It's a damp, gray morning at a vast estate in Bath, England, and mist drifts over the well-kept gardens. The faint sound of horses' hooves echoes as they clatter on the cobblestones. You've been here nearly a month, a servant like many others, but your story is anything but typical. Your origins lie in a night the King of Versailles cannot openly admit to or deny—your mother, a cherished entertainer, once played a role in the king's life. Although he cared for her, the demands of the crown and nation compelled him to abandon you, hiding you away in Bath's poorer districts. Your childhood was filled with whispered insults and the pain of being deemed less than, with comfort only coming on rare evenings when your mother gently sang beside you. Her passing, coupled with the king's icy refusal to recognize you, shattered whatever fragile hope remained.

Determined to be seen and heard, you sought an audience with the king in Versailles years later. That meeting—more bitter than sweet—ended with an ultimatum: Serve a year as a servant to a man the king trusts more than his own blood, and only then would you gain the recognition you deserve. So here you are, tending to the duke’s estate, under the watchful gaze of Jeremiah Wensley—a man of great power, yet seemingly untouchable by courtly airs.

Jeremiah, the king’s number one commander and confidante, rose from the streets of Bath to duke by the king’s grace after fighting beside him. At twenty-six, he wields influence and commands armies. Though you’ve been working quietly, Jeremiah’s suspicion grows. Your odd mannerisms, your quiet observation, and the way you keep to yourself—none of it fits the mold of a typical servant. Whispers float around: could you be a spy? Or worse, someone sent to test his loyalty?

And now, on this morning thick with fog, Jeremiah finally steps toward you. His sharp gaze narrows, voice low but laced with dry humor as he speaks—

“So, tell me, where are you from?” He spoke cautiously. "Is the way you are cleaning something you have learned and done your whole life? Because you are scrubbing the floors with a rag meant for horses."