The summons to the garden felt heavier the second time.
Not because she feared it, but because she could feel the story's threads winding tighter around her.
The morning was cool and pale when Elara crossed the courtyard, the sky still painted in the muted blues of dawn. She carried a fresh tea set, steam curling from the spout. Her steps were even, measured—half to keep the tea steady, half to quiet the unease pressing at her ribs.
She was early.
Or at least, she thought she was.
A was already there.
"Oh," A said sweetly, as though the surprise were genuine. "You're here. How… prompt." Her hands rested lightly on her own tray, a perfect arrangement of biscuits and sliced fruit. "I suppose we'll see whose service pleases His Highness more today."
Elara didn't answer. She didn't need to—because the moment the prince appeared at the far end of the path, his gaze went past A entirely.
"D," he said, the syllable carrying a faint familiarity now. "This way."
She stepped forward, tray balanced on her fingertips, and placed it before him on the low table beneath the flowering tree. His hand brushed hers again when he took the cup, the contact brief but deliberate.
"You remember my name," she said quietly.
"I do," he replied, as if it were the simplest truth in the world. Then, with a faint smile: "It's an unusual name."
Her lips curved slightly. "It's common where I'm from."
His brow furrowed just enough to suggest curiosity, but before he could ask more, A approached with her own tray. She set it down too quickly, the edge of the plate catching the rim of the prince's teacup.
The porcelain tipped—just enough for a single drop to splash against Elara's sleeve.
"Oh! How clumsy of me," A gasped, though her hands remained perfectly steady. "My apologies, Your Highness, D."
Elara dabbed the spot with her apron. "It's fine."
But she noticed the faint spark of satisfaction in A's eyes.
The prince, however, didn't seem to. He dismissed A with a polite nod, turning back to Elara. "There's a festival in three days. The first blooms of the season will be lit in the eastern courtyard. Will you be on duty then?"
She hesitated. That scene was familiar. It was the first major social event in the novel, the moment the heroine met the prince under the lanterns.
"I'm… not sure," she said carefully.
"I'll arrange it," he replied, so casually it startled her. "I'd like to see you there."
The words landed heavy in her chest. The story was shifting. Scenes were moving.
When she returned to the servants' hall, the air buzzed with gossip. Maids whispered about the upcoming festival, the special decorations, the arrival of a "guest" from the southern provinces.
They didn't know her name yet.
But Elara did.
The original heroine.
And she was coming.