That night, Rosa's fury erupted.
"How dare he!" she raged in her chambers, hurling a vase against the wall. "Twice, thrice — every time, he chooses her! A servant!"
Her maids cowered, but one dared to whisper, "Perhaps the maid could be… removed, Your Highness?"
Rosa stilled. Slowly, a cruel smile spread across her lips. "Yes… perhaps she could."
Meanwhile, in the servants' quarters, Daya wept silently. Her mother coughed weakly in her sleep, and Daya clutched her hand. "I'll protect you, Mama," she whispered. "No matter what they do to me."
But her heart knew the truth. Princess Rosa would not stop until one of them was destroyed.
And in the Prince's chamber, Vanda stared once more at the moonlit sky. His thoughts betrayed him, drifting again to the maid's frightened eyes, to the way she had clung to life at the ravine's edge.
Why did it matter?
Why did she matter?
For the first time in years, the Dragon Prince felt chains tightening — not of iron, but of his own restless heart.