"Thief!"
The word echoed down the corridor like a drumbeat of judgment.
Marie stood frozen, heart pounding in her chest as the lady-in-waiting stormed into the room, her voice sharp with practiced outrage.
"How dare you?" the woman cried, pointing to the Queen's letter atop the tray. "Stealing from the royal correspondence? From Her Majesty herself?"
"I didn't—" Marie stepped back, eyes wide. "It wasn't there—when I—"
But her words faltered. The door was already filling with faces—curious, suspicious, eager. Like moths to a flame, the court was drawn to scandal.
"I was delivering a tray," Marie said, her voice shaking. "I've done it every day. I didn't touch the letter. I swear it."
The lady-in-waiting narrowed her eyes. "And yet, here it is. How convenient."
A guard appeared, summoned by the commotion. He looked between them, uncertain. "Is there a problem, madam?"
"This servant," the woman hissed, "was caught with a royal letter. One bearing the Queen's seal."
The guard turned to Marie. "Come with me."
"No," she breathed, stepping backward, her feet brushing the fallen letters. "Please. I haven't done anything."
"Marie," Léonie's voice called faintly from the hallway—desperate, but too far.
The crowd parted for no one.
Panic rose in her throat like smoke. They were going to drag her away. Question her. Punish her. No one would listen. She was just a servant. A girl.
But she would not go quietly.
Marie turned on her heel and ran.
---
She darted down the corridor like a hunted deer, her slippers slipping on the polished floor, skirts gathered in her fists. Gasps followed in her wake. Someone shouted behind her. Footsteps pounded in pursuit.
She turned a corner—then another—ducking into the servants' passage where the walls narrowed and the light dimmed. She knew these halls better than they did. She had polished every stone.
She ducked through the kitchens, past startled cooks, and into the laundry, where steam fogged the air. Then up the servants' stairwell two steps at a time.
She could hear them behind her.
"Stop that girl!"
"She's fleeing!"
"Seize her!"
Her lungs burned. Her legs shook.
But still, she ran.
---
Finally, she collapsed behind a tapestry near the western wing, hidden in a forgotten alcove. Her breath came in sharp gasps, her heart thudding in her ears.
Tears welled in her eyes—not from fear alone, but fury.
They had planned this. Every moment. Every detail. And she had walked straight into their trap.
She had no proof. No allies. And now—no future.
Unless something, or someone, changed the course of fate.
---