The palace was never truly quiet. Even at dawn, when the sky was a muted wash of gray and the air still carried the chill of the night, there were footsteps in the corridors, hushed voices echoing against gilded walls, and the clatter of servants hurrying to complete their endless tasks.
Eunji woke early, as she had every day since she had been forced into this life. Her thin blanket barely kept out the cold, and her bones ached from the hard mattress. It was nothing like the warm bed she had known in her father's home, with its thick quilts and embroidered pillows. That world felt like a dream now, fading a little more each time she opened her eyes to the gray stone ceiling of the servants' quarters.
She rose quietly, careful not to disturb the others, and tied her hair back. Today, she was assigned to the east wing—a section of the palace she had not yet grown accustomed to. Its corridors were lined with shelves of scrolls, gifts from foreign dignitaries, and relics of dynasties long past. Dusting them took hours, and Eunji had learned quickly that each item was watched closely. A single misstep, a smudge, or a scratch could mean punishment.
But she worked steadily, her mind elsewhere. She still remembered the encounter from the previous evening—the prince, Minho, standing before her with his sharp eyes and infuriating smirk. His arrogance had burned her pride, yet… something else lingered too. His presence unsettled her, and though she hated to admit it, her heart had betrayed her with its quickened pace.
She forced the memory away and focused on her work, wiping carefully at a lacquered box with dragons painted across its surface. Yet even then, her thoughts betrayed her. Why had he singled her out? Why speak to her, when hundreds of maids moved through these halls every day?
Her answer came sooner than she expected.
"Still here?" The voice carried smoothly across the room, low and teasing.
Eunji stiffened. She knew that voice. Slowly, she turned, dusting cloth clutched tightly in her hand.
Prince Minho leaned against the doorway, his robe of deep blue embroidered with silver patterns that caught the morning light. His arms were crossed loosely, and his gaze—sharp, assessing, and infuriatingly amused—rested solely on her.
"Y-Your Highness," Eunji stammered, bowing quickly.
"Didn't I tell you to call me Minho?" he asked, raising a brow.
Eunji straightened but kept her eyes lowered. "I cannot. It would be improper."
"Improper?" He stepped into the room, the sound of his boots soft against the polished floor. "And yet here you are, speaking to me alone. Do you think that looks proper?"
Her head shot up, eyes narrowing. "I did not ask for this conversation, Your Highness. I am simply doing my duties."
His smile widened, pleased by her defiance. "And yet, you answer me so boldly. Most maids tremble in silence when I enter a room. You, however…" He tilted his head, studying her. "You seem determined to fight me with every word."
Eunji clenched the cloth tighter. "Perhaps it is because I have nothing left to lose."
That silenced him, though only briefly. His expression softened for just a flicker, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual arrogance.
"Nothing to lose, and yet here you are, fighting to keep your place," Minho said. He circled the shelves slowly, his fingers grazing along the wood, though his eyes never left her. "Tell me, Eunji. Do you hate me?"
The question startled her. "What?"
"Do you hate me?" he repeated calmly, as though discussing the weather. "Most people do, in their own way. Some envy me, some despise me. I wonder which you are."
Eunji hesitated, then forced the words out. "I don't hate you, Your Highness. But I don't… admire you either."
Minho's laugh echoed through the chamber. "How refreshingly honest. You should be careful with such honesty. This palace devours those who speak too freely."
Eunji turned away, focusing once more on her dusting, though her hands trembled slightly. "If you're here to mock me, please leave. I have much work to do."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, unexpectedly, his tone shifted.
"I saw you yesterday," Minho said quietly.
Her hand froze mid-motion. "Saw me?"
"At the banquet hall," he continued. "You thought you were invisible, didn't you? Serving with your head down, avoiding every glance. But I saw you. I always do."
Eunji's breath caught. She kept her gaze firmly on the shelf, refusing to turn. "You should not notice me at all. I am no one."
"That is where you're wrong," he said, stepping closer. "You are someone, Eunji. And that is precisely why you unsettle me."
Her heart pounded in her chest, but she forced her voice steady. "I am a maid. Nothing more."
"Then why," Minho asked softly, now standing only a step behind her, "do I find myself here, speaking to you, when I should be anywhere else?"
