The sun had barely risen when the palace buzzed with a rare energy. Word spread quickly that King Edmund of a neighboring kingdom would arrive unannounced for a private audience with Queen Isolde.
Preparations were hurried, servants moving with a quiet urgency that spoke of unspoken expectation. Charlotte felt the tension immediately. This visit was not routine. Something in the air pressed heavily, sharper than usual, and every glance carried caution.
She was stationed near the entrance of the audience chamber, her hands folded neatly, eyes alert. Prince Adrien arrived quietly at her side. "Be ready," he said. "This will not be ordinary."
Charlotte nodded, understanding him perfectly. She had been instructed to serve, to observe, and, above all, to remain composed. But today, composure would mean more than etiquette—it would be survival.
The doors opened and the King entered, regal yet imposing, his entourage following closely. His presence filled the chamber, commanding attention without words. As the courtiers and servants fell into their assigned positions, Charlotte's eyes flicked to the refreshments laid out for the meeting: fine crystal glasses, decanters of aged wine, delicate platters of fruit and pastries. Everything gleamed, almost too perfect, almost deliberate.
Margaret of Blackwell lingered near the doorway, her gaze calculating, lips curved faintly in a smile that was anything but friendly. Eleanor watched from the shadows of the chamber, unreadable, while Clara and Anne whispered lightly to one another, their voices low but sharp enough to carry tension.
Charlotte approached to attend the refreshments, her movements measured. Adrien stayed just behind her, hand ready at her elbow. "Watch everything," he said quietly. "Trust no one."
Charlotte inclined her head, moving to serve the King a glass of wine. Her fingers brushed the crystal lightly, testing weight, stability, presence. Her mind raced with possibilities, every instinct alert.
The King lifted the glass, toasting the Queen with a courteous smile. Charlotte stepped back, maintaining the perfect posture of attentive service. The moment stretched. Then, almost imperceptibly, she noticed a subtle change in the King's expression—a slight hesitation, a faint tightening around his eyes. She glanced at the glass again, her heart catching. Something had been done.
Adrien noticed it too, his gaze sharp. He leaned slightly toward her. "He hesitated," he murmured. "Alert me if there's movement."
Charlotte's hands remained steady, though tension coiled in her chest. She watched as the King lifted the glass, bringing it slowly toward his lips. The courtiers whispered faintly, oblivious, or perhaps too intimidated to act. Margaret's eyes glimmered, and Eleanor's gaze lingered on Charlotte, measuring her response silently.
Before the King could drink, Charlotte moved subtly, signaling Adrien with the faintest nod. He understood immediately. In a quiet, almost invisible gesture, he stepped closer, hand on her elbow, and shifted the glass just enough that the King paused again.
"Everything all right?" the King asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Charlotte said calmly, her voice steady despite the coil of pressure tightening around her. "May I ensure the wine is properly poured?"
The King inclined his head, trusting her subtly. Adrien's presence beside her reassured her silently, though the risk was enormous. She felt every heartbeat, every microsecond stretched like a taut string. Margaret's smile flickered. Eleanor's eyes darkened with interest, and Charlotte realized with a jolt that the subtle threat had not gone unnoticed by them.
The Queen's calm voice cut through the tension. "Serve carefully," she said. "Our guests' safety is paramount." Her words were simple, almost ordinary, but Charlotte felt the gravity behind them. The Queen knew something had been attempted, though none else could see it.
Charlotte nodded, adjusting the decanter with meticulous care. Adrien's hand brushed lightly against hers, a silent anchor. "Stay sharp," he whispered.
The King drank slowly, the glass now perfectly positioned, and took a careful sip. The moment of danger passed, but the weight of it did not. Margaret's lips tightened. Eleanor's expression remained unreadable but her interest sharpened. Clara and Anne whispered quietly, eyes darting toward Charlotte with growing curiosity.
Charlotte exhaled quietly, though Adrien did not remove his watchful gaze. The threat had been avoided, but the tension had doubled. Today, she realized, the palace could be lethal even in its most ordinary moments.
When the King finally stood to leave, Charlotte followed discreetly, still near Adrien's side. He leaned close. "You handled that perfectly," he said quietly. "Do not forget how precarious it is."
Charlotte inclined her head. "I understand. Nothing here is simple."
He studied her. "I will support you, whatever comes next."
"And I," Charlotte said, "will remain careful."
The King departed without incident, the court resuming its routines as if nothing had happened, though the air remained charged. Charlotte's hands were steady, her posture perfect, but the knowledge of what could have occurred—and who might have attempted it—hung heavily in the room.
Margaret lingered in the hallway afterward, her eyes sharp, a silent calculation forming. Eleanor observed from the balcony above, her expression almost unreadable. Charlotte knew the game had escalated. The threat was no longer subtle whispers or veiled comments. Today it had been poison, almost disguised as hospitality. And tomorrow would demand even greater skill, composure, and courage.
Adrien walked beside her as she returned to her duties. "The next attempt will be more subtle," he said quietly.
"I will be ready," Charlotte replied, every nerve alert. The palace was no longer simply a place to serve. It was a battlefield of unseen forces, and every movement carried consequence. Margaret, Eleanor, and the others would test her constantly. And Adrien would be the only anchor she could trust.
Charlotte took a measured breath, feeling the weight of every eye and every intention upon her. The danger had passed, but the tension had grown. In the shadow of a possible conspiracy, she knew clearly that every choice from this point on would be decisive—and possibly deadly.