"Fix it! You're dancing like a wilted flower!"
The sharpness of Rebecca's voice echoed against the marble walls of the Hall of Rhythm, slicing through the silence like a whip. I winced, my limbs frozen mid-motion.
I shut my eyes tightly, bracing myself against the burning in my muscles and the sting of her words. My chest heaved, lungs desperate for air, but I refused to cry.
I'm exhausted. My legs feel like splintered wood. My waist aches from the endless figure-eights, and the soles of my feet throb as if the palace stones were eating them alive. Yet, I still can't execute the steps the way she wants.
"The festival starts in three days," she said, pacing in front of the golden mirrors. "You must perfect every movement by tomorrow. Not the next day. Tomorrow."
I nodded numbly. I had memorized every step—every graceful tilt, every turn, every flick of the wrist—but it wasn't enough. My body wouldn't move the way she demanded. It was never just hands and feet. It was hips, waist, spine, breath. A full offering of self.
Why is it so difficult?
"Can I rest now?" I asked quietly, my voice trembling, eyes pleading.
Rebecca stared at me, her arms crossed. For a moment, I thought she'd order another round of practice. But her eyes flicked over my hunched shoulders, my wilted form.
"Fine," she said curtly. "But we resume at dawn. Go get some rest."
I let out a long breath and tried to smile. "Thank you... for letting me join the competition."
She raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-step as I bowed slightly. Her expression softened—only slightly—but enough that I saw a glimmer of humanity beneath her strict exterior.
"Before you go…" she began, her voice quieter now, almost secretive. "Since it's just the two of us here, I want to properly introduce myself."
I turned back, surprised. Her expression had changed. Not stern. Not cold. Just... calculated.
"I'm Rebecca," she said, folding her arms behind her back. "Jared's cousin."
That sent a shiver down my spine. Jared? So she was part of the royal inner circle?
"I know you're not who you pretend to be," she added casually. "You're Rowela. Not Rosa."
My heart skipped a beat. My breath caught in my throat. "H-how did you know?"
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "We all heard of the wealthy old man Sebastiano's… infatuation with Rosa. It intrigued the court—the man was raving about marrying a woman who dressed unlike any noble lady. Then your name started echoing in whispered halls, reaching ears that shouldn't have heard it."
She took a step closer.
"Instead of exposing you, I asked Jared and King Harriet to strike an alliance. You've already met Ares, I believe. He's done a fine job watching you."
"So you want me to thank you?" I said bitterly.
I was still angry. She'd yelled at me in front of others like I was nothing—even though she knew the truth. My pride was bruised more than my feet.
"No need," she replied coolly. "You've yet to accomplish anything worth gratitude. You still have to earn your place. Win the King's affection. Keep your secrets buried. Stay away from scandal."
She tilted her head, studying me.
"So, Rowela… tell me. How did you manage to infiltrate the palace?"
I bit my lip. What harm could honesty bring now?
"The man wearing a crown let me in," I muttered. "I told him I was a princess from a faraway land. He believed me and even gave me a luxurious room. I used the name Diana."
Rebecca smirked, amused. "That's a good start. But lies won't sustain you forever. If you claimed a kingdom, you must forge one."
I stiffened. "That's impossible. I'm not an heir. I'm a servant. A mere nobody from the Escobar estate."
"Then make yourself somebody," she snapped. "Secure your name, Diana. Without marriage. I won't help you with that."
Her words echoed in my mind like a cruel prophecy.
She lured me in. Baited me with promises. But now that I'm tangled in this web, I must survive alone.
A kingdom?
Too impossible.
…Unless.
A memory surfaced—like a half-forgotten dream. Cion Island. Remote. Hidden. Isolated. A place untouched by greed, unknown by law.
Could I claim it?
Could I rule it?
My thoughts swirled dangerously, spinning faster than the dances I had failed to master. I climbed the grand staircase slowly, forcing each step, ignoring the stabbing pain in my legs. I couldn't let anyone see my weakness—not now.
---
When I returned to my chamber, Fiora was already tidying up.
"Good evening, miss," she said, straightening the folds of my bedcover.
"G-good evening," I replied.
She turned to face me with a nervous smile. "I'm Fiora. Lord Jared assigned me to be your servant. You can't change anymore—I'm the last one left without a mistress."
