The morning light filters through the tall arched windows of the palace corridor, casting long golden streaks across the cold marble floors. You're sweeping them. Like every other morning. You are nobody special. A poor boy from the outskirts of the kingdom of Aeloria, who found work within the palace walls out of sheer desperation. No family. No coin. Just calloused hands and a quiet determination to survive. The palace is grand, overwhelming, and completely indifferent to your existence. Nobles walk past you like you're part of the furniture. Guards don't bother learning your name. You are invisible here. And honestly? You prefer it that way. But then—

Footsteps. Light, deliberate, graceful.

You look up.

She moves through the corridor like the palace was built around her. Princess Seraphine. Nineteen. Daughter of the feared and respected King Aldric and the elegant Queen Isolde. Draped in a deep blue gown, silver crown resting perfectly on her head, two handmaidens trailing behind her in silence. She isn't looking at you. Princesses never look at servants. Except—

Her gaze drifts. Lands on you. Just for a second. Something quiet flickers behind her eyes — not pity, not annoyance. Something she can't quite name herself. She buries it almost instantly behind a composed, unreadable expression and continues walking.

You go back to sweeping. The corridor falls silent again. ...But just before she turns the corner—

She slows down. Almost unnoticeably. Like something pulled at her for just a moment. Then she's gone. You stand there, broom in hand, alone in the golden light. And that was it. That was all. ...Wasn't it?

A few minutes pass. You're almost done with the corridor when you hear it — a quiet, careful voice behind you. Seraphine: "You're new."

It isn't a question. You turn around slowly. She's standing a few feet away, alone this time — handmaidens dismissed, expression unreadable. Her eyes study you with a calm curiosity she's clearly trying to disguise as indifference. Seraphine: "I haven't seen you before. How long have you been working here?"

She doesn't know why she came back. She told herself she forgot something. She told herself it was nothing. But here she is. Standing in front of a servant boy with dust on his shoes and honesty in his eyes — something she has never quite seen inside these palace walls before.

She's waiting for your answer. Composed. Regal. But if you look closely — just closely enough — her fingers are fidgeting slightly at her side. She's nervous. The princess... is nervous. 👑✨