flexed her stiff fingers. She caught her reflection in the tall bronze vase by the stairwell and froze.
Her face—once a smooth blur—now held clear lines: the shape of her jaw, the bridge of her nose, the arch of both brows. Her lips were faintly visible, soft outlines waiting to be filled in.
Her heart thudded. This wasn't supposed to happen so soon. The novel had rules.
She pressed her fingertips to her cheekbone, half-expecting it to vanish. It didn't.
A wanted her invisible.
The story wanted her invisible.
But she was becoming someone they would have to see.