I gently rubbed my chest to calm the nerves rising in me at the sight of her. Truthfully, I wasn't surprised to see her here. Perhaps Myra had already told her everything. My stepmother had full control over me, and now she was even here in the palace to monitor my every move.
I closed my eyes and leaned against the door. When I opened them again, I asked calmly,
"Why are you here, Minerva?"
She shrugged, her expression clouded with dismay.
"I'm annoyed with you—especially since you are the one Mother chose to replace Myra!"
I averted my gaze and busied myself with unpacking my luggage. I ignored her and focused on arranging my things. But moments later, she spoke again, clearly irritated, her lips curled in distaste.
"I'm here to guide you. Mother instructed me to. She was furious when I told her that peasants and servants like you shouldn't be allowed to join the competition—especially since the suitors here are far above your class."
She smirked as she emphasized the word servant, clearly enjoying every syllable.
I knew I was still a servant—only dressed in elegant clothes—but to them, I'd always remain beneath them. Yet she seemed to have forgotten that I'm her father's daughter too. We're still sisters, no matter how much she tries to deny it.
"Is that so? Then what exactly am I supposed to do here in the palace?" I asked, continuing to tidy up my room.
"Plenty. You must attend every gathering—they're all part of the competition."
"And you're participating in the singing contest?"
"Yes! But aside from that, I also have to join the dancing and poetry rounds. Do you even know why this competition is being held?"
"Not yet. I suppose you'll tell me now?" I said sarcastically, which only seemed to irritate her further.
"As if I'd tell you. Don't expect me to share anything."
"But Mother told you to guide me, didn't she? Shouldn't I know everything I need to survive this?"
She rolled her eyes and placed a book on my bed before heading toward the door. Just before leaving, she glanced back at me.
"That book contains the laws of the palace. It should help you understand the rules of the competition. I'm leaving. Just read it."
She slammed the door shut behind her.
She never changes.
I stared at the book she left behind. The cover was thick and gleaming—was it made of gold? I ran my fingers across the engraved title, curiosity bubbling inside me.
I opened it and skimmed through the pages. The text was in a clean serif font, making it easy to read.
It listed the dos and don'ts within the palace—expected behaviors for ladies, proper dress and decorum, laws and prohibitions, and especially the things one must avoid. I didn't know so many rules even existed. Some were so absurd, I couldn't help but laugh.
The dining etiquette alone was excessive. All those rules about which spoon or fork to use and how to flatter the chef through utensil placement—pure vanity. Every lady must also have an attendant or companion. But since I was a servant, I didn't think I'd be assigned one.
Despite the nonsense, I did learn many things from the book—though I doubted I'd remember them all, let alone follow them. For now, I just wanted to be myself. To stop pretending. Especially since I couldn't guarantee my safety with my stepmother lurking—even from afar.
I stared at my reflection as I applied some color to my face—something I learned from my old friend Fiora back when I was sixteen.
Sadly, Fiora had to move away when a wealthy competitor opened a bakery near theirs. Unable to keep up, they closed their shop and returned to the province.
I slipped into a white dress trimmed with lace that served as delicate sleeves. The soft pink makeup I'd applied brought out a simple yet elegant charm.
I had to leave the room and explore. I couldn't remain locked inside, not when there were so many opportunities that might pass me by.
I looked at my reflection, and for a moment, I resembled a porcelain doll—innocent and poised. I puckered my lips toward the mirror and immediately laughed. Even I found myself ridiculous.
Still, I needed to exude grace and refinement. I was using my real name now. Every decision I made would affect my reputation. I had to avoid scandal, and if ever I were granted a voice, I needed to ensure my opinions were well-thought-out.
Since I loved books, the first place I visited was the palace library. The moment I stepped in, I was awestruck by the vast collection and spaciousness. The light filtered in beautifully, and the reading areas were so far apart that even if I spoke aloud, no one would hear me.
I couldn't hide the joy on my face—which caught the attention of a young man nearby.
He wore a hat and smiled at me in delight, which, admittedly, irritated me a bit.
"New here?" he asked.
"Um—hmm." I answered hesitantly.
I noticed the paint-stained paper in his hand and the splotches on his clothes.
He was a painter. As far as I knew, only the wealthy had the luxury to paint. Knowledge like that wasn't meant to be shared with the poor—probably so the greedy could profit from their so-called art.
Still, he seemed kind. He wore glasses with thick lenses and had bright, clean teeth. He was cheerful and animated. Before I knew it, he had led me to a table and was already telling me about a book that inspired his latest piece.
Then he showed me a painting of a man—and I nearly froze.
"W-Who is that?" I asked nervously.
He laughed.
"That's Commander Jared—the king's most trusted protector. Noble, hardworking, and generous. But he's not easy to talk to. He rarely speaks to anyone other than the king, and he's wholly devoted to his duty."
"Does he have a lady he's courting?"
"Huh? Not that I know of. As far as I can tell, he has no time for such things. His mission always comes first."
"I see…" I replied, disheartened. It seemed there was little chance I'd see him again.
"Speaking of courtship," he said, returning to our earlier conversation,
"Is it alright if I invite you to dinner tonight?"
I froze, feeling a wave of nervousness and embarrassment. I wasn't sure I was ready for something like that. But if I accepted, perhaps he'd share more information about the competition's purpose.
Before leaving, he handed me a book—with his full name written inside:
Sebastian De Francisco II
That afternoon, I grew bored from reading and decided to step out into the palace gardens. There, I saw Xyra—Xyrone's younger sister—speaking with an older man.
Fear was clear on her face. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I knew something was wrong. I stepped closer.
"Such a lovely young lady—you look just like my late wife," the old man said.
"You must be blind. The girl standing in front of you has boils all over her face. And another thing—aren't you courting your granddaughter? Don't you have children of your own? Disgusting. You should be praying in a chapel, not creeping around palace courts."
"What did you say?! Why are you interfering?!"
Xyra turned toward me, tears in her eyes. Relieved.
"Because I care, old man! This girl is crying in fear because of what you've been saying. Of course I'll interfere!"
Xyra clung to my arm, still shaking.
The crowd began to murmur. Some called the guards to remove the old man from the premises.
I gently patted Xyra's back as she cried, thankful that I had been there to defend her.
Later, she admitted to me that the old man had harassed her multiple times—reaching out to touch her on several occasions. No wonder she was so terrified whenever he appeared.