đź‘‘ Evelina's POV
The knock came long before sunrise — sharp, rude, and entirely too loud for someone who was, in fact, royalty.
I groaned into my pillow. "Why must royal responsibility always arrive before tea?"
Before I could protest properly, the door flew open and chaos swarmed in — led, of course, by Mira. My most trusted handmaiden. Also the most violently punctual.
"Your Grace, you're still in bed?" Mira gasped. "Do you know what time it is? The Prince is expecting a warm royal welcome, not…bedhead!"
I squinted. "Tell him I send warm thoughts."
"Up. Now."
Within seconds I was out of bed, mid-air, and halfway into a corset.
"The hem must be redone!"
"Her Grace's braid is lopsided — again!"
"She must stand three paces behind Prince Thorne tonight. Not two. Not four. Three."
By the time I was in full posture mode, Mira was pinning my shoulders back like I was being measured for a sculpture. She muttered something about wilted nobility under her breath.
> Was it possible to be strangled by your own etiquette?
That was when I saw him.
Prince Thorne.
Striding in without knocking — because why start respecting boundaries now?
He barely blinked as Mira curtsied. "Your Highness."
His eyes landed on me. "Why is she not walking yet?"
"She's being fitted, Your Highness."
He approached — slow, silent, and dramatic, like a ghost that smelled of steel and duty.
"She tends to slouch," he murmured. "Remind her: shoulders proud, chin up. She represents Raventhorn, not a wilting daisy."
> If I had a gold coin for every time this man tried to fix me, I'd buy a kingdom and retire.
I didn't speak. I didn't sigh. I just nodded like a good little princess while Mira straightened my back like I was born with faulty wiring.
He tilted my chin up with one finger. "There. That's better."
And then he was gone — probably off to glare at a tree or polish his sword or whatever it is brooding heirs do.
I caught my reflection in the mirror.
Painted lips. Tight hair. A mask.
But not for long.
Tonight, everything changes. She's ready. And so am I.
---
🧽 Liana's POV
I was on my knees, scrubbing marble like my life depended on it — mostly because it did.
The water was cold. The soap stung. And I was pretty sure I was developing a permanent hunchback.
Behind me, Clara and Mavis were twirling around like clowns at a royal circus.
Clara examined her dress in the cracked mirror. "This shade brings out my cheekbones."
Mavis pouted. "I bet the prince will fall for me first. I have the most delicate ankles."
"I'm going to vomit," I whispered into the floor.
"Did you say something?" Clara asked.
"No," I lied. "Just praying for strength."
Lady Tressa entered in a whirlwind of perfume and high expectations. She didn't walk — she descended, like judgment in heels.
"Still scrubbing? Honestly, Liana, you move slower than common sense in this house."
I forced a grin. "Apologies, Lady Tressa. I'll be faster."
"You'll do more than that. You'll have the entire front corridor spotless by lunch. No one wants to see dirt where nobility will walk."
> I wanted to ask if she'd be walking barefoot through the corridor, but I liked having a roof over my head.
As they turned to leave, Clara wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. Her hands look disgusting."
My eyes widened. My hands.
I quickly tucked them under the rag — my newly manicured nails gleaming like royal guilt.
> Princess Evelina had insisted Mira do them yesterday. "We can't have the prince thinking you're a barn creature," she'd said. "You're about to wear my face — might as well do it right."
She'd taught me how to sip tea without slurping, how to walk like I owned the floor, how to address noblemen like I didn't want to smack them.
And I taught her how to curse silently and dodge rats. A fair trade.
I winced as Mavis leaned over and sniffed dramatically. "Why does she smell like… flowers?"
"Probably dumped a bucket over her head to cover the peasant," Clara smirked.
> You'll see peasant tonight, alright. At the ball. In your prince's arms.
I said nothing. Just smiled and scrubbed.
Tonight, I wouldn't be the girl with the mop.
I'd be the girl in the gown.
And the look on their faces?
Worth every chipped nail and sore finger.
***
Author's POV
The full moon hung over Raventhorn like a silent witness to mischief.
Inside the palace, golden chandeliers lit up every marble hallway. Maids dashed about preparing the final touches for the grand ball — oblivious to the scheme unraveling just under their powdered noses.
