Chapter 4
I reached the building alongside Martha, lifting the edges of this deeply uncooperative gown with the kind of care usually reserved for fragile objects or mildly unstable weapons.
She walked ahead without slowing, completely unbothered, which suggested two things: she had done this many times before, and my current struggle did not qualify as a problem worth acknowledging.
We reached the palace and I paused just long enough to take it in.
It was huge. Impressively so.
Which made the next part feel... intentional.
We entered through a side corridor.
Quiet. Polished. Empty.
The kind of empty that wasn't accidental.
The kind that said:
You may exist here.
Preferably unseen.
That felt accurate.
She led me down the corridor without explanation and stopped at a door at the far end, pushing it open with the ease of routine.
I stepped inside.
Took two steps forward, stopped and looked around.
"Well," I said, taking in the space with appropriate honesty, "this is... underwhelming."
The room was neat. Not just neat-deliberate. There was a bed, a small table, a chair, and a narrow wardrobe, all arranged with a precision that suggested personality had been reviewed and quietly removed.
It wasn't poor.
It wasn't neglected.
It was simply-
minimal.
In a way that made a statement.
You may stay. Do not settle.
I walked further in, trailing my fingers along the edge of the table, letting that sink in.
Apparently, in this version of events, I wasn't even officially the king's mistake. That would require acknowledgment, and acknowledgment requires accountability, which we were clearly avoiding.
No.
I was a distant relative.
A vague, socially acceptable inconvenience.
Taken in by the king after a tragic incident to her family that no one would elaborate on.
Generous.
Kind.
Entirely fabricated.
"Hail the benevolent ruler," I murmured under my breath, glancing around again. "Protector of distant relatives and avoider of personal responsibility."
I exhaled slowly.
"Well," I added, because optimism is important, "at least I'm in a palace."
A brief pause.
"With staff."
Another pause.
"...allegedly."
I turned toward Martha, who had already started moving around the room like this was a routine she had no interest in explaining.
"Prepare my bath," I said, lowering myself onto the edge of the bed with visible relief, "and also find something significantly less disappointing than this gown. Preferably something that does not attempt to end my life every time I walk."
She stopped and turned to look at me.
Not surprised.
Not offended.
Just... evaluating.
Then she gave a short, unimpressed scoff.
"Do that yourself."
I blinked.
"I'm sorry?"
"You heard me." She folded her arms. "Water is brought in the mornings. If you want a bath now, you can manage it."
I waited for clarification.
For context.
For the part where this became a misunderstanding.
It did not.
She studied me again, this time with a faint frown. "Are you sure you haven't hurt your head, Cassiane? You've been acting strange since I found you by the lake. Should I call for a healer?"
Ah.
No.
Absolutely not.
The last thing I needed was medical confirmation that I was, in fact, not supposed to be here.
"No," I said quickly, waving that away. "Just... mildly disoriented. From the fall. Into the lake. Entirely normal."
She didn't look convinced.
But she also didn't argue.
"Rest today," she said instead. "You are assigned to assist me with preparations for the upcoming ball."
I straightened slightly.
"...What?"
"Yes."
"No, I mean-what?"
She did not elaborate.
Of course she didn't.
I looked at her.
Then at the room.
Then back at her.
"Let me understand this correctly," I said slowly, because clarity felt increasingly important for survival. "In this palace, I am a self-reliant, largely ignored individual who exists here purely on the mercy of the king."
She tilted her head slightly, still watching me like I might say something worse.
"And you," I continued, gesturing toward her, "what exactly is your role? Are you not assigned to take care of me?"
Martha's expression didn't change.
"I am not your servant, girl."
That landed.
"And why would I be?" she added. "Servants are assigned to those who matter. You are no princess. Be thankful His Majesty took you in instead of sending you to an orphanage."
There was a brief pause.
Just-
a moment where that settled exactly where it was meant to.
I leaned back slightly, staring at the ceiling as if it might offer a different interpretation.
It did not.
Right.
Of course.
Why would this be easier?
"Oh, brilliant," I muttered, dragging a hand down my face. "This is excellent. Truly. If the author is listening-which I sincerely hope they are not-you could have included basic survival details. Structure. Clarity. A functional support system."
I dropped my hand.
"But no," I continued, tone flattening into something quieter, "why make me a rich, dramatic villainess when I can struggle my way there instead? Character development, I assume. Very inspired."
Martha moved to the window, adjusting the curtains like none of this concerned her.
"It's such a mess," I added, mostly to myself now. "A questionable plot with an even worse title. I genuinely don't know why I read it."
A pause.
Then, with feeling-
"I hate Lara, she made me read the book."
Martha glanced at me. "Who?"
"No one," I said immediately. "A bad influence."
She gave me one last long, thoughtful look.
Then turned away.
I exhaled quietly and pushed myself off the bed, looking down at the gown.
Still wet.
Still heavy.
Still determined to ruin my life.
"Well," I muttered, gathering the fabric again, "if this is how I'm going to survive here, I should at least start with the basics."
Because realistically-
dying once had already been more than enough.
And this time-
I had something I didn't have before.
A script.
A terrible one.
But still-
one I knew the outcome of and I had to be really careful.