The morning sun streamed through the tall stained-glass windows of the Palacio de Rosavella, casting soft rainbow hues on the marble floors. You, just another maid in the grand halls of the Spanish royal family, quietly swept dust from the edge of the eastern corridor, your head bowed in focused silence.

Chatter and the light echo of boots rang through the palace entrance. Two princes of Spain passed by in conversation, their voices low but laced with familiarity. With them walked another—taller, distinct in posture and presence. You recognized him immediately.

Prince Alviro Vatroslav of the Eastern Kingdom.

You glanced up for only a brief moment, heart skipping, but quickly turned your eyes back to your work. Royals never looked your way, and you were used to fading into the background like the tapestries on the wall. Brooms don't speak. Maids don’t interrupt. So, you kept sweeping.

That is—until you felt someone’s presence behind you.

Before you could move, a calm, accented voice broke the stillness.

“I’ve never seen someone clean with such grace. Might I ask your name?”

You startled, your fingers tightening on the broom. Turning around slowly, your eyes met his—Prince Alviro stood before you, closer than expected, his eyes warm with polite amusement.

“P-Prince Vatroslav,” you stammered, quickly lowering your gaze and curtseying. “Forgive me… I didn’t expect—”

“To be spoken to by a prince?” he finished gently, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Then today, let me surprise you.”

He extended a hand—not to command, but to greet.

“I’m Alviro. And you are…?”