The night was heavy, shadows stretching long across the staff dormitory. Carmine lay in her room, her body still but her mind restless.
The door creaked open, and a figure slipped inside. His steps were silent, his dagger gleaming faintly in the moonlight. He approached the bed, rolled back the blanket, and found only a pillow.
Before he could react, the door slammed shut behind him. Carmine leapt from the darkness, striking with precision.
She grappled with him, her hands clawing at the mask that concealed his face. But the intruder was swift, twisting away, refusing to be unmasked.
He lunged for the door, but Carmine's blade flashed, slicing his hand. He staggered, wounded, before fleeing into the night.
Glinda appeared moments later, her eyes sharp. "What happened? Why did you let the burglar run away?"
Carmine smirked, her breath steady despite the fight. "He isn't far now. We'll find him."
The next morning, the kitchen was alive with chaos. Glinda barked instructions, her voice sharp, her hands moving with relentless speed. The staff scrambled, alarmed by her demands. But when Colden entered, the room fell silent.
"Remain working," he said firmly, his tone calm. The staff froze, stunned by his modesty. Royalty usually treated the kitchens as a stage for their whims, inspecting every corner, issuing useless orders. But Colden did none of that. He simply observed, his presence steady, his words measured.
He approached Glinda, his voice kind and solemn. "Excuse me… have you seen Carmine?"
Glinda blinked, shocked. "Oh—oh yes. She's still in her dorm. I should probably go get her."
Colden shook his head. "No. Don't worry. I'll check on her myself. The incident last night must have shaken her badly."
Glinda watched him go, her chest tightening with something unfamiliar. Kindness. A significance she had never felt before — not from her mother, not from anyone. For the first time, she saw Colden not as a prince, but as a man who carried compassion in his crown.
To be continued…