"What did I tell you?" Queen Janet whispered angrily to a soldier in uniform. The dark room held a rackety old bed, wet floors, and a small door that seemed to lead to a bathroom of some sort.
"I didn't have the chance to do it. The chief was very particular about the prince's wellbeing while at camp and on the battlefield," the soldier stammered.
"You imbecile! Now I have to do it all by myself because of your incompetence," she spat bitterly, glaring at the unfortunate man. She stomped out of the room where a rugged-looking man dressed entirely in black was waiting. Though it was bright outside, the soldier's chamber remained eerily dark. Only if one squinted hard enough could they distinguish the man from the shadows that surrounded him.
"Kill him. Make sure there are no witnesses this time. I do not enjoy cleaning up your messes," the queen said coldly as she walked down the hallway, leaving the soldier's chamber without waiting for a reply. The man in black slipped silently into the room for what would be his final visit with the doomed soldier.
Back in the palace…
Lucien approached his room, a place adorned with exquisite paintings, expensive furniture, and a king-sized bed draped in a red silk duvet. Everything from the marble floors to the elegantly painted walls screamed royalty.
To a commoner, it was heaven. To Lucien, it was a prison of despair—a place that reminded him of his past and his painful childhood.
He undressed with effortless grace and slipped into soft cotton robes that caressed his skin like gentle fingertips, easing his tension almost instantly. As he walked toward the washroom, he was fully aware of the pair of eyes watching him through the small opening of a closet door, cracked just enough to give a perfect view.
Meanwhile...
A figure with long, glossy black hair and a slender yet slightly curvy physique walked gracefully toward the prince's room. She was about five feet and four inches tall and reached for the door handle, only to be interrupted by a lady whose appearance was her exact opposite.
Hazel had flowing blonde hair and ocean-blue eyes. Her nose was slightly pointed, her lips reddish, and her figure slim but fuller at the bust. Her pale complexion almost glowed in the castle's light.
"What do you think you're doing?" May asked, her tone sharp and irritated.
"The Madam asked me to prepare the prince's room," Hazel replied innocently.
May studied her expression, searching for mockery, but found none. Hazel was a chamber servant, while May worked in the kitchen. In the castle, duties were divided strictly according to one's position. Hazel's small nose, plump pale-purple lips, hazel-brown eyes, and lightly tanned complexion gave her a quiet charm that May found both annoying and threatening.
May ordered Hazel back to the kitchen, but Hazel hesitated. She only agreed when May threatened to tell The Madam—who, as it happened, was May's mother.
The Madam was the head servant of the palace, responsible for assigning duties to all other maids. She was called "The Madam" as a sign of respect by everyone except her daughter.
May, however, had her own plan. Before the prince left for battle, she had tried to make him notice her, but he barely spared her a glance. Now that he had returned, she was determined to ensure that he would see no one but her.
Hazel reluctantly departed for the kitchen, while May entered the prince's chamber to set her plan in motion.
After organizing the room, May took a moment to admire her work. She breathed deeply, marveling at how divine the space looked. Remembering her other duties, especially the upcoming celebration to honor the prince's safe return, she hurried to the closet to store the folded blankets.
Suddenly, the door clicked shut. Someone had entered the room. Panic seized her. If it was the king or queen, she could be punished severely for being in the royal wing, as she was only a kitchen maid.
She quickly slipped into the closet, closing the doors behind her, and cracked them open just enough to peek through. The closet was enormous—large enough to hold twenty people comfortably. From her vantage point near the right side of the room, only a few steps away from the main doors, she scanned the area but saw no one.
Then her eyes caught sight of a pair of black trousers, a royal blue shirt, and a black jacket with golden embroidery tossed carelessly across the bed, rumpling the duvet slightly. Her curiosity deepened. Who could have left them there?
The sound of water echoed from the washroom. Her gaze followed the sound, and curiosity got the better of her. She crept slowly across the room toward the doors leading to the washroom. Just as she was about to push them open, the doors swung inward on their own.
Before her stood a man whose wet hair clung to his face, with droplets of water gliding down his chiseled chest and disappearing just above his waistline, where a towel hung loosely.
Lucien's Point of View
Stepping into the washroom, I couldn't help but sense the presence of someone nearby. I had felt the person's aura, but it carried no malice or ill intent. I was exhausted, and so I gave little thought to it. I took off the robe I had worn on my way in and lowered myself into the steaming pool.
The washroom was grand, twice the size of the closet but smaller than the main chamber. White tiles covered the walls and floors, and a massive elevated rectangular tub stood in the center, surrounded by short marble steps. To one side was a crescent-shaped shower space enclosed by a glass wall, its black tiles contrasting beautifully with the white room. Four silver shower heads gleamed against the dark background.
I walked toward the familiar tub and immersed myself fully, letting the warmth swallow me whole. I stayed there for what felt like half an hour, lost in thought, before finally stepping out and reaching for a towel.
I wrapped it loosely around my waist and walked carefully across the slick floor toward the door. As I pushed it open, the mahogany brushed against my skin, and there she was—frozen, wide-eyed, as though caught in a dream she wished she could escape.
I ignored her and continued forward, crossing the room toward the closet's staircase that led up to the balcony-like area. There, a large wooden table stood, surrounded by shelves of folded garments. I picked up a blow dryer, drying my hair in slow motions before applying soothing ointments and creams to my skin.