Two years had passed since the Drakorian kingdom's defeat, and the fervor surrounding the search for Princess Moriana had begun to dissipate. During this time, more timekeepers had emerged, and many had agreed to work on creating a stabilization machine for this era, despite the challenges and lack of materials. Led by Elowen and Hassan, the timekeepers established a secure village hidden from prying eyes, where they could live safely, away from unwanted visitors. Some even infiltrated the capital, taking on mundane jobs to establish new identities, should the need arise. Life was gradually becoming more stable, and many began to lose sight of their original mission.

  Within the palace, life flowed with its own rhythm. The head maid spent more time with Jana, refining her skills, as she had been directly assigned to serve Princess Danui. Despite Lady Evelyn's experience and qualifications, the princess had insisted on having Agnes, leaving the head maid no choice but to take Jana's training into her own hands. The prince, for a time, had forgotten about her, and the knight had become a close confidant, along with maid Eliza. Jana felt a sense of relief; she wasn’t needed as the foreseer as much, allowing another timekeeper to take charge. Now, she focused primarily on coordinating her activities and gathering any information within the palace that might indicate a threat to the timekeepers or herself.

  The prince showed little to none urgency in selecting a bride, and the palace remained filled with women of various backgrounds, each vying for his attention.

  In the servants' quarters, Jana and Eliza were folding clothes and piling them up to be properly distributed to the palace rooms.

  “Have you heard? The Sultan of Bahlavia is arriving tomorrow,” Eliza said, her eyes wide with curiosity.

  “The followers of the book?” Jana replied, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, I’ve heard”

  “What a shame they don’t believe in our God. I wonder if they’re here to spread their religion,” said Eliza in an innocent tone.

  Jana managed a small smile, inwardly marveling at how absurd such a statement would have sounded in her own time. Freedom of religion wasn’t a concept here; even mentioning it could be dangerous.

  “Well, Eliza, duty calls. I have to go,” Jana said, turning to leave with a pile of clothes in hand .

  “See you later, Agnes,” Eliza replied, her voice trailing off as Jana walked away.

  Jana nodded, already focused on the tasks ahead.

  The days in the palace had gradually shifted the relationship between Jana and Princess Danui. In this distant place, far from her homeland, the princess had started to see Jana as more than just a maid—she had become a confidante. Though the other princesses were there to catch the prince's eye, Princess Danui had different intentions. She was here out of a sense of duty, and if she wasn’t chosen as the bride, she would even be grateful for it. Jana, sensing the princess’s reluctance and need for distraction, had often offered to help her pass the time with games of chess and teaching her various skills. This morning was no different. As Jana brushed the princess’s long hair with practiced care, Danui asked to be taught another chess trick.

  Jana, still maintaining her guise as Agnes, agreed, patiently guiding her through the moves. The hours passed uneventfully, the princess focused on the game, while Jana’s mind was already planning for the evening's duties, her thoughts far from the quiet comfort of the chessboard.

  ater, as she made her way back to the servants' quarters, the head maid called her over.

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  “Tomorrow, you will be assigned to the kitchen,” the head maid said.

  “The kitchen? But I already have duties with the princess,” Jana replied, surprised.

  “I’ll personally explain the situation to the princess and apologize. You’re needed in the kitchen due to the Sultan's visit tomorrow. We’re short on staff, and I can’t afford to send someone new. Everyone else is already assigned,” the head maid explained.

  Jana inwardly groaned. The kitchen was far from her expertise, but she had no choice. “Understood,” she replied, resigned.

  The next morning, Jana found herself in an unfamiliar uniform, stationed in the bustling kitchen. Her task was simple: chop vegetables—endlessly. She was relieved not to be tasked with actual cooking, as her culinary skills were limited to basic salads and smoothies.

  However, her relief was short-lived when one of the cooks handed her a large leg of meat.

  “Is this for the guests?” she asked, her brow furrowed in concern.

  “Of course, it’s for the guests,” the chef replied with a hint of sarcasm. “Why? Planning to eat it yourself?”

  The other kitchen staff chuckled, but Jana remained serious.

  “Did you know that they don’t eat meat?” Her tone was cautious but firm.

  The chef turned to face her, a smirk playing on his lips. “Why should we care about what those pagans eat?”

  Jana’s eyes narrowed. “They are guests of the royal family. The least we can do is respect their customs and offer them a proper reception.”

  Jana’s eyes narrowed. “They are guests of the royal family. The least we can do is respect their customs and offer them a proper reception.” her voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “If the prince knew that his chef was willing to disrespect his honored guests, I doubt he would be pleased.”

  The chef’s smirk faltered for a moment as he considered her words, but his pride wouldn’t let him back down easily. “You think you can scare me with empty threats, woman?” The chef, now visibly shaken, took a step back, his defiance crumbling. He laughed nervously, trying to regain control of the situation. “Well, if you’re so brave, why don’t you take charge of the kitchen yourself?” With that, he yanked off his apron and stormed out of the kitchen, clearly believing they wouldn’t last half an hour without him.

  The room fell silent, all eyes on Jana. Some looked confused, others angry, and no one seemed to know what to do next. Finally, another cook stepped forward.

  “I’m not fond of what you did, but offending those guests could cost us our jobs. You must have something else in mind?” he asked.

  Jana hadn’t intended for things to unfold this way. She was starting to forget who she really was and her mission to go unnoticed in the palace. But if she were being objective, it was too late for that. At this point, she might as well live as a good servant, as her original plan had only drawn more attention to her because of her mysteriousness. With everyone staring at her, expecting a solution, she knew she had to act. Drawing on what little culinary knowledge she had, she decided to improvise. Using the vegetables available, she began crafting a meat substitute, determined to avoid disaster.

  At first, the kitchen staff mocked her efforts, but when they tasted the result, their skepticism turned to astonishment. They couldn’t believe that the "meat" was actually made of vegetables.

  With newfound energy, the kitchen sprang into action, working quickly to make up for lost time. By lunchtime, they had finished preparing the dishes, ready to be served to the Sultan and his entourage.

  Servants entered the grand dining hall, silver platters in hand, and began placing them on the long table where the Bahlavian commissioners were seated. When the trays were opened, the sight of the meat caused the Sultan and his advisors to react with visible displeasure. Whispers of discontent filled the air, and soon the complaints reached the prince.

  The young Sultan raised his hand, calming his advisors. He looked at the prince, his expression inscrutable, and gently thanked him for the food. However, he kindly refused to eat, explaining that their religion forbade the consumption of meat.

  The prince, frustrated by the situation, demanded to see the chef in charge. The former chef, now pale and nervous, was summoned.

  “Were you not informed about the dietary restrictions of my guests?” the prince asked, his voice cold.

  “I am deeply ashamed, Your Highness. But I was removed from my duties by another worker who took charge of today’s menu,” the chef replied nervously.

  The prince’s advisor, Kahil, leaned forward. “Who was it?”

  The chef hesitated, a slight smile creeping onto his face. “Maid Agnes, Your Highness.”

  The prince’s expression darkened as he recalled the name. Meanwhile, Sir Gareth’s face turned ashen. Without a word, the prince ordered for her presence.