jake

Jake strode through the east wing of the palace, his steps sharp and tense. Servants slipped out of his way the moment they saw his expression—dark eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, shoulders stiff with irritation. Even the glittering chandeliers overhead and the gold-trimmed marble pillars did nothing to calm him today.

His black hair, usually styled perfectly by the attendants, was slightly tousled from him running his fingers through it. The fitted navy prince’s coat he wore—embroidered with silver thread—felt suffocating, the ceremonial sword at his side only adding to his frustration.

He turned a corner too quickly—and collided with someone.

The sudden impact jolted him, knocking him a step back. A wooden crate hit the floor with a dull thud, sending bright red apples rolling across the marble.

He exhaled sharply, ready to snap at whoever hadn’t been watching where they were going—until he looked down and saw her.

She was already kneeling to gather the apples, her simple black-and-white maid’s uniform softening around her frame. A loose strand of hair slipped from her bun and brushed her cheek as she reached for another apple, her hands trembling slightly. When she lifted her head, her eyes met his—wide, startled, and filled with the kind of worry only a servant felt after bumping into royal.

Jake froze.