[Elara's POV]
The morning after the Festival of Lights was quiet in the servants' hall. Too quiet.
Elara had learned that in this place, silence was rarely empty — it was full of something waiting to be heard.
She was ladling porridge into bowls when a voice called from across the room,
"Alina, take this tray to His Highness's chambers."
Elara froze.
Who?
She turned just in time to see Maid A — except no one was calling her Maid A anymore. The other servants were passing her platters and bowls without hesitation, and the name rolled off their tongues as if it had always belonged to her.
Alina.
Elara felt it in her bones. This wasn't just a name. It was an upgrade.
The story was doing what it always did — molding someone into relevance.
Alina caught her staring and smiled. It wasn't cruel, but there was something in it that felt different from yesterday. Like she knew she mattered now.
"Morning, D," Alina said lightly, using Elara's letter like nothing had changed. She moved toward the east wing with the prince's breakfast, the morning light catching in her hair.
Elara forced herself to look away and keep working, but her mind was buzzing.
Names meant something. In this world, they were given when the plot decided you were worth remembering.
And if Alina had a name now… it meant she was stepping into the stage.
---
Later, in the main hall, she overheard a different conversation.
Two court maids were whispering while polishing silver trays.
"I thought Lady Miren would have been the one at His Highness's side during the festival."
"She was. Briefly. But she left early."
"Lady Miren always leaves early," one sighed. "She says she has no interest in the petty games of the court, but I've seen the way she watches everyone."
Lady Miren. Elara remembered her — tall, composed, with the kind of presence that didn't beg for attention yet always drew it. She'd stood beside the prince once, not touching, not smiling too brightly… but she'd been there.
Miren wasn't the fluttering, blushing type. She was the kind of woman who chose her words the way a knight chose a weapon. And if Elara's instincts were right, Miren's blade would cut both ways.
Elara didn't know yet if that meant an enemy… or an unexpected ally.