Arch 2: Maids of Thorns
The morning after her arrival, Aris was assigned to linen duty—code for "keep her away from the nobles before she makes someone blush."
She didn't mind.
The laundry courtyard was warm with steam, half-shadowed from the palace spires above. Women scrubbed, gossiped, glared. Aris moved quietly among them, folding silks like she didn't notice the stares.
Of course they were watching her. She was too pretty for linen duty. Too still. The kind of girl who made others nervous without doing anything at all.
She made sure to smile at no one.
> System: Starting strong. Zero friends. One stalker prince. Ten jealous maids.
Iconic.
She ignored it
---
By midday, she was summoned.
The Crown Prince wanted to see her.
Of course he did.
The guards said nothing as they led her through the quieter halls, where candlelight touched marble and even the air smelled ceremonial. She kept her hands folded in front of her. Walked like a servant. Thought like a queen.
She was led into a small inner chamber—a library, rich with ink and dust. Books lined the walls. A single fire crackled in the hearth.
And he was there.
He looked… young. Not just in age, but in expression. Wide eyes. Hopeful. Dangerous.
He smiled.
"You've been given no proper quarters," he said softly, standing. "No real clothing. That's not acceptable."
She looked at him, just a second too long.
"Your Highness is kind," she said. "But I am only what the Empire allows me to be."
That hit. He blinked.
> System: Wow. That's it. He's already down bad.
> System: You've been in the palace for 24 hours and he's ready to write you freedom papers. Why are you like this?
---
He offered her a cloak—white velvet, absurdly luxurious. Aris let her fingers brush his as she took it.
The silence between them stretched, not awkward, but heavy.
Then he asked, "What were you before this?"
A dangerous question.
She lowered her eyes. "Hungry," she said. "Mostly that."
A lie. A truth. Both.
He reached out like he might touch her, then stopped.
That hesitation was the real gift.
She stepped back. Let him ache. Let him want.
Outside the chamber, the Saintess was waiting.
Aris didn't flinch.
The Saintess stood like a statue—robes perfect, hands folded, face unreadable. Only her eyes moved. Tracking. Measuring.
They locked eyes for a second. That was all.
> System: Alert. Passive-aggressive holiness detected.
Probability of eventual girlfight: 97%
Aris smiled.
The Saintess did not.
She walked away without a word. But Aris could feel it—like the first crack in something sacred.
Later that night, Aris found herself outside the training yard.
Not by accident.
The sound of swords echoed in the cold dark air. Metal on metal. Footsteps on stone. She leaned against the pillar just long enough for him to notice.
The Knight.
Tall. Weathered. Not young like the prince. His armor was worn but clean. His movements were precise. He was dangerous in a way the others weren't.
He glanced up, once, catching her there.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"I got lost."
A lie. She didn't care if he believed it.
"You're the new servant," he said.
"I'm Aris."
He looked her over, not like a man, but like a soldier. Cold. Tactical. No warmth in his stare.
"Stay out of trouble," he said.
She tilted her head. "You too."
That night, the System woke her with a buzz in her skull.
> System: Mission Update – Psychological Influence Level 1 Achieved.
The Crown Prince has developed emotional attachment. The Saintess has marked you as a potential threat. The Knight has acknowledged your existence. We call this progress.
Also, congrats on being scary without even trying.
Aris lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling.
She wasn't trying to be scary. She just was.
She didn't want to break them.
Not yet.
First, they had to want her.
Only then would it hurt.