Eunji turned sharply, putting distance between them. Her face burned, but her resolve held. "Because you enjoy tormenting people. That is all."
Minho chuckled, but there was no cruelty in it this time. Instead, there was something else—something almost wistful. "Perhaps you are right. Or perhaps not."
He gave her one last glance, then walked away, his footsteps fading down the hall.
Eunji stood frozen, her breath uneven, her thoughts a storm. She hated how easily he disarmed her, how his words pierced through the walls she tried so desperately to build.
But more than anything, she hated the truth that pulsed in her chest: no matter how much she resisted, her heart had already begun to betray her.
When Eunji finally escaped the east wing, her hands were red from scrubbing and her legs ached from standing too long. Yet it wasn't the work that weighed on her—it was his words. I always see you. They repeated in her mind, refusing to quiet.
She hurried toward the servants' quarters, determined to lose herself in routine, but she didn't make it far before voices stopped her.
"…always sneaking around…"
"…the prince looks her way too often."
"…she'll regret it if she thinks she's special."
The whispers came from a cluster of maids gathered near the washroom, their eyes darting toward her before flicking away. Eunji felt the sting of their suspicion. Ever since she'd entered the palace, they had treated her as an outsider. She was too proud, too different, and now—because Minho's gaze had lingered on her once too often—they treated her with hostility.
Eunji drew a steadying breath and walked past them without a word, but their laughter followed, thin and cruel. It echoed in her ears long after she had slipped inside her chamber.
She lay on her narrow cot that night, staring at the ceiling. It wasn't fair. She hadn't asked for his attention. She hadn't asked for him to stand so close, to speak with words that tied knots in her chest. And yet the world would always blame her, never him. A prince's whims were forgiven. A maid's supposed ambitions were not.
The next morning brought no relief. The palace hummed with preparations for the Queen's upcoming gathering—a smaller affair than a grand ball, but significant nonetheless. Eunji's duties shifted to polishing silver, arranging flowers, and carrying messages between the kitchens and the great hall.
She worked quietly, determined not to draw notice, but her resolve faltered when she caught sight of Minho in the garden. He walked beside the Queen, their figures framed by cherry trees just beginning to bud.
The Queen's posture was regal, her tone measured, but Eunji caught fragments of her words as she passed with a tray.
"…time to consider your future…"
"…daughters of noble families…"
"…the kingdom needs stability."
Eunji lowered her gaze quickly, but not before she saw the tension in Minho's jaw. His expression remained polite, but his eyes flicked briefly, searching the courtyard—and found her.
It was only a second. A glance so fleeting that it might have meant nothing. But Eunji felt it like a spark. Her steps faltered, her tray wobbled, and she forced herself onward before anyone else could notice.
That evening, Minho sought her again.
She was arranging linens in one of the smaller halls when the door opened softly. His voice came low, almost cautious.
"You've been avoiding me."
Eunji spun, her heart leaping. "Your Highness—"
"Minho," he corrected, stepping inside.
She shook her head firmly. "I cannot. The others already whisper. If they see us together—"
"Let them whisper." His tone was sharper than before, the arrogance slipping back into place like armor. "Why should I care what maids say?"
"Because I am the one they blame," Eunji shot back, her frustration breaking through. "Every glance, every word—it costs me. Not you."
The silence that followed was thick. Minho's expression shifted, the sharpness fading. For once, he looked less like a prince and more like a young man, uncertain and conflicted.
"I don't mean to make things harder for you," he said quietly.
"Then stop seeking me out," Eunji whispered. Her voice trembled despite her resolve.
He stepped closer, close enough that she could see the faint crease in his brow, the hesitation in his usually steady gaze. "Do you truly want me to?"
Her breath caught. She should have said yes. She should have ended it there, spared herself the trouble. But the words refused to leave her lips.
Instead, she whispered, "I don't know."
For a long moment, they stood in silence, the unspoken pulling tighter between them.
Finally, Minho gave a small, almost rueful smile. "Then until you do, I'll keep finding you."
And with that, he turned and left, leaving Eunji trembling in the quiet hall, her heart betraying her yet again.