CHAPTER FIVE— The Girl Who Didn't Belong
Helena stood before the palace gates, clutching the strap of her worn bag so tightly her knuckles turned white.
The palace guards stared at her…
then at each other…
then at her again.
One scoffed loudly.
"This one?" he said to the others.
"She looks like she came from the forest, not the palace."
Another guard laughed.
"Go home, girl. This palace is not for your type."
Helena swallowed the pain.
Not because it didn't hurt —
but because she had no choice.
"I'm here for the job notice," she whispered.
The guard rolled his eyes.
"Fine. You can go in. But don't cry when they throw you out."
As Helena stepped through the gates, the scenery felt unreal —
tall obsidian pillars, marble floors so polished they reflected her tired face, and people dressed in rich, embroidered fabrics that made her patched dress look like a rag.
The palace was loud with whispers.
"Who is she?"
"She's dressed like a villager."
"She won't last an hour."
Helena pretended not to hear.
She kept walking.
Finally, she arrived at the recruitment hall — a grand room filled with dozens of beautiful, sophisticated women applying for the same jobs.
Every single one of them stopped talking the moment she entered.
Eyes scanned her from head to toe.
Her old shoes.
Her simple dress.
Her trembling hands.
Then the laughter started — quiet at first, then louder.
"Did she get lost?"
"Maybe she thought this was the market."
"She looks like she can't even read."
Helena's cheeks burned, but she lifted her chin.
She didn't come to impress them.
She came to save her grandmother.
A strict palace supervisor, Madam Rhoswen, stepped forward with a clipboard.
"Name," she demanded.
"Helena," she said softly.
The supervisor's eyebrow rose.
"Age?"
"Twenty."
"Experience?"
"I've cleaned houses, washed clothes, cooked for families, and assisted the healer in my village."
Several girls snickered behind her.
The supervisor didn't smile.
Instead, she turned the page of her clipboard.
"There is a written test and an interview. If you cannot read or write, step aside now."
A group of women boldly stepped in front of Helena, blocking her path.
"Move," one said arrogantly.
"You're wasting everyone's time."
Helena stepped aside silently… but not backward.
She walked around them and proceeded to the table.
The hall erupted in whispers.
"She's serious?"
"No way she can handle the questions."
"This will be amusing."
Helena sat at the small desk.
A quill.
Ink.
A paper with twenty questions.
She took a deep breath and read the first question:
1. Why do you wish to work in the royal palace?
Her hand didn't shake.
She wrote clearly:
"To earn enough to treat my grandmother, who raised me alone. I will work without complaint because I know what suffering feels like."
The supervisor walked past her, glanced at her answer… and stopped.
Her eyes widened slightly — the first sign of respect Helena had seen since she arrived.
Question after question, Helena answered calmly and intelligently.
2. What quality is most important for palace service?
"Discipline."
3. If confronted with danger, what should a palace worker do?
"Protect the royal property and alert the guards immediately."
4. What do you believe is your greatest strength?
"I learn fast."
5. Spell the word responsibility and define it.
Helena wrote it flawlessly.
Other applicants stared at her like she was a puzzle they couldn't solve.
When the written exam ended, Madam Rhoswen called names for the verbal interview.
Two girls failed immediately.
One girl burst into tears.
Another forgot basic etiquette.
Then—
"Helena."
She stepped forward.
The hall went silent.
Madam Rhoswen studied her like a rare stone.
"Your handwriting is excellent. Your answers are precise. But intelligence is not everything."
She circled Helena slowly.
"You do not look like the others. Why should we hire you?"
A cruel question.
The other girls smirked.
But Helena didn't lower her eyes.
"Because I work harder," she said simply.
"I don't have beauty or wealth. All I have is effort.
And effort does not fail."
The hall fell silent.
Madam Rhoswen raised a brow — impressed.
Another supervisor stepped forward.
"Do you know how to clean silver?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Polish marble floors?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Prepare herbal mixtures?"
"Yes. I helped our healer in the village."
A third supervisor joined in.
"Can you read maps?"
"Yes."
"The royal calendar system?"
"Yes."
"Do you know formal speech—?"
"Yes."
The supervisors looked at each other.
Madam Rhoswen closed her clipboard sharply.
"Congratulations," she declared loudly.
"You are hereby appointed as a palace maid in the East Wing."
Gasps filled the room.
"Her?!"
"That girl?!"
"There must be a mistake!"
But Helena just stood there, stunned.
She wasn't given the highest post.
She wasn't placed near the royals.
But she was accepted.
And for the first time that day, a small, shaky smile touched her lips.
She bowed deeply.
"Thank you… thank you so much."
As she walked out of the hall, the whispers changed.
"She's smarter than she looks."
"Who is she really?"
"She beat all of us…"
Helena didn't answer.
She just held her bag tighter.
It wasn't a high position.
It wasn't glamorous.
But it was a beginning.
And nothing — not the mockery, not the fear, not even fate — would stop her from fighting for her grandmother's life.