The morning sun rose sluggishly over the kingdom, casting a pale amber light that filtered through the high kitchen windows. The scullery was already bustling with activity, pots clanging, firewood crackling, and the bitter scent of burnt onion lingering in the air. Odi, with her sleeves rolled to her elbows, was up to her wrists in soapy water, quietly washing the breakfast dishes.
Whispers swirled around her like an invisible storm. Eyes watched her, full of venom and resentment.
"Look at her," one of the older maids hissed behind her back, "acting like she's better than the rest of us."
"She thinks just because the King looks at her, she's special," another chimed in.
Odi kept her head down, ignoring them. She had become accustomed to the cruelness of the palace women. Ever since Darius scolded Lady Ariana in public—over her—hatred had brewed hotter than the cooking fires.
A bowl slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor. One of the maids clicked her tongue.
