CHAPTER SIX — The Collision of Fate
The palace of Nightfall stirred before the first hint of dawn touched the sky. Servants whispered and hurried through the long halls, their polished shoes barely making a sound. Helena moved among them quietly, clutching a bucket and a stack of folded cloths. Her shoulders ached, but she pushed forward. She had to. Every coin she earned was for her grandmother.
Every day since her arrival, Helena had worked harder than everyone else. She was the newest maid, the poorest, the least prepared, and—according to some—the least qualified.
"Look at her dress…"
"Is this a farm girl?"
"She won't last till noon."
She heard every word, but she kept her eyes down. She wasn't here to impress anyone. She was here to survive.
Her tasks were endless. She scrubbed floors until her hands stung, polished lanterns until she saw her reflection in them, and carried scrolls stacked higher than her head. While she worked, strange things seemed to happen around her—things she didn't have the energy to question.
A torch she passed flickered blue. A locked cabinet opened with a soft click whenever she stepped near it. Runes carved on ancient pillars glowed faintly when she walked by. She paused the first few times, confused, but then shrugged and continued sweeping.
"I'm tired," she muttered to herself. "Too tired to care about magic."
But the palace cared about her.
And it was watching.
One afternoon, Helena hurried through the east corridor with a pile of freshly washed uniforms in her arms. Her vision was blocked, and she tried her best to move quickly before the head maid scolded her again.
She rounded a corner—
and slammed directly into someone.
The uniforms burst from her hands and scattered across the polished floor.
"I—I'm so sorry," she said instantly, bending down to gather them.
But then she froze.
The person she collided with wasn't a servant.
It wasn't a guard.
It was him.
Prince Kira.
He stood tall, dressed in deep black, the faint glow of the corridor flames reflecting in his cold eyes. For a moment he simply stared at her, and Helena's heart hammered painfully in her chest.
Then something strange happened.
Kira—who was known for his icy stillness—actually paused, as if caught off guard. His eyes met Helena's, and everything around them seemed to shift. The air thickened. The torches flickered. The silence deepened.
Kira felt a jolt