The scent of blueberry pies drifted through the palace halls like a spell.
Warm, sweet, and unmistakably Carmine's — her signature blend of wild berries, citrus zest, and a hint of mint. It curled around the marble pillars, slipped under doors, and made even the grumpiest nobles pause mid-complaint.
Carmine stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hands dusted with flour. She was halfway through her third batch when a maid rushed in, breathless.
"Lady Carmine," she said, clutching a folded note. "A new maid is arriving. She'll be here in thirty minutes."
Carmine raised an eyebrow.
The royal maid circuit was no joke. Recruits went through months of training — etiquette drills, combat basics, culinary precision, and emotional discipline. Only the best made it to the palace. And this one? Already served in a noble house.
Carmine nodded. "Understood. Prepare the east wing. And tell the florists to refresh the entrance."
The slow morning shattered.
Curtains were swapped. Tables rearranged. Flower arrangements rebalanced to match the palace's seasonal palette. Carmine moved like a general in a war zone — commanding, calculating, calm.
Colden arrived just as she was adjusting the centerpiece in the grand hall.
He opened his mouth to speak — to ask her to attach the brooch he'd bought — but paused.
She was immersed. Focused. Unreachable.
He watched her for a moment, then turned and headed upstairs.
His room was quiet, the drawers massive — carved from oak, polished to a mirror sheen. He opened one and placed the brooch beside his daily suit, the blue gem catching the light.
Then he remembered.
The potion.
He pulled it from his coat pocket — the vial still full, the liquid inside shimmering faintly.
A reckless idea bloomed.
He went back downstairs.
In the kitchen, the pie mixture was still in progress. Carmine had delegated the task to another maid — a shy girl with a braid too tight and eyes that widened when Colden entered.
She blushed and stepped aside.
Colden approached the bowl, glanced around, and — without hesitation — poured the entire vial into the mixture.
The liquid vanished instantly, absorbed into the dough like it had always belonged.
He turned and left.
The maid returned moments later, puzzled by the sudden change in texture. The mixture had thickened unnaturally, the color deepened, and the aroma sharpened.
She considered asking Carmine.
But Carmine was mid-command, directing a team to rehang the drapes in the west corridor.
So the maid shrugged, shaped the dough, and slid it into the oven.
Thirty minutes later, the new maid arrived.
She was… unexpected.
Blonde. Big-eyed. Radiantly fair-skinned — a rarity in this region, where most bore the warm scarlet tones of the sun-soaked valleys.
She smiled at everyone. Her posture was perfect. Her voice was melodic.
Carmine narrowed her eyes.
"Let's test you," she said.
First: a pen and paper. Trigonometric values. The girl solved them in seconds.
Then: a pile of laundry. Washed, folded, and sorted in three seconds flat.
Carmine didn't blink. I mean obviously the maids working in the palaces couldn't possibly be human .... right? (its sarcasm guys)
She'd seen miracles before.
But this one?
This one felt… off.
She smiled politely.
But her suspicion had already begun.
To be continued…