She left without looking back.
The door closed behind Samara with a soft click—one that echoed far louder in her chest than it should have. She paused just outside the cottage, fingers tightening briefly around the strap of her bag as if grounding herself. The morning air was cool, heavy with the scent of damp earth and distant pine. Dawn had not yet fully broken; the sky hovered between indigo and gray.
It felt final.
She had left before—countless times. Into the woods. Into danger. Into uncertainty. But this time was different. This time, there was no clear path back. No certainty that the house would still be standing when she returned.
'If she returned at all.'
Samara adjusted her hood and started down the narrow path leading away from the cottage. Each step carried her farther from familiarity, farther from the quiet life Elise had forced upon her. The bracelet rested lightly against her wrist, deceptively ordinary. She glanced at it more than once, half-expecting it to glow, to hum, to reveal some hidden truth.
It did nothing.
And yet—she could feel it.
The forest welcomed her like an old acquaintance. Branches whispered overhead, shadows stretched lazily across the path. Normally, this was where she felt most at ease. Today, unease lingered beneath her skin, coiled and restless.
The ring's imprint was gone.
She flexed her fingers, staring at her palm as she walked. The faint pressure she had grown accustomed to—the sense of something tethered to her—had vanished the moment she put on the bracelet.
That unsettled her more than the ring ever had.
Elise never gave anything without reason.
By the time the sun crested the horizon, Samara reached the main road. The dirt path widened, carved deep by years of wagon wheels and boots. Merchants would pass through here soon. Guards, too. Mora lay less than a day's journey ahead.
The capital.
She had heard stories all her life—everyone had.
White stone towers that pierced the clouds. Corridors so vast they swallowed sound. A palace that glittered by day and whispered secrets by night. Mora was said to be beautiful.
They also said it devoured the unwary.
Samara picked up her pace.
As the hours passed, the road grew busier. Wagons creaked past, laden with produce and fabric. A pair of traders offered her bread in exchange for directions. She declined politely and moved on. She didn't want to linger.
She didn't want to be remembered.
The forest gradually receded, replaced by open land and rolling hills. With every step, the world felt sharper, louder—less forgiving.
By midday, Mora came into view.
The city rose from the land like something unreal, its massive walls gleaming pale beneath the sun. Tall banners fluttered from the ramparts, bearing the royal crest. Beyond them, spires and towers climbed skyward, elegant and imposing.
Samara slowed despite herself.
'So this is it.'
The gates were crowded—travelers, hopefuls, soldiers inspecting documents. Samara joined the line, her expression carefully neutral. When it was her turn, the guard barely spared her a glance before waving her through.
Just like that, she crossed the threshold.
Inside, the city pulsed with life. Streets twisted and branched in every direction, lined with shops and stacked homes. Voices overlapped—vendors shouting, laughter ringing, hooves striking stone. The air smelled of iron, spice, and sun-warmed stone.
She moved carefully, alert.
Not far from the gate, she spotted the notices Elise had mentioned. Parchment sheets were nailed to posts and walls, the ink still dark and fresh.
PALACE MAIDS REQUIRED. IMMEDIATE SERVICE.
Her jaw tightened.
So Elise truly did have eyes everywhere.
Samara followed the signs deeper into the city until the streets widened and the crowds shifted. She arrived at the servants' intake hall just as another group was being ushered inside.
The process was quick—almost too quick.
Name.
Age.
Origin.
"No family?" the intake clerk asked without looking up.
Samara hesitated. "None that matter."
The clerk nodded as though that were the most convenient answer she could have given.
"And your reason for seeking service under the royal family?" the clerk asked, finally glancing up—her gaze sharp, as if warning Samara to choose her words carefully.
Samara met her eyes calmly. "I admire the royal family and wish to serve them to the best of my ability. And," she added evenly, "I require the income."
The clerk studied her for a moment, then hummed. "Fair enough."
She handed Samara a form. "Go outside and board one of the carriages. You'll be taken beyond the capital for training. Your abilities will be assessed, and placement will be decided accordingly."
Samara accepted the form and bowed. "Thank you."
Outside, six carriages waited, most already filled. She approached a nearby guard, who gestured her toward the nearest one. As she stepped inside, five pairs of eyes turned to look at her.
She offered an awkward smile and took an empty seat.
The girls looked young—bright-eyed, excited—except for one who sat quietly, her expression unreadable.
"Hello! I'm Stacey," one girl said at last. She was petite, blonde, with a cheerful smile.
Samara nodded lightly. "Nice to meet you. I'm Samara."
"Samara," another chimed in, smiling warmly. "That's a beautiful name. I'm Lina."
Samara returned the smile in acknowledgment. Before anything more could be said, a guard outside shouted for the carriage to move.
The wheels lurched forward, cutting their conversation short.
Lina leaned closer, eyes bright with curiosity. "So… Samara, what do you hope to achieve if you're chosen?"
Samara maintained her polite expression, though inwardly she groaned. The other girls quieted, clearly interested in her answer.
"Well," she said calmly, "the palace pays well. I'd like to save enough money to open my own restaurant someday."
The carriage fell silent.
Shock flickered across their faces. Most girls dreamt of romance, of status—of princes. Not coin.
Samara tilted her head slightly. "Nothing makes me happier than money. What about you, Lina?"
Lina laughed awkwardly, clearly trying to ease the tension. "I… I want to become a concubine someday. For one of the princes," she admitted shyly. "I mean, that's almost everyone's dream here."
Samara blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. She recovered quickly.
"That's… admirable," she said after a beat. "I suppose I think of it sometimes, too."
A quiet girl finally spoke. "But you said you loved money."
Samara let out a small laugh. "I was curious what everyone else wanted first," she replied smoothly. "It was only a statement."
She kept her smile steady.
No one noticed the effort it took.