But in the servant's tunnel behind the east wing, Mira, Evelina's trusted maid, was pulling off the most scandalous act the royal halls had seen since the King danced with a duchess and called her "sweet cabbage" by mistake.
Mira, dressed in a plain cloak and smuggler's nerves, peeked around the corner.
"Coast clear," she whispered, grabbing the trembling figure beside her. "Let's go. And stop looking like you've stolen a crown."
"I kind of have," Liana muttered, glancing down at her borrowed dress. "Do you know how itchy silk is? My skin misses laundry soap."
"Keep your voice down."
They tiptoed through a corridor only staff used — dark, narrow, and lined with dusty portraits of ancient royal ancestors who looked too judgmental for their own good.
Liana clutched her cloak tighter.
"You're sure this will work?" she whispered.
"No," Mira said cheerfully. "But we're already committing treason, so let's at least do it with confidence."
Just as Liana was about to panic and sprint back to her wooden bucket and broom, they arrived at a hidden door tucked behind a crimson curtain.
Mira knocked once.
Twice.
Then again — twice quickly.
The door creaked open.
And there she was.
Princess Evelina Raventhorn.
Standing tall in an embroidered robe, hair wrapped in golden ribbons, eyes gleaming with something between nerves and relief.
Liana blinked.
"You're really doing this?"
Evelina gave a tired, elegant sigh. "It's either this or I go mad."
Liana stepped inside. The room smelled of roses and rebellion.
"You're glowing," Liana murmured.
"That's the royal highlighter. Mira overdid it again."
"Hey!" Mira snapped from behind. "You try preparing two girls for the same ball in secret!"
Evelina smiled faintly. "Thank you, Mira. Truly. We'll make sure your name isn't in the execution scrolls."
"I'd appreciate that."
The Princess turned to Liana, reaching for her hand.
"Are you ready?"
"No."
"Good. You'll fit right in."
Liana stared at her — at this girl who wore a crown like it was a shackle.
"You're actually serious about this," she said. "I mean, you're a princess. You have silk, servants, soup that doesn't burn your tongue — and you're giving that up to pretend you have sore feet and no lunch?"
Evelina laughed — short, sharp. "You think I have freedom? I'd trade your mop for my crown any day."
Liana paused, then grinned. "Well, I did shine it yesterday."
They both giggled — nervous, wild, real.
Evelina stepped behind the dressing screen and tossed over her evening gown.
Liana caught it like it was sacred scrolls.
"Careful," Evelina warned. "That's stitched with genuine silver thread."
"I once wore a curtain to a harvest dance," Liana said, holding it up. "This is going to feel like betrayal to every rag I've ever owned."
Mira helped her change, tightening the laces while muttering under her breath. "Head up. Shoulders back. Smile soft, not wide. You're not trying to sell cabbages."
"I like selling cabbages," Liana hissed.
Evelina emerged from behind the screen in Liana's plain brown dress, holding a broom like it was a prop in a stage play. She wrinkled her nose.
"Smells like poverty and effort."
Liana rolled her eyes. "Try not to insult people while you're borrowing their life."
"Fair enough."
The two girls stood facing each other.
Same face. Different fire.
"I told Mira to set your hair with the royal twist," Evelina said. "And we filed your nails yesterday, so that won't give you away."
Liana shoved her hands into her skirt. "I've been hiding them all day."
"Good."
Then Liana leaned in with a sudden memory. "Oh — one last thing."
"Yes?"
> "Please make sure you mop the corridor. I forgot to do that, but the other things are done."
Evelina stared. "You forgot to mop?"
"You're welcome."
Mira chuckled behind them, tying Liana's sash. "Well, one of you better learn how to dance before the first trumpet blast."
As the castle bells chimed eight times in the distance, they both knew there was no turning back.
Liana reached for Evelina.
"I guess this is it."
The princess nodded, then — without warning — hugged her. Tightly. Firmly.
Liana froze. "You're hugging me?"
"I need this," Evelina whispered. "Also… don't die."
"Not planning to."
They broke apart.
Two lives.
One lie.
And a thousand things that could go wrong.