Ditching her dirty outer vest, she slipped the white tunic over her clothes and picked up the silver tray, balancing it perfectly on one hand. Her demeanor shifted instantly; the rowdy street thug vanished, replaced by a quiet, unobtrusive, perfectly trained palace attendant.
As she navigated the winding, luxurious corridors leading to the Grand Mirror Hall, the rough stone walls gradually transitioned into polished white marble and gold leaf. The distant sound of classical string music and the hum of aristocratic chatter began to echo down the hallways.
Suddenly, Heena paused, stepping back into the shadow of a grand arched pillar.
Two figures were walking down the adjacent corridor, their voices hushed but tense. One of them was a high-ranking Imperial guard wearing the crest of the Royal Shield. The other was a slender young man in a lavishly embroidered silk robe, his face pale and sickly, but his eyes burning with a sharp, unnatural intensity.
It was the Seventh Prince.
