The palace transformed overnight.
By morning, lanterns swayed gently in the breeze above the marble courtyard. Silk banners stretched between columns, painted in gold and deep crimson. Musicians tuned their instruments at the far end of the great hall, the soft notes drifting out into the sunlit air.
Elara's day began before dawn, carrying crates of glass lantern covers from the storage rooms to the courtyard. The kitchen staff were already awake, boiling fragrant spices into the air, the scent clinging to her hair and clothes.
All around her, the palace was a stage, and every player knew their role.
Lady Serina's entrance was as perfectly timed as the chime of a clock. She appeared at the top of the marble steps in a gown of pale pink that caught every slant of light, her golden hair swept into a jeweled knot. At her side, Lady Miren stood in a sleek dress of ocean-blue silk, her expression cool.
The prince descended the stairs to greet them, his voice warm. "My ladies. I trust the morning finds you well?"
From where she knelt arranging lanterns, Elara watched the exchange from behind the crowd. The prince's attention never wavered from the two women. The way he looked at them—only them—made it clear the background didn't exist to him at all.
And that was fine.
What caught Elara off guard wasn't his attention, but the way the sunlight seemed to fall exactly where she was working, painting her hands in gold as she tied the last ribbon. No one else noticed, but it was the kind of subtle staging she remembered from the novel—a way the world framed a future lead without announcing it.
She tied the ribbon tighter, forcing herself to focus.
The rest of the day was a blur of duties. Serving tea in the shaded pavilion. Carrying trays past chattering courtiers. The air was filled with laughter and music, but the noble circles moved like constellations—distant, beautiful, unreachable.
Late in the afternoon, Elara passed close enough to hear Serina and Miren exchanging velvet-edged compliments that were really barbed wires in silk. The smiles didn't falter, but the tension between them was sharp enough to cut.
When the prince joined them, Serina's tone shifted instantly—warm, bright, easy. She tilted her head just enough to make the jewels in her hair catch the light, drawing every gaze her way.
No one saw Elara slip past in the background with a tray of empty cups.
But she felt it—like the faintest pull of invisible strings.
The novel was watching her.
And slowly, without anyone realizing, it was moving her closer to the stage.