The Rejected Maid is the Alpha prince's Fated Luna

"You're going to be late again." Luna Hart nearly dropped her tray. Mrs. Abara stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. "I have four minutes." "Four minutes to change and cross the palace without Lord Castellan seeing you like that. He complained yesterday. Said you looked tired." "I am tired." "Then don't look it." Mrs. Abara's voice softened. "Your grandmother. Is she—" "Stable." Luna grabbed her apron, tying it fast. It wasn't a full lie. Rose was stable — as long as the medicine kept coming, and the medicine cost more than Luna's wages covered most weeks. "Go before Castellan starts counting." She moved through the palace halls fast and silent, marble and gold blurring past, portraits of dead Alphas staring down like they already knew she didn't belong. Halfway to the east wing, a hand caught her wrist and yanked her behind a velvet curtain. "You scared me half to death." "Good." Damian's eyes found hers, tension melting out of his shoulders. No crest tonight, no ceremonial coat — just him. He pressed a small paper bag into her hand. "Ginger candy. For the exam nerves." "You remembered." "I remember everything you tell me." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering. "One year, Luna. Then I don't have to hide you behind curtains anymore." "Your father would never allow it." "My father doesn't decide who I love." The word sat between them, heavy and dangerous. She should have said something careful. Instead: "I have to go." "Tonight. My chambers." "Damian—" "Please." Just a tired man now, not a prince. "I need to see you where I don't have to whisper." She had exams, laundry, a grandmother waiting on medicine. A hundred reasons to say no. "Okay." She made it to the east wing with seconds to spare, clearing Lord Castellan's breakfast in practiced silence — present enough to be useful, invisible enough to be forgotten. Her mind wandered while her hands worked: The candy in her pocket, Damian's fingers in her hair, his promise on repeat. *Soon. Once I'm king. Soon.* She was stacking the last dish when the back of her neck prickled — someone watching. A woman stood at the end of the corridor. Ivory silk, sharp heels, eyes locked on Luna like she was doing math. "You," the woman said, closing the distance. "You clean the east wing at this hour?" "Yes, ma'am." "Interesting. You came from the royal residence corridor. That hallway doesn't lead to guest quarters." Luna's stomach dropped. "Wrong turn." "Must have been." The woman's smile was a blade wrapped in silk. "Selena Royce. I'll be staying a while." She leaned close enough for her perfume to sting. "I have an excellent memory for faces, maid. Especially faces that wander where they shouldn't." She walked away without looking back. Luna stood frozen, tray trembling in her hands, Damian's promise already sounding smaller than it had five minutes ago.