The days in the Guardian King's palace passed with a quiet, steady rhythm. Mirey moved through the halls unnoticed, just another servant among many. Yet, each task, each whispered conversation she overheard, each glance exchanged between nobles and guards, wove together a picture—one that only she was piecing together.
Dorcas, ever watchful, took note of her diligence. Mirey never faltered in her duties, never spoke unless spoken to, never lingered in the shadows like those who sought to escape work. Instead, she moved with a quiet efficiency that set her apart.
One evening, as the kitchen fires dimmed and the great hall emptied, Dorcas beckoned her forward.
"You work well, Mirey," she said, her shrewd eyes studying the clay-skinned girl. "The Guardian King's palace needs those who are both capable and obedient."
Mirey lowered her gaze, masking the flicker of satisfaction within. "I only do as I am told."
Dorcas nodded. "Good. Tomorrow, you will assist in the upper halls. Serve the officials and Lords there. Keep your head down, and listen."
It was an invitation—no, a test. Mirey understood. She bowed slightly. "I will not disappoint."
---
The upper halls were another world entirely. Gold-trimmed tapestries lined the corridors, their woven stories depicting the founders' ancient battles. Chandeliers dripped with crystal, casting reflections against polished floors. Here, power whispered through the air, unseen yet suffocating.
Mirey served silently, placing goblets before lords, ladies and officials, refilling plates when called. She spoke only when necessary, absorbing the conversations that flowed around her.
"Trouble stirs beyond the valley," one Official muttered to another over a glass of dark wine. "The Guardian King's scouts spotted gatherings near the old ruins."
"Another rebellion?" scoffed his companion. "When would they learn. They'll scatter when the King's forces march."
"They want to be as the founders" the first official corrected.
"No one can ever be as the founders" a Lord who was near them spoke up
Mirey kept her expression neutral, but inside, her mind sharpened at the name. Rex's descendants. A rebellion against the founders. Was this what the shadows in the ruins had spoken of?
As she refilled another goblet, a new name reached her ears.
"Amariah leads them."
A chill ran through Mirey's limbs. She had not yet heard this name within the palace walls, but the weight with which it was spoken told her enough. Amariah. A threat. A force the Guardian King's court feared more than they let on.
That night, as the palace settled into uneasy slumber, Mirey lay in her servant's cot, staring at the ceiling. The rebellion was no mere rumor. And Amariah was no ordinary rebel. If the Lords and Officials feared her, then she had power—perhaps enough to shift the balance against the founders.
The pieces were moving.
Mirey would have to move with them.