Exhaustion pressed heavily on Acela as she sank onto her bed, the soft cotton of her pillow cradling her weary head after the whirlwind of the day. Today had been unlike any other since her arrival at the palace—a day she had spent in the company of Queen Sora, or simply Sora, as the queen preferred when away from prying eyes and formalities.
There was a softness to their time together, a genuine warmth that felt almost foreign in this world of strict protocols and whispered suspicions. For a few brief hours, Acela had felt what it was like to be more than just a maid—a companion, even a friend. It stirred memories of her own mother, long gone now, whose gentle presence had once been the anchor in Acela’s turbulent life.
Helping Elizabeth and the rest of the staff arrange the grand ballroom for the upcoming birthday celebration of the prince and princess had been tiring, but deeply satisfying. The crystal chandeliers shimmered brilliantly, their light dancing across polished marble floors. Gold-trimmed drapes hung elegantly, framing the tall windows that overlooked the moonlit gardens. Every detail was meticulously placed, a testament to the hard work that Acela had poured into the preparations over her weekend off.
Tomorrow would be a busy day, she knew—filled with duties and endless tasks—but she looked forward to seeing the delighted faces of the guests, to knowing that she had played a part in creating moments of joy amidst the palace’s stoic grandeur.
Yet, despite the satisfaction, a thread of anxiety tugged at her heart. Had she done everything perfectly? Would the prince and princess appreciate the effort? These questions lingered, a quiet hum beneath her thoughts as she replayed the day’s events.
She had heard that the prince and the king had arrived early that morning only to depart shortly afterward for pressing royal matters. The demands of royalty seemed unrelenting. Spending more time around Queen Sora had deepened Acela’s understanding of the weight carried by those born into such roles—the constant scrutiny, the isolation, the relentless pressure to embody grace and strength.
Acela’s thoughts drifted, as they often did, to her mother’s gentle reprimands about her tendency to retreat into her own mind. Caring for her ailing mother had left little room for friendships or frivolous memories. The world outside had faded into insignificance compared to those precious moments spent making her mother smile during her final, peaceful days.
Now, with her mother gone, the void was vast and cold. Loneliness was a relentless companion, shadowing her steps in the grand halls where magic and legacy intertwined. Family was a concept both distant and painful.
Still, in recent days, she had found unexpected solace in new friendships—Mason, Irelia, Kristin, and Mort. Though her time with them was brief, their camaraderie had blossomed quickly, weaving threads of belonging and trust that she clung to fiercely.
Rubbing the lingering moisture from her eyes, Acela glanced at the clock—9:00 pm. The night still felt young, yet fatigue wrapped around her like a heavy cloak. Duty called, however; the laundry awaited before she could surrender to sleep.
With a sigh, she rose, gathering her long brown hair into a loose ponytail. The soft rustle of fabric accompanied her as she changed into something more comfortable for the short walk to the laundry room. Clutching her bag filled with clothes, she locked her door behind her and stepped into the quiet corridor.
The palace at night was a different world—tranquil and almost reverent. The usual bustle had quieted; most either worked in silence or rested, leaving the hallways bathed in shadows and the gentle glow of wall sconces. This solitude was a balm, offering Acela a moment of peace away from prying eyes and whispered gossip.
As she rounded a corner, a sudden glow from approaching headlights caught her attention. A sleek carriage rolled up to the palace entrance, its interior hidden by the darkness of night. Could it be the king and prince returning from their duties in Romania? The thought sent a ripple of curiosity through her, and she lingered, watching.
Voices murmured softly as a door opened, footsteps landing with quiet purpose. The scene held a mysterious edge, and Acela felt an odd thrill mingled with a sense of intrusion, like a shadow watching where it shouldn’t. She cast one last glance at the indistinct figures before turning her focus back to her task.
The laundry room was cool and utilitarian, rows of machines humming softly in the stillness. The faint scent of detergent and fabric softener filled the air, mingling with the distant sounds of the palace settling into night. Acela loaded her clothes into a washing machine, setting the timer, and settled onto a nearby chair, the fatigue pressing down fiercely.
Her eyelids fluttered, heavy and reluctant, threatening to close. The temptation to rest—even momentarily—was strong, but she resisted. Falling asleep here was unthinkable; the consequences of being caught would be severe.
The only companion was the steady rhythm of the washing machine, a quiet reassurance in the stillness. Head resting on folded arms atop the table, she struggled to stay awake, glancing occasionally at her phone. 9:25 pm. Thirty minutes remained. The battle with exhaustion was a losing one.
A sudden voice shattered the silence, deep and smooth, causing her to jerk upright, heart pounding fiercely. "Is someone in here?"
She blinked toward the source, wide-eyed and now fully alert. From the shadows between the stacked machines, a figure emerged—dark hair tousled in a way that seemed effortlessly perfect. His presence filled the room with an electric charge.
Acela’s pulse quickened as her gaze met his, piercing green eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that stole her breath. Prince Caelan Black stood there, imposing yet strangely hesitant. The reality of his presence in the staff laundry room unsettled her; was she dreaming, or had she sleepwalked into some royal sanctum?
Her cheeks flushed as she quickly gathered her laundry, mumbling an apology. "S-sorry, I was just leaving." Her voice trembled, betraying her nerves.
To her surprise, the prince remained silent, eyes fixed on her with a mixture of curiosity and something else she couldn’t name. The quiet stretched unbearably, the tension thick as a storm about to break.
Desperate to escape the awkwardness, Acela turned toward the door, willing herself to act normal. But before she could step through, a large tan hand reached out, closing the gap just enough to stop her.
He held the door open, his glowing eyes flashing with a fierceness that made her heart stutter. Confusion and fear tangled within her. Had she done something wrong? Was he angry?
Prince Caelan opened his mouth as if to speak, then paused, seeming to wrestle with his own restraint. The silence pressed down once more before he abruptly released the door and turned away, avoiding her gaze.
Feeling smaller than ever, Acela bowed awkwardly and hurried down the corridor, clutching her laundry like a shield. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, her mind racing to process the surreal encounter.
Just as she rounded the corner, the prince’s deep voice echoed behind her, loud enough to startle her. "Wait! What’s your name?"
She froze, eyes wide, looking around to confirm he spoke to her alone. Pointing hesitantly to herself, she heard his approving nod.
"A-Acela Shaw, sir—I mean, Prince," she stammered, voice barely above a whisper.
He said nothing further, watching her retreat with an intensity that left her cheeks burning hotter. She bowed again, swallowed hard, and fled to her room, her heart pounding wildly.
Once inside, she locked the door and leaned against it, breath trembling in her chest. The reality of the encounter settled heavily—she had come face to face with the royal heir, and something unspoken had passed between them.
She placed her clothes on the dryer stand, slipping into comfortable sleepwear, her mind still racing. Questions swirled: Why was the prince in the staff laundry room at such an hour? Had he been seeking her? And that gaze—those glowing eyes—what did they truly mean?
As she lay down, the exhaustion finally claimed her, but her thoughts refused to quiet. The night whispered secrets she was only beginning to understand, and in the shadows of the royal veil, her story was only just unfolding.