Jana had to find an excuse to leave. As she dressed Princess Danui, her hand slipped, tugging too sharply at the fabric and tearing a seam near the shoulder.

  “Heavens, Princess—what have I done?” Jana gasped, her voice tight with alarm. She stepped back as if the torn seam were a wound she had inflicted. “Please, forgive me. I cannot explain how such carelessness escaped me.”

  Eyes lowered, hands clenched before her as if awaiting judgment. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness. I will fix this” She dropped into a low bow.

  But Danui gently caught her by the arm before she could finish the gesture. “Agnes, I’ve already opened my heart to you. There’s no need to be so apologetic—I have plenty of other dresses.”

  “No, Princess. My mistake is unforgivable,” Jana insisted. “If you will excuse me, I’ll fetch needle and thread to repair it at once.” Without waiting for a reply, she hurried out of the room.

  In the corridor, her posture shifted with her pace. When alone, she sprinted. When she sensed anyone nearby, she walked briskly—urgent, but composed. It reminded her of a game her brother used to play while she was still buried in lessons and reports. A school simulation on a VR console: a classroom aboard a skybus, where the goal was to throw paper planes without the teacher noticing. If the virtual teacher turned around and caught you—game over.

  The memory, absurd and distant, softened her expression briefly.

  Soon, the long hallway of the maids’ quarters came into view. She slowed her pace and approached her door with care, quiet and alert. Whoever had entered her room was still inside—or so she feared—and she had no intention of announcing her return.

  “Maid Agnes! Agnes!”

  The voice rang out across the corridor—sharp, careless, and entirely too loud. Her name, shouted for all to hear, struck her like a slap.

  Had this been the UOTC, whoever had so thoughtlessly compromised her position by alerting the enemy would have been yelled at until their eardrums bled .A reaction most definitely frowned upon by the superiors—especially if it came from the heiress herself.

  Of course. It had to be him. The very one she had done her best to evade last time. Sir Gareth.

  There he stood, waving enthusiastically, utterly unaware—or perhaps deliberately tactless —to the consequences of his timing.

  Jana turned slowly, doing her utmost to contain the irritation tightening her jaw. The smile she managed felt like the crookedest thing she had ever worn—certainly the worst in days, possibly in her life.

  Her room was just two doors behind her. If someone had been inside, they were likely gone the moment he shouted her name—or worse, still there. If he was buying them time, she couldn’t afford to act like she knew. Rushing now would only draw attention. And if they found nothing, even the appearance of urgency could reignite suspicion.

  He approached with his usual irrepressible charm.

  “Maid Agnes,” he said with a light bow, “I trust you are feeling better? I came to inquire after your health the other day, but you were nowhere to be found.”

  She offered a careful nod, voice poised. “Your concern honours me, Sir Gareth. I remained in my quarters after the incident. I did not stir.”

  He tilted his head, his smile faint but pointed. “Is that so? I came by and knocked… several times.”

  Agnes lifted a hand delicately to her temple in a gesture of composed self-reproach. “Then I must beg your pardon. They had left me with a rather potent remedy. I do not even recall the moment I fell asleep—only that I took it… and then, nothing.”

  “Ah, those kinds of potions,” Sir Gareth said with a chuckle. “Brings back memories. Once, I had to take one after dislocating my shoulder—slept through an entire council meeting. Best rest I ever had.”

  Sir Gareth looked as though he might linger, perhaps to offer some meandering anecdote or inquire further. But Agnes was already lowering her gaze with graceful restraint, hands neatly folded before her.

  “I truly appreciate your attentiveness, Sir Gareth,” she said with a faint smile, “but if you’ll forgive me, I mustn’t delay. The princess is expecting the repair shortly, and I would rather not try her patience.”

  She dipped her head, just enough to suggest duty outranked courtesy. “Another time, perhaps.”

  As if casually, Sir Gareth turned his head to glance toward the far end of the corridor. “Of course,” he replied, his voice smooth. “Forgive me if I’ve been too forward...”

  But Agnes was already moving, turning away just as he spoke. And in that brief shift, her gaze brushed the shadowed arch at the corridor’s edge—where a cloaked figure stood, unmoving, half-swallowed by the gloom. She kept walking, her pace measured.

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  Behind her, Gareth’s expression darkened. The lightness fell from his features, replaced by something unreadable. His hand rested at his belt, fingers tightening slightly, then he turned and began his return to the waiting figure.

  Once inside her bedroom, she found exactly what she expected—nothing. The space was undisturbed, the silence complete.

  Of course. Even if the intruder had been an amateur, once her name was shouted that loudly, any half-witted spy would have made their escape. Especially with a window that wide directly in front of them.

  Agnes walked toward it calmly, her steps soundless on the stone floor. She pressed a hand against the glass and gave it the gentlest push—more a test than an effort, as if she already knew it would yield with the breath of a breeze.

  It did.

  The frame moved with a soft creak, that meant everything in a silent room. Whoever that cloaked figure had been, they had been here. Of that she had no doubt.

