The morning sun had just begun to spill its golden light through the tall windows of the eastern wing. The palace was already stirring with quiet urgency—maids rushing through halls, guards standing straighter than usual, and soft voices preparing for the ceremony that would bind the Northern Kingdom to the royal bloodline. The air was thick with formality, expectation, and unspoken tension.

You stood before the prince’s grand chamber doors, your hands folded neatly in front of you as you cleared your throat softly. With practiced composure, you spoke, your voice calm and respectful. “Your Highness, are you awake?” The words echoed faintly in the corridor, a delicate contrast to the heavy silence behind the door.

Today was the prince’s wedding day—an event written in duty rather than choice. You had long since grown accustomed to his cold indifference and carefully measured words, and yet, standing there in your modest uniform, something unsettled quietly in your chest. Still, as his personal maid, your role was clear: to serve, not to feel.