The palace sleeps above me, yet I cannot.
When others rest, I scrub. My fingers ache around the wooden handle of the brush, the scent of soap clinging to my skin. Water seeps through the seams of my shoes, cold enough to sting. Old Bella hums beside me, her voice soft as the dust we wipe away.
“You think too loud, daughter,” she mutters after a while, wringing her rag with hands so wrinkled they look carved from river stone. “It’s louder than the floors creak.”
I smile faintly, keeping my gaze on the marble. “Nothing to think about, Bella.”
She snorts. “There’s always something. What bothers you, daughter?”
I want to tell her she should say seamstress, not daughter, but she’s too old to remember, and perhaps too kind for correction. So I keep scrubbing, watching the suds drift like ghosts.
“It’s nothing,” I murmur.
“Come now.” Her laugh is a rasp softened by time. “I’m an old cleaning lady. My memory’s bad and my mouth’s worse. I won’t tell a soul—swear it by my knees, though they ache enough to count as saints by now.”
I sigh, setting the brush aside. The silence between us stretches, heavy and safe. “The prince seems to favor me,” I say at last. “He helps me and my child, though I don’t know why. I can’t accept it.”
Bella chuckles low in her throat. “Why not?”
“He’s making me stand out among others,” I admit, tracing a fingertip through the water. “It’s not fair. There are women here who’ve worked longer, who bow lower. I’m no one special.”
She leans her elbow on the bucket and looks at me with eyes that have seen too much. “Child, in this life there won’t be too many times someone—especially a prince—will look at you like you’re worth notice. If it happens, take it.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “And what’s the worst that could happen?”
“You could get kicked out,” she mimics me with a grin missing two teeth. “But the prince himself favors you, daughter. You won’t be kicked out. And besides…” She tilts her head. “You favor him too, don’t you?”
The brush slips from my grasp and clatters into the bucket. The sound echoes down the empty hall. I don’t answer, but my silence does it for me.
Bella just laughs again, that soft, creaky laugh of old bones and knowing hearts. “Ah. So that’s it.”
I rise to my feet, wiping my wet hands on my apron. “It isn’t that, Bella. It’s impossible.”
She shrugs. “Impossible things happen every day in this palace. I’ve seen dishes sing and candles weep. Love’s a simpler curse than both.”
I shake my head, smiling in spite of myself. “You should rest.”
“And you should stop running from what’s plain to see.”
Her words follow me down the corridor long after I leave.
***
By morning, my resolve is thin as thread.
The red dress hangs where I left it, bright in the gray light. It glows softly—almost alive. I run my hand down the fabric. It feels warm, though no sun touches it. Across the bed lies the old gray uniform, rough and comfortingly dull.
I stare between them for what feels like hours. My heart tells me one thing; my fear tells me another.
When I finally open the door to the seamstresses’ hall, the decision has already been made.
The room bursts with chatter until they see me. Then the sound dies. Dozens of eyes turn. Brina, small and golden-haired, gasps loudest. “Lara—what in heavens are you wearing?”
I walk between the rows of desks, keeping my head high though heat crawls up my neck. The fabric whispers with every step, silk brushing against stone. “My new uniform,” I answer softly, settling at my place.
Brina leans forward, eyes round. “That goes against dress code! You’ll get punished for sure.”
“Prince Aldric ordered me to wear it,” I whisper back. “He scolded me for refusing.”
Her hand flies to her mouth. “The prince—?”
Before I can hush her, a sharp scent of perfume cuts the air. The room freezes.
Lady Seraphine glides in.
Every seamstress lowers her head. The sound of needles stops. Only the slow tap of Seraphine’s heels fills the hall. She inspects the rows with idle cruelty, her smile poised and perfect. Then she stops beside me.
Her shadow falls over my table. “What are you wearing?” she demands.
I lift my gaze carefully. “My new uniform, Your Highness.”
Her eyes narrow. “You dare to wear that in my palace? Violating dress code, breaking every rule of order, and you have the audacity to call it a uniform?”
The room holds its breath. I barely manage to answer, “It was ordered by—”
Her hand shoots out, gripping my arm hard enough to bruise. She yanks me up from my seat. The other seamstresses gasp, scattering backward.
“Listen, little rat,” she hisses, her nails biting into my skin. “I’ll have you thrown out of here in no—”
“You won’t.”
The voice cuts through the hall like steel drawn from its sheath.
Every head turns. Prince Aldric stands at the doorway, still as a statue, his eyes hard enough to splinter glass.
Seraphine stiffens but doesn’t release me. “My prince,” she says sweetly, “this seamstress—”
“I ordered Venn to wear that,” Aldric interrupts, stepping forward. His tone is calm, but each word lands like a hammer. “And you will not deny my orders.”
Her lips twitch. “Your orders were—”
“My orders,” he says again, quieter now, “are law.”
For a moment, she looks ready to spit venom. Instead, she swallows it. Her grip tightens once, sharp enough to make me flinch, then she releases my arm. “As you wish, my prince.”
The air hums with tension as she turns away, her heels clacking in furious rhythm across the floor. The heavy doors close behind her with a sound like thunder.
Silence. Aldric’s gaze shifts from the door to me. His expression softens—barely. “Are you hurt?”
“No, Your Majesty,” I manage, though my arm throbs beneath the sleeve.
He nods once, then turns to the others. “From this moment forward, Venn will serve as Head Seamstress of the palace. Her work and word will represent mine. You will obey her.”
A collective murmur ripples through the hall. Brina’s mouth falls open; Lise stares at me as though I’ve just turned to gold. My heart pounds so hard I fear the whole room can hear it.
Aldric looks back at me, the briefest flicker of something unreadable in his eyes—pride, maybe, or warning. Then he nods toward the exit.
“Follow me.”
My legs feel like water. I can’t think, can’t breathe, but I move. The seamstresses part before me, whispering in awe and fear. The hem of my red dress brushes their skirts as I pass. For the first time, I feel the weight of what I wear—not just silk, but danger, stitched into every seam.
When the door closes behind us, I realize I’m trembling. The hall beyond is empty, silent. Aldric waits a few paces ahead, his shoulders squared, his expression unreadable.
The prince favors me, Bella said. And perhaps she was right—
But favor, in a palace like this, is as sharp as any blade.