  She didn’t bother to look around; everything seemed untouched, just as she had left it. If there had been something she forgot, they would have taken it—and since she didn’t even know what it might have been, wasting time guessing felt absurd.

  Instead, her mind circled back to Sir Gareth. He had stopped her. Delayed her. Distracted her just long enough …and he was the Crown Prince’s knight; showing up at that exact moment couldn’t have been coincidence—it must have been a command from the prince himself.

  That alone made the situation far more complex than she had anticipated. If anyone were to show up at her door, she would have expected one of the duke’s spies—not the prince’s own men. Too many things were happening that she couldn’t explain.

  She returned to her duties with very little focus, repairing the princess’s dress and resuming her place at her side throughout the afternoon gatherings. The drawing rooms echoed with laughter and chatter—forced, polite, filled with the kind of hollow wit that nobles mistook for cleverness. Smiles were exchanged like currency, and the candidates hoping to secure the prince’s favor whispered jokes with little grace and even less originality.

  Agnes bore it all with studied composure, grateful only for the occasional reprieve when the princess withdrew to the palace library. Those rare moments of silence were—brief windows where she could think. And there was so much to think about.

  What would she do tonight first? Finalize the plans for the auction, investigate why the prince had taken an interest in her, search for Jack, track the Timekeepers—there were too many threads, and the sun was already beginning its descent. She almost laughed at herself. At this pace, her life was starting to resemble a low-budget thriller: too many plot twists, dramatic villains, and no pause button.

  Meanwhile, in the Duke’s estate, the atmosphere was far darker.

  The room was dim, lit only by the flicker of a high window. Duke Edmund stood before a tall mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his deep violet tunic—richly embroidered, perfectly fitted. The color matched the tone of his hair, casting a striking, somber elegance that bordered on the theatrical.

  Behind him, his aide stood stiffly, hands clasped.

  “So,” the duke said slowly, eyes fixed on his reflection, “you’re telling me this maid—Agnes—doesn’t exist?”

  “She does, Your Grace,” the aide answered, voice tense. “But only her name appears in the register. Nothing more.”

  “Uncommon name yet not rare” the duke mused.

  The aide continued, “Some maids serve their houses for years and barely earn a passing mention. But this one—under the brief rule of the Valtorian court—has already made herself known. Twice.”

  Edmund turned. “Go on.”

  “She was the one who stopped the prince from being poisoned at the banquet,” the aide explained. “And the same who had boiling tea thrown on her at the garden reception.”

  “So we only know of her through whispers and incidents,” the duke muttered.

  “Yes, Your Grace. Even the palace holds no proper record. It surprised even the steward—he assured me the matter would be investigated swiftly.”

  Edmund narrowed his eyes. “The steward is aware of this?”

  The aide faltered. “When I found nothing in the register, I asked if he had other documents that might’ve been misfiled or omitted—”

  “You did what?” The duke’s voice dropped.

  The aide fell silent.

  “So you’re telling me,” Edmund said slowly, dangerously, “that you made my dear cousin aware that I was digging through his palace. That I was searching for someone under his roof.”

  The aide’s expression finally darkened, the weight of his mistake settling fully as the duke’s words carved their way in.

  “And you know what will happen once he hears of it?” the duke went on, low and deliberate. “Because yes—if it were anyone else, they might think, ‘Oh, the Duke was simply interested in this maid’ But not that cousin of mine. No, he will dig ,” the duke muttered, his gaze cold. “Like the dog he is.”

  He turned slightly, eyes narrowing. “Now tell me—Mar... Math... Jud...” He waved a hand vaguely, as if trying to summon the correct syllable from a list of forgettable names. “Remind me… what was your name again?”

  “Jonathan, Your Grace,” the aide answered quickly, his voice catching slightly as he straightened, fingers twitching at his sides.

  “Tell me, Jonathan,” the duke said, his voice tightening like a noose, “what will the Crown Prince find when he starts asking why I was at the palace gates… at that hour of the night?”

  The streets were cloaked in silver. Jana walked beneath the full moon’s glow, its light so bright and near it cast shadows like sunlight. They used to say that once a year, the moon drew so close to the earth it warped its pull—not only on the tides, but on people themselves. There had even been a study in the office back in then, something about magnetic fields and altered human reactions. Jana had dismissed it then—another fanciful theory better suited for tarot readings than science.

  But that night, she had no idea how right they might have been.

  She reached the tavern in silence. Laughter spilled from the open windows, rough and full of ale. Just outside the doorway, leaning against the frame, stood a familiar figure—half-shadowed, half-illuminated. He held a mug, speaking with other men crowded around the entrance.

  Jana’s steps didn’t slow. Her fists clenched as she approached.

  She knew that stance. That voice. That damn slouch.

  Without a word, she crossed the distance, tapped him on the shoulder—firm, unhesitating.

  He turned. And before he could even shape a word, her fist connected with his jaw. The man hit the ground with a grunt, tankard clattering beside him. The laughter nearby turned to stunned silence.