Kael! Kael, you mutt, where have you been?"
The screech rang through the corridor like a blade over metal. I staggered in with a bundle of firewood clutched against my chest, the sharp corners digging into my ribs with each step.
Lady Rose, a chubby old woman whose kind looking face may fool you as warmth or comfort but her blazing eyes full of cruelty said otherwise. She stood at the entrance to the kitchens, apron dusted in flour and arms folded like iron bars across her broad chest. As the palace's kitchen matron, she ruled the lower servants with the sharpness of her tongue and the swing of her ladle.
"If you're this slow," she snapped, storming toward me, "are we supposed to wait all day to get heat in the ovens? Gods help us if someone ever asks you to carry anything heavier than a broomstick."
I lowered my head. "Sorry."
Her nostrils flared. "Not only are you short and soft like a girl, but your strength is questionable for a man. Are all latents so weak and worthless?"
Latent.
A word spat with such disgust that even the dust recoiled from it.
Her insult wasn't new, but it stung just the same. And worse—it circled far too close to the truth. Because I wasn't just a latent.
I wasn't even a boy.
My voice caught, but I forced it steady. "It won't happen again."
She snatched the bundle from my arms and turned with a grunt, muttering something under her breath as the kitchen doors slammed behind her.
Left alone in the hallway, I stood still for a breath. Then two. The silence in the palace was deceptive—always coiled, always listening.
My hand drifted to the tight wrappings beneath my shirt. The bindings pressed flat against my chest, where soft curves used to breathe freely. My body still ached from last night's chores, and the fresh bruise blooming on my hip reminded me of how careless I couldn't afford to be.
Three months.
It had only been three months since I entered the palace as a servant boy.
A name borrowed. A voice lowered. A life rebuilt around lies.
I picked up a nearby pail and began gathering the leftover scraps for the stables, letting the scent of burnt grain and boiled meat curl into my nose. Somewhere in the distance, the court bells chimed second hour. The East Wing would be stirring soon.
And maybe—just maybe—I'd catch another glimpse of them.
The princes.
Sons of the Emperor. Four of them. Legends woven in flesh.
No one called them by name unless spoken to. But their presence wasn't just known—it was felt.
Like thunder in the bones.
I'd seen them only in passing. The sharp lines of their backs as they moved through guarded halls. The wind always shifted when they walked past. Even among nobles, they towered—unearthly, terrifying, beautiful.
Only once had one of them looked directly at me. Just a flicker of golden eyes over his shoulder. No words. No recognition.
But in that moment, something in me shifted.
A chill ran down my spine, blood quickening in my ears, breath turning shallow. It wasn't fear—not exactly. It was something worse. Something I didn't dare dwell upon.
I shook it off quickly.
Desire had no place in the skin I wore now. And certainly not when it involved them.