The figure at the doorway was a woman clad in folded green attire befitting a high-ranking maid. She was clearly different from Marion and the others.
Her gaze swept over the group with cool, silent scrutiny. At last, her eyes settled on Esme—specifically on the fistful of glossy chestnut curls still clenched in Esme's hand.
Esme blinked.
Then, very calmly, she released Marion's hair.
Marion stumbled forward with a choked sound, clutching her scalp.
The newcomer's expression didn't change. With a single, cool sweep of her eyes, she demanded,
"…What is going on here?"
Her voice was not raised, yet it carried unmistakable authority. The maids scrambled to speak at once.
"She attacked us!"
"Head Maid Maude, we only came to welcome her—!"
"That girl suddenly went crazy—!"
Marion held her head as though she had been scalped alive, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes.
"She grabbed my hair! I swear, if they hadn't stopped her—"
The head maid's expression tightened with disapproval. She turned to Esme, judgment already etched into her gaze.
"So this is how you behave on your first day?" she said coldly. "Causing trouble the moment you arrive?"
Esme met her eyes calmly.
She didn't know this woman, but she would not stay silent and accept a slight.
"You didn't even ask what happened," Esme replied evenly, her tone almost bored. "You passed judgment without hearing anything."
A ripple of disbelief ran through the maids at the way she addressed the head maid.
Esme had already guessed this woman's status, yet that didn't stop her from speaking. She wasn't clueless enough to miss the pattern. She had barely arrived, and yet these girls had appeared with hostility so quickly.
Someone was clearly trying to warn her to stay in her place.
Esme continued unhurriedly, "I only acted because they touched what didn't belong to them. If they hadn't taken my pouch, I wouldn't have touched them."
The girls had no rebuttal.
Several looked away in guilt. Marion's lips parted in outrage, but no words came out.
The head maid's eyes flickered at Esme's pointed tone. A trace of embarrassment surfaced, but she straightened her back at once, clinging to her authority.
"Even so," she said sharply, "that does not give you the right to assault others."
Esme didn't argue.
She had her pouch back. That was enough. And she didn't yet know who this woman truly was—continuing would only invite unnecessary trouble.
Taking her silence as submission, the head maid let out a stiff breath.
"You girls," she said, turning to the group, "disperse. All of you."
Marion's face twisted in dissatisfaction, but she didn't dare defy the order. She shot Esme a venomous glare before storming out, the rest trailing behind like defeated ducklings.
Silence returned to the shed.
Esme finally examined the head maid properly.
She wasn't much older than Esme, yet she carried herself with the rigid arrogance of someone long accustomed to command.
Noticing Esme's gaze, the woman scowled.
"What are you staring at? Stop dawdling and follow me."
Esme didn't move.
"…Who are you?"
Wariness flickered in her eyes as she studied the woman. Disbelief flashed across the head maid's face, quickly replaced by irritation.
"I," she said through clenched teeth, "am the head maid of the Third Prince's quarters. I am here to take you there."
Esme froze.
"The ruling said I was to serve as His Majesty's personal attendant," she replied, frowning. "Why am I being taken to the Third Prince?"
The head maid's expression soured instantly.
"Don't question orders. Do you think the palace is a marketplace?" she scoffed. "A traitor's daughter strolling into the Emperor's personal retinue? You are assigned to the Third Prince."
Esme fell silent.
She considered it briefly—then nodded.
…This was better.
Far better, in fact.
That cold, towering figure from the tribunal flashed through her mind. A single misstep near him could cost her life. And the system had been painfully clear: if she died here, she would die in her real body as well.
She would avoid that at all costs.
Besides, princes rarely held true power within the palace unless they had military backing. If the dramas she remembered weren't lying, they were mostly ornamental.
Serving a prince was safer.
The head maid opened her mouth, likely to scold her again, then stopped when Esme began walking on her own. She huffed, lifted her chin, and turned to lead the way.
They walked through a narrow side lane. Packed dirt soon gave way to shiny stone as the surroundings grew more ornate.
Rows of palace buildings stretched before them, identical in structure yet different in color and grandeur. Each bore a plaque carved with elaborate calligraphy.
As they passed, Esme read the names she could make out: Jade. Vermillion. Lotus.
She frowned slightly. Weren't these supposed to be identifiers?
She didn't dwell on it long. The head maid walked briskly—almost deliberately fast—and Esme quickly followed, suspecting the pace was meant to test her.
Gradually, the palaces grew less grand and more uniform. At last, the head maid stopped before one of them. It looked identical to the others, yet its silence felt oddly colder.
Esme lifted her gaze to the plaque.
The name carved there was elegant and refined:
Sterling.
It didn't read "Third Prince's Residence."
Still, since the woman had stopped, this had to be it.
A considerable number of girls were already gathered outside. They were dressed in ordinary wear like her so she couldn't tell if they were maids. They stood in loose clusters, some whispering in pairs or trios, others looking as though they had just received a death sentence. A few were even quietly crying.
"Stand with them," the head maid said. "You will be registered shortly."
Without waiting for a reply, she swept into the palace, her sleeves snapping crisply behind her.
Esme watched her go, puzzled.
So many steps… for a single punishment assignment?
Then her gaze moved over the people with pursed lips. She figured that these people must also be here to work at the Third Prince's quarters.
Esme frowned.
Why were there so many?
Anyway, whatever, Esme thought.
She had barely taken two breaths when the doors burst open again.
This time, two young eunuchs stumbled out.
Between them—
They dragged a girl by her arms and legs.
She wore maid attire.
Or what remained of it.
Her limbs dangled limply. Her head lolled back at an unnatural angle, dark hair spilling toward the ground. Her skin was drained of color, so pale it bordered on blue.
Her hands lay open, fingers slack.
The first to notice was a girl near the front. She staggered back, her voice trembling.
"Is… is she dead?"
The question rippled outward like a stone dropped into still water. At first, no one fully understood. Then their gazes followed hers, and landed on the girl.
Within seconds, gasps erupted.
"She's dead?!"
"Dead—she's dead!"
"Someone died?!"
"Did the Third Prince kill her?!"
"How—why—?!"
Chaos exploded.
Girls stumbled away from the entrance, knocking into one another, scrambling as if death itself might spill out after the eunuchs.
Screams, panicked breaths, frantic footsteps—everything erupted at once.
But Esme did not move.
She stood rooted to the ground, her body cold, her eyes fixed on the lifeless maid being dragged past her.
Her face drained of color.
What kind of place… is this?