From Maid To Queen

Chapter Four – Too Much Wine

The palace had never glittered so brightly.

By the time the bells tolled for the banquet, the great hall of Elandria had been transformed into a realm of gold and firelight. Chandeliers dripped with a hundred candles, casting molten reflections across the polished marble floor. Banners embroidered with the royal crest, an eagle soaring above a crown, hung proudly from the vaulted ceiling.

Long tables stretched the length of the hall, laden with silver platters heaped with roasted pheasants, glazed hams, and sweetmeats dusted with sugar.

The air itself seemed thick with extravagance: the scent of honeyed wine, the cloying perfume of nobles, the tang of spiced meats sizzling on trays carried in from the kitchens.

Music drifted from a corner where minstrels plucked their lutes, and laughter pealed like bells as lords and ladies swirled in conversation.

Elara stood among the line of servants at the edge of the hall, her plain grey dress stark against the sea of color and silk. A tray of goblets, polished to a mirrored shine, balanced carefully in her hands.

Her heart thudded so hard she feared it might rattle the silver.

“Eyes down,” hissed Mistress Thane’s warning voice from somewhere behind her.

Elara obeyed, fixing her gaze on the gleam of the goblets rather than the dazzling splendor before her.

She had rehearsed this in her mind a hundred times over the past three days: step forward when called, pour without trembling, retreat swiftly. She was to be nothing but a shadow.

Yet shadows saw everything.

From beneath lowered lashes, Elara glimpsed the nobility streaming into the hall. Women in gowns of velvet and silk, dripping with jewels that caught the candlelight like fire; men in doublets embroidered with gold thread, their swords gleaming at their sides. They gathered in glittering knots, their laughter laced with whispers, their eyes quick to assess and judge.

And then

The herald’s voice rang out, commanding silence. “His Highness, Crown Prince Kael of Elandria.”

The great doors swung open.

The hall seemed to shift as if the very air held its breath.

Prince Kael entered, his stride measured, his bearing cold and unyielding. He wore black trimmed with silver, stark against the riot of colors around him. His grey eyes swept the hall with the same detached sharpness that Elara remembered like a blade that cut without drawing blood.

A murmur rippled through the nobles, some bowing their heads, others watching him with cautious admiration. He inclined his head only briefly in acknowledgment before taking his place at the high table beside the king and queen.

Elara’s throat tightened. She dropped her gaze to the tray, yet her heart betrayed her again, quickening with each step he took.

It meant nothing. She told herself this over and over. To him, she was invisible. A nameless maid.

But fate has a cruel way of drawing lines where they should never meet.

The feast began with thunderous applause as the king lifted his goblet. “To Elandria,” he declared, his voice booming.

“To Elandria!” the hall echoed.

Wine flowed freely. Servants moved swiftly among the tables, filling goblets, clearing plates, and replacing them with new courses. Elara kept her eyes lowered, her steps careful as she poured ruby wine into crystal chalices.

For a while, she managed well. The nobles hardly noticed her, their attention consumed by laughter, gossip, and the sweet burn of drink.

But as the night wore on, the wine loosened tongues and dulled judgment.

“Elara!”

Mistress Thane snapped, signaling sharply.

She obeyed, hurrying toward a table near the high dais where several lords were roaring with laughter over some crude jest. One thrust his goblet toward her without looking. She filled it quickly, retreating before his arm could brush hers.

Yet as she turned, the crowded hall shifted, and her path collided with another.

Her breath caught.

Prince Kael.

He had risen briefly, his goblet in hand. And for the briefest instant, her tray nearly brushed his sleeve.

The world seemed to freeze.

Elara dropped her gaze so fast the motion almost spilled the wine. Her knees bent instinctively in apology, her voice trembling. “Forgive me, Your Highness.”

Silence pressed for a heartbeat.

Then his voice, cool and low. “Watch your step.”

Not cruel. Not kind. Merely… cutting, as though she were nothing more than an insect brushed aside.

“Yes, Your Highness.” She retreated quickly, heart pounding.

But even as she slipped back among the other servants, she could feel the weight of his gaze lingering for a fraction longer than it should have.

The feast raged on. Laughter grew louder, the air thicker with wine and roasted meat. Nobles toasted endlessly, their voices hoarse with cheer. Some danced clumsily in the open space near the musicians, silks swirling, jewels flashing.

Elara moved silently through it all, pouring, retreating, vanishing again. Yet somehow, no matter where she went, fate conspired to draw her path across the prince’s more than once. A goblet needing filling at his table. A servant stumbled near him, whom she steadied just in time. A platter she carried passed too close to where he sat.

Each time, her heart thrashed like a trapped bird. Each time, she told herself it was a chance. Only chance.

And each time, she wondered why those storm-grey eyes seemed to always find her in the crowd.