Two young servants walked through the dimly lit hallway, their voices kept to tense whispers.
The dark copper-haired boy on the left appeared to be doing most of the talking, his anxious expression betraying his concern. Beside him, the other servant listened with growing irritation, looking far more annoyed than worried.
The boy on the left continued his quiet lecture, urging the other to keep his distance from the nobility.
"They're far above people like us," he warned. "If Her Majesty hadn't stepped in, we'd have been in serious trouble."
"Arno," he said more gently, "it's better if we stay out of their affairs."
"Their affairs?" Arno muttered. "That Corvin man was clearly blaming you for something he did."
"Keep your voice down," Alaric cautioned. "Someone might hear you."
Arno's hands curled into fists, his frustration spilling over.
"Alaric… you're my younger brother. It's my responsibility to protect you, whatever the cost."
"But you—"
The hallway fell silent. Only the steady rhythm of approaching footsteps echoed through the corridor before drifting past them.
A remarkably tall young woman, dressed in the same servant's uniform, passed them without a word and continued down the hallway.
The brothers instinctively followed her with their eyes, momentarily taken aback by her height.
As she continued down the hall, a thought surfaced in Alaric's mind.
(That's the same attendant I saw at the gala. She was hard to miss, towering over so many others. I only caught a glimpse of her before she disappeared. I remember she was carrying far too many drinks on a single tray. Strange... Maybe she's new. Should I ask?)
Before he could dwell on it any longer, Arno broke the silence.
"Excuse me, miss... are you new here?"
The young woman halted mid-step.
"Please don't misunderstand," Arno said, his voice measured. "We've simply never seen you around before, so we were... curious."
Yet the sharpness in his gaze told a different story. There was far more suspicion in his eyes than curiosity.
The young woman remained motionless.
"Is something wrong? Are you—"
"She's an ancillary."
The deep voice cut through the silence before Arno could finish.
A young man clad in gleaming armor approached, each measured step heavy with authority.
{ The ancillary staff consisted of servants temporarily assigned from the imperial estates of the Emperor or Empress of Elenor. They were summoned to the Imperial Palace only for grand occasions—birthdays, festivals, and, most notably, coronations. Once their duties concluded, they returned to their respective estates.
The arrangement was born of practicality. It was considered far wiser to rely on servants already known to the royal household than to recruit complete strangers for such brief service. In doing so, the palace ensured both security and efficiency while sparing unnecessary time and effort. }
The gleam of his polished armor and the imposing crest upon his ornate helmet were enough to make both boys straighten instinctively.
"Captain," they said in unison, lowering their heads in a respectful bow.
"I'm the one who arranged her assignment," the armored man said, his voice low and unwavering.
"This captain is enormous," Alaric thought, unease creeping over him. "He could pin both of us to the wall with one hand."
"H-Hey, Arno... let's just go."
Arno hesitated, then turned back to the young woman.
"Miss, if that was the case, you could've told us from the start," he said, though the tremor in his voice betrayed the weight of the captain's presence.
The woman gave a small nod, her back still turned to them.
Arno frowned.
"Is something wrong?" he asked. "You haven't said a word."
The armored man took a step forward.
"She cannot speak," he said flatly. "And she suffers from social anxiety."
The young woman flinched at his words.
Both brothers fell silent.
"We're sorry," Alaric said at once, lowering his head. "We didn't know."
Arno quickly followed suit.
"Y-Yes... we're truly sorry."
"Let's go," Alaric whispered, tugging at his brother's sleeve.
"Wait..."
Alaric froze.
"Then... why is she working in the Imperial Palace?"
The moment the words left Arno's mouth, his confidence faltered beneath the captain's gaze.
"N-No, Sir, that's not what I meant," he stammered. "It's just... you know how the palace is, and how demanding service here can be. I was only... wondering."
"Arno, you're going to get us both killed," Alaric thought.
"She's poor."
The woman gave another involuntary twitch, as though each sentence struck her like an arrow.
"Poor enough that her family can scarcely afford food," the captain continued without emotion. "She had no particular trade or skill to earn a living. In the end, despite her own wishes, she entered palace service because she had no other choice."
A heavy silence followed.
"That's... truly unfortunate," Arno said quietly.
"I hope things get better for you, miss," he added.
"Y-Yeah," Alaric echoed.
The young woman remained perfectly still, unable to comprehend what had just unfolded.
The brothers lowered their heads in a final bow. Before Arno could say anything else, Alaric seized him by the arm and hurried him away.
