The morning sun fell gently over the Marquis' estate, casting golden light across its ivory walls.
Every servant was in a frenzy—scrubbing, polishing, rushing—because today, the Crown Prince himself would visit.
Elaine adjusted her apron and tried to keep her expression calm as the head maid's voice rang through the hall:
"Everything must be spotless! His Highness arrives within the hour—move, move!"
The air smelled of lemon oil and nervous sweat. Even the flowers seemed to stand straighter in their vases.
For everyone, this was a day of pride.
For Elaine, it was a countdown.
In the novel, this was the day the Crown Prince first met the Saintess and destiny began to move.
And with that came every tragedy she remembered — the war, the blood, her death.
Her pulse quickened.
If this is when the story begins… then I need to be careful not to change anything yet.
The sound of hooves echoed from outside. A trumpet announced the royal arrival.
Elaine hurried to the main corridor, falling in line with the other maids. Her place was near the back, head bowed.
Then the great doors opened, and Crown Prince Lucien Ardel entered.
He was dressed in white and gold, his blonde hair shining like sunlight against his fair skin. His green eyes swept the hall, sharp but not cold — the gaze of a ruler who was both warrior and gentleman.
A faint smile touched his lips as he greeted the Marquis and Lady Celestine.
"It has been too long, Lord Armand. And you must be Lady Celestine — the one spoken of in the temple's prophecies."
His voice was smooth and warm, but formal. Celestine blushed slightly, bowing with grace.
"It's an honor, Your Highness."
The nobles began their rehearsed pleasantries, their laughter light and practiced.
Elaine exhaled quietly, relieved. Good. He's focused on Celestine, just like in the story.
But fate had other plans.
***********************************
It was time to serve the nobles tea and suddenly the young maid beside Elaine stumbled and her tray slipped, the polished silverware clattering toward the marble floor. Without thinking, Elaine moved—catching the tray just before it could hit the Prince.
But the sudden motion drew every eye in the room.
The hall fell silent.
The next thing she knew, the Crown Prince himself was walking toward her, curiosity flickering in his gaze.
"Impressive reflexes," he said lightly. "Are you unharmed?"
Elaine froze, bowing quickly. "Forgive me, Your Highness. It was my mistake."
"Was it?"
His tone was teasing, but his eyes—green and bright as spring—studied her with disarming focus.
Up close, he was almost unreal. His uniform glimmered under the light, the faint scent of metal and cedarwood surrounding him.
"What is your name?"
Elaine's throat went dry. "...Elaine, Your Highness."
He smiled faintly. "Elaine. That's a pretty name for a brave girl."
Her heart skipped. No. No, no, no. This wasn't supposed to happen.
In the novel, Lucien never noticed Elaine. His first smile was meant for Celestine, not her.
But here he was, looking at her as though she were someone he wanted to remember.
Celestine, standing nearby, watched quietly — a flicker of confusion in her golden eyes before she smiled again, unbothered.
Lucien straightened, turning back toward her. "Forgive the distraction, my lady. I seem to have delayed our introductions."
Celestine laughed softly. "Not at all, Your Highness. Elaine often ends up saving people from small disasters."
Lucien glanced over his shoulder, amused. "Then I owe her my thanks."
He left it at that, moving to speak with the Marquis, but Elaine couldn't shake the strange heat in her cheeks or the tremor in her chest.
***********************************
Later, after the feast had ended and the corridors had emptied, Elaine lingered to collect the leftover goblets.
The candlelight flickered faintly over the marble walls. She could still hear the echo of Lucien's voice — warm, confident, too kind for a prince who'd one day be at war.
"You weren't supposed to notice me", she thought. "Why did you look at me like that?"
The sound of boots stopped her hand.
"Still working?"
Elaine turned sharply. Lucien leaned against the doorway, his jacket unbuttoned, his posture relaxed but regal all the same.
"Y-Your Highness!" she stammered, dropping into a curtsy.
He chuckled quietly. "Relax. I only came back to say thank you properly."
"It was nothing, Your Highness."
"Perhaps to you," he said softly, stepping closer, "but not to me. Few servants would risk attention to fix a mistake not their own."
Elaine lowered her eyes. "I only did what anyone should do."
Lucien smiled, faintly but genuine. "Still, I'm glad you did."
For a heartbeat, silence hung between them — not awkward, but weighted.
Then, with a faint bow, he turned toward the door.
"Sleep well, Elaine."
Her name sounded strange on his tongue — too gentle, too intimate for what they were.
When he was gone, she pressed a trembling hand against her chest.
"This isn't right," she whispered. "You weren't supposed to look at me."
But the truth was there in her reflection — the faint, reluctant smile curving her lips.
And far away, beyond the city's light, in the depth of a dark forest, a shadow stirred awake — sensing the first ripple of change in fate.