The palace was an intricate web of whispers and half-truths, a place where words carried more weight than steel, where a single rumour could shape the fate of an entire dynasty. Alina had begun to understand this in her brief time among the servants, but never had she felt the weight of it more than in the days following the royal ceremony.
The air around the court was thick with murmurs, and the prince stood at the centre of them all.
Alina knelt beside a basin in the servants' quarters, scrubbing fine porcelain cups from a noble's afternoon tea. The other attendants bustled around her, their chatter weaving seamlessly with their work. At first, she paid little attention—until she heard his name.
"Prince Sheen did not look well at the ceremony," one of the older attendants murmured, lowering her voice. "Did you see how pale he was?"
"I heard he nearly collapsed in the eastern wing afterward," another whispered. "The imperial physicians were summoned, but he refused treatment."
Alina's hands stilled in the water, her mind flashing back to the way she had seen him—restrained, distant, but undeniably suffering.
"He's too proud to admit weakness," a younger maid scoffed, adjusting the sash of her uniform. "They say he's cursed, you know. Born under an ill-fated star."
"Not just cursed," an elder servant added in a hushed tone. "Some say he is unfit to rule."
Alina's pulse quickened. She kept her head down, feigning disinterest, but her ears caught every word.
"They say the late emperor never intended for him to take the throne," the woman continued. "That he feared his son would bring ruin to the dynasty."
A collective hush fell over the group. Even in whispers, it was dangerous to speak such things.
"But he is the crown prince," one servant dared to say. "Who else could rule?"
The elder's lips pressed into a thin line. "Power is fickle," she said gravely. "And there are those who would rather see another seated on the throne."
Alina forced herself to remain composed, though her mind spun. Had she truly stepped into a world on the brink of conflict? If Prince Sheen's right to rule was being questioned, then the court was more treacherous than she had imagined.
Later that evening, unable to quell her curiosity, Alina found herself lingering near the halls where the higher-ranking officials gathered. She moved carefully, keeping to the shadows as she carried a tray of tea, listening to the exchanges that carried through the corridors.
"The prince is too unpredictable." A deep voice, firm and displeased. "He shows little interest in the council's affairs. If he cannot control his own health, how can he control the empire?"
"We must tread carefully," another voice replied. "Despite his condition, the emperor's decree remains clear—Prince Sheen is the heir."
"For now."
A tense silence followed.
Alina's breath caught in her throat. These were not simple rumours among servants—this was the language of power, of doubt taking root in the highest echelons of the court.
She turned to leave, but as she did, her sleeve brushed against the edge of a decorative vase, sending it wobbling precariously. She froze as the voices fell silent.
Then—
"Who's there?"
Alina clutched the tray tightly, her heart pounding as heavy footsteps approached. Before she could think, she bowed deeply, keeping her face hidden. "Forgive me, my lords," she murmured. "I was only delivering tea."
A pause.
Then, a dismissive sigh. "Be gone, girl. And keep your ears shut."
Alina hurried away, but the weight of what she had heard settled deep in her chest.
Prince Sheen was not just feared—he was being watched, his every move scrutinized, his claim to the throne balanced on a precarious edge.
And for reasons she could not yet explain, she felt that whatever storm was brewing in the court…
It would soon pull her into its depths.