As the brothers walked away, the woman and the armored man remained where they stood.
Before long, their hushed voices slipped back into their familiar bickering.
Yet after only a few steps, Alaric found himself glancing over his shoulder.
His eyes lingered on the unlikely duo for a heartbeat longer than they should have. A faint crease formed between his brows, as though some unanswered question refused to leave him.
Then, without a word, he turned back and continued on.
Behind them, the young woman stood in silence.
"So... uh..."
"There was nothing else I could think of," the armored man replied.
"Oh... okay."
An awkward silence settled between them.
"Besides," he continued, "you have no reason to be upset, Your Highness. If I recall correctly, I did warn you to be careful."
"Hey! Don't pin this on me."
"How was I supposed to know those two would stop me and start questioning me?" she protested, a slight frown forming on her face.
He let out a quiet sigh.
"You stand out," he remarked. "It's no wonder they grew suspicious."
"(You're one to talk.)" she thought, glancing at his towering frame encased in gleaming armor.
"By the way... were you successful?"
"I was."
"And you didn't give it to anyone else? You know what it can do."
She shot him an offended look.
"What do you take me for?"
"Yes, I was careful. I didn't give it to anyone except 'Her'."
"Is that satisfactory?"
"Oh, certainly, Your Highness."
"Stop calling me that!"
The man allowed himself a faint smile.
"Then all that's left is to wait until midnight," he said, his voice softening. "After that, we'll return... with Her Majesty, Grace."
.
.
.
"She left?" Ray exclaimed, eyes wide with disbelief.
Across the table, Rui froze mid-bite— or rather, mid-attempt at a bite. A piece of roast chicken dangled precariously between her lips, clutched only by her front teeth as though she'd been caught stealing it from the platter.
"Something important must have come up," Grace said with calm certainty, folding her hands neatly on the table. "Otherwise, Aunt Sera would never have left so suddenly."
At that, both Ray and Rui's expressions drooped in perfect unison— two mourners at the funeral of dinner cheer. Rui still hadn't used her hands, letting the poor chicken leg sway slightly as she sighed through her nose.
She tried to speak, but the result was a series of muffled sounds that made Ray blink twice before saying flatly, "I have no idea what you just said."
Rui gave him and indignant stare, then finally tore off a piece of chicken, chewed with exaggerated dignity, and swallowed— all while Ray, Grace, Welfred, and Dasmon watched her as if attending some sacred rite.
Rui finally cleared her throat and spoke again. "Wow," he said, deadpan, still unable to tell what she was saying. "Still can't understand a thing."
Dasmon, who had been quietly observing the gloom gathering over the table, leaned back and spoke with mock injury. "You do realize I'm here too, yes? Three months away and not a single soul missed me— yet one evening without Lady Seraphine, and the world falls apart."
He punctuated his statement by stabbing a small tomato with unnecessary force, as though the fruit were personally responsible for his neglect.
Ray clenched his hands. "You know it's not like that," he said earnestly. "We just… wanted to have supper with everyone. Aunt Sera included."
Dasmon's tone softened. "I know. Truly, I do. But she isn't here tonight, so let us not bury our joy with her absence. Eat, laugh, and make merry— for once, with the people who 'are' here."
Ray lowered his gaze, voice quiet. "All right."
His eyes drifted to the empty chair beside him— the one that seemed reserved for Seraphine— before he turned back to his plate, where Rui had resumed her silent battle with the chicken leg.
.
.
.
The other nobles had already begun their feast, indulging in the lavish spread set before them, their laughter and murmurs blending with the faint clinking of silver and porcelain.
Grace, Ray, Rui, Welfred, and Dasmon soon joined in, though Rui had already set to her plate with unmistakable enthusiasm.
The grand hall stretched vast and resplendent, its vaulted ceiling upheld by carved stone pillars adorned with banners bearing the crests of old houses. Chandeliers of wrought gold hung high above, their candlelight scattering over the long rows of tables like fragments of starlight.
There were over a hundred dining tables laid out, each grand enough to host more than a hundred diners together.
Grace and her companions were seated at the center of the hall. She sat at the middle curve of the long rounded table, Rui and Ray to her right, Welfred and Dasmon to her left, the rest of the court filling the seats along it's sweeping length.
Despite the crowd, the hall was hushed—filled only with the soft symphony of movement: the shifting of dishes, the faint scrape of silverware, and the muted rustle of robes. Beneath the golden light, the feast carried on in a solemn, almost sacred quiet, as though the walls themselves remembered the weight of centuries.