I furrowed my brows. "You didn't have one before?"
"No," she said softly. "She disappeared. The guards are still looking. They say she committed a crime."
Her voice cracked.
"She was kind. Gentle. She never hurt anyone. I know she was falsely accused."
Tears fell freely down her cheeks.
My chest ached at her sorrow. I wanted to comfort her. To say I knew how she felt. That I was Rowela—the one everyone thinks vanished. But I couldn't. Not yet.
"I hope she's safe," I whispered.
Fiora nodded weakly, then excused herself to fetch something for me to eat. Before she left, I handed her a sealed letter.
"Give this to Lord Jared," I instructed. "Make sure no one sees you."
She hesitated, clearly afraid. But she nodded. She trusted me.
Minutes later, she returned with a plate of warm sweetbread and a single red apple. She leaned in and whispered:
"Someone's looking for you outside. He says he's a Duke."
"A Duke?"
My heart stuttered. I placed the food down and rushed to fix my appearance in the mirror.
I opened the door slowly… only to frown in disappointment.
It was just Celio.
Harriet's smug royal messenger.
"You're sticking with the 'Duke' act now?" I said flatly.
"If I said I was a messenger, I'd have been turned away," he shrugged.
I stepped outside, shutting the door behind me.
"What do you want?"
"In the upcoming Rose Festival competition," he said, lowering his voice, "you'll face a formidable rival. Eva."
"And?"
"She's bringing your two sisters."
My blood ran cold.
"How do you even know I have sisters?"
"I'm a messenger, miss. Information is my business." He grinned. "But that's not all. More news tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" I scowled.
Before he left, I stopped him.
"Survey the island of Cion for me."
He raised an eyebrow. "That place actually exists?"
"Yes. There's a woman named Emily there, her daughter Emelia, and an infant named Ellie. That's where Jared found me. But beware—they hate men. Especially old, perverted ones like you."
He narrowed his eyes. "You're awfully arrogant for someone begging favors."
"If you don't go," I smirked, "I'll tell Jared that you—"
"Fine, fine!" He threw up his hands and stalked off, muttering.
I sighed. That man was insufferable.
---
When I returned, Fiora had fallen asleep on my bed, curled up like a kitten.
Poor thing.
I let her rest. She had done her duty.
That night, I wrapped myself in a shawl and snuck out of the palace.
I needed to see Jared.
I passed the gardens quietly. But he wasn't there.
Instead, I saw King Harriet… and Sebastiano's father.
I ducked behind a flowering azalea and listened.
"I didn't know there was an island near our borders," said the King.
"We didn't either," the old man replied. "Turns out, the woman who tricked me fled there."
"Cion Island?"
"Yes."
The King nodded. "I want it turned into a royal resort. The locals will serve as laborers."
"But… it's cursed, Your Majesty. People vanish there."
The King laughed darkly. "Perhaps we should wait, then."
My stomach dropped. No. If they get to the island first, my only hope of sovereignty will vanish.
"And the search for Rosa?" the King asked.
"No leads. Someone said pirates took her."
"Then your chances are slim."
"I'm not giving up."
"Why?"
"If you saw her… you'd understand. She's mesmerizing. I must find her—before I kill her."
My blood froze.
"She used a potion, maybe," he added with a smirk. "Women are weak. Fragile. Full of themselves."
The King nodded. "Indeed. No woman has ever impressed me."
Their laughter pierced my soul.
I fled.
My heart pounded as I ran, blind and fast. I wasn't just angry. I was terrified.
Then I collided into someone.
I tumbled, hitting the stone with a painful thud. My heel broke.
"Are you alright?" a voice asked.
I looked up—and my breath caught.
Xyra.
She was covered in bruises. Faint purple blossoms marked her arms and neck. She was trembling, too tired to even stand tall.
"X-Xyra?"
She offered a hand, but I stood on my own, overwhelmed.
"I'm fine," I said hoarsely.
She tilted her head. "Why are you crying, miss?"
"What happened to you?" I asked, voice shaking. "Why are you bruised?"
She looked away. Didn't answer. She turned and walked into the darkness.
I was left there—shaken, breathless, and full of dread.
Who did this to her?
And what terrible truth was she afraid to speak?