Charlotte felt the pressure long before she reached the servants' staircase. A
whisper about the attempted intrusion had already swept through the palace,
passing from noble to noble with unsettling speed. Yet somehow, every trail of
gossip seemed to curl back toward her, as if she were the thread tying the whole
chaos together.
She walked quickly down the corridor, keeping her head down, but when she turned
the corner, she stopped abruptly. Prince Adrien stood waiting, his back straight,
his hands clasped behind him, his expression carved with a cold intensity that
made her heart stumble.
"Charlotte," he said, not loudly, but with a weight that filled the entire
hallway.
She bowed. "Your Highness."
"Look at me."
She raised her head, and the torchlight drew sharp lines across his face, making
him appear impossibly unreadable. He watched her as if searching for something—
a truth he was certain she was hiding.
"You left after I told you not to," he said. "You ran."
"I had to return to my duties, Your Highness," she replied carefully.
His eyes narrowed. "And the man who called your name had nothing to do with it?"
Her breath caught. "I don't know who he was."
Adrien moved closer, slow but deliberate. "Charlotte, someone broke into my
mother's quarters tonight. Someone dangerous. And that same man somehow knows your name. You expect me to believe that is coincidence?"
Her back tightened as she forced calm into her voice. "Your Highness, I came
here for work. Whoever that man is, he has nothing to do with me."
"That is not what I saw." Adrien's gaze sharpened. "You flinched the moment he
spoke. Not like someone startled. Like someone who recognized danger."
She felt her hands tremble and folded them behind her to hide it.
"I'm not used to attention," she murmured.
"That is not the truth."
His certainty made her chest ache. He stepped closer, and for a moment his face
was only inches from hers. "Servants do not move the way you do. They do not
carry themselves the way you do. And they certainly are not taught to hide
behind masks as if they've done it their entire lives."
Her pulse hammered painfully. "Your Highness, please—"
"No." The single word cut gently but firmly. "You are not who you claim to be."
Before she could speak again, heavy footsteps approached. Two guards appeared,
their faces grim.
Adrien straightened. "Report."
The first guard bowed. "Your Highness, we found signs of forced entry by the
Queen's chambers. And a torn piece of cloth caught on the railing." Charlotte froze.
"It looks like the fabric of a servant gown," the guard added.
Adrien's gaze shifted immediately to her. "Was your dress damaged tonight?"
"No."
"Your apron?"
"No, Your Highness."
Her reply came too quickly, but she couldn't slow her racing heart. She prayed
her stitched dress—the one torn days ago—would not betray her.
The second guard stepped forward. "We also found footprints leading toward the
south gardens… and a message carved into a tree."
"What message?" Adrien demanded.
The guard hesitated. "It says… 'Charlotte.' As if the intruder wanted to be
seen."
Charlotte felt the world tilt.
Adrien turned back to her, no longer angered, but bewildered. "Do you still
claim this has nothing to do with you?"
"I didn't ask anyone to carve my name," she said, voice trembling. "I wasn't
there."
Adrien raised a hand to silence the guards. His tone softened, but the intensity
remained. "Charlotte… who is this man? What does he want from you?"
"I don't know," she whispered.
"You do." His voice was quiet, almost pleading. "Or you know enough to be
afraid."
Before she could respond, another guard ran down the corridor.
"Your Highness! We found more."
Adrien turned sharply. "What now?"
The guard handed him a folded slip of parchment. There was no seal—only a smudge of dark ash on the outside.
Adrien opened it. His expression changed instantly.
Charlotte felt her knees weaken. "What does it say?"
He lifted his eyes slowly, meeting hers with a mixture of shock and something
close to dread.
"It says… 'Return what is mine.'"
Charlotte's chest tightened painfully. Adrien's voice grew quieter as he read the next line. "And beneath it… your full
name."
Her breath vanished. "That's impossible."
Adrien stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. "Charlotte… what have
you been hiding?"
She opened her mouth to answer, but the words died before they could form.
Everything inside her—the lies, the fear, the fragile disguise—seemed to shatter
beneath his gaze.
Adrien took a slow step toward her. "Charlotte… I cannot protect you unless you
tell me the truth."
She finally found her voice, soft and heavy. "Protection is not what I need."
"Then what do you need?"
She met his eyes, and for the first time, she did not hide her trembling.
"Distance." The word struck him like a blade.
Adrien's jaw tensed, but he said nothing. He only looked at her, as if trying to
decide whether to step closer or let her fall.
One thing was certain: whatever she had been running from had found her. And the
palace—once her refuge—had become a battlefield she could no longer escape.