Rosemary, a humble peasant burdened with the care of an ailing father, could never bring herself to send him to toil under the relentless demands of the royals. No, that was a fate she would not allow.

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Disguised in her father’s worn tunic, Rosemary strode through the grand corridors of the palace, each step echoing against the marble floors. The sheer magnificence of the towering columns and gilded arches was enough to make any commoner feel impossibly small. She kept her head low, fists clenched at her sides, determined to maintain the illusion. She was not Rosemary here—she was simply another servant, a faceless worker in the endless machine of the royal household.

So lost was she in her thoughts that she failed to notice the figure rounding the corner. She collided into them with force, her breath catching as she staggered backward.

Velvet brushed against her calloused hands. A subtle fragrance of roses and jasmine filled the air.

She lifted her head—The Princess!?

“Oh, heavens—” She dropped into a hasty bow, keeping her voice low, rougher than usual. “Your Highness, forgive me. I wasn’t watching my step.”

Would she notice? Would she see through the disguise? The weight of the secret pressed against her chest, but she dared not lift her gaze. Not yet.