The morning of the Imperial Banquet arrived with a heavy, suffocating heat that matched the tension in the Prince's wing. Outside, the palace was a hive of activity. I could hear the distant clatter of carriage wheels on cobblestones and the frantic shouting of the Head Steward as he organized the silver service.
In here, however, it was quiet. Deadly quiet.
"Elara, I look like a doll," Bastian grumbled. He was standing in the center of the room, wearing nothing but his silk breeches. His chest was broad, crisscrossed with faint scars that told a much different story than his 'drunken' reputation.
"You look like a future Emperor who finally took a bath," I retorted, snapping a measuring tape across his shoulders. "Hold your breath. If this waistcoat is even a millimeter loose, the Empress will see right through your 'recovery' act. We need you to look sharp, but dangerous."
I had spent the last two days calling in every corporate favor I had—or the medieval equivalent. I'd bribed the Royal Tailor with a secret I'd overheard about his gambling debts. I'd "borrowed" silk from the Empress's own private stock while the guards were distracted.
The result was a midnight-blue velvet doublet, embroidered with silver thread that looked like moonlight on water. It was subtle, but in a room full of gaudy gold and bright red, it would make him the center of gravity.
"You're staring," Bastian said, his voice dropping an octave.
"I'm auditing," I corrected, though my face felt a little warmer than usual. "I'm looking for flaws in the 'product.' And right now, the product's posture is terrible. Shoulders back, Bastian. You aren't a beggar anymore."
I stepped closer to adjust his collar. My fingers brushed the skin of his neck, and for a split second, the air between us felt electric. It was that high-stakes energy I used to feel before a billion-dollar merger—the moment where everything could go right, or everything could explode.
Bastian's hand caught my wrist. His grip wasn't harsh, but it was firm. "Why are you doing this, Elara? You have the information from the archives. You could have run. You could have sold those ledgers to my brother and bought your way out of this kitchen."
I looked up at him, meeting those molten-gold eyes. "In my old life, I was a fixer for people who were already at the top. They were boring. They were entitled. But you?" I pulled my wrist back gently. "You're an underdog with a sharp tongue and a secret army. Helping you isn't just a job, Bastian. It's a challenge. And I never lose a challenge."
He let out a short, dry laugh. "You're a terrifying woman."
"I know," I smirked. "Now, put on the coat. We have a party to crash."
[Adding More Word Count: The "Internal Monologue" Expansion]
As he dressed, I leaned against the window, watching the nobles arrive. In my past life, I would have been wearing a Chanel suit, holding a flute of champagne, and calculating the net worth of everyone in the room. Here, I was a nameless maid in a scratchy apron.
But I felt more powerful now than I ever did in that boardroom. Back then, I was just protecting someone else's money. Now, I was playing a game for a crown.
I thought about the ledgers I'd found. The Empress was funneling money to mercenaries. She wasn't just a cruel stepmother; she was building a shadow army. If she found out I knew, my life wouldn't be worth a copper coin.
Stay focused, Elara, I told myself. The banquet is the stage. Bastian is the lead actor. You are the director. If the performance is perfect, we live. If it's not... well, I've always wanted to see what the palace dungeons look like.
"I'm ready," Bastian said.
I turned around and nearly dropped my notebook.
The 'Trash Prince' was gone. Standing there was a man of cold, breathtaking elegance. The midnight-blue velvet hugged his frame perfectly, emphasizing the strength he usually hid under baggy, stained tunics. His hair was styled back, revealing the sharp, regal lines of his face. He looked like a storm wrapped in silk.
"Good," I said, my voice only slightly breathless. "Now, remember the plan. For the first hour, stay in the shadows. Let them whisper about how 'pathetic' you are. Then, when the Crown Prince makes his toast to the Northern Alliance... that's when you strike."
"And what will you be doing while I'm being the 'center of gravity'?" he asked, picking up his ceremonial sword.
"Me?" I gave him a wicked grin. "I'll be in the kitchens, listening. Because while everyone is looking at you, they'll forget to hide their secrets from the girl serving the wine."
Bastian walked to the door, but paused, looking back at me. "If things go wrong... run to the East Gate. Don't wait for me."
"Don't be dramatic, Bastian," I said, handing him his gloves. "I've already scheduled your coronation for next year. I'd hate to have to redo my calendar."
He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips, and stepped out into the lions' den.
I took a deep breath, straightened my maid's cap, and headed for the service stairs. It was time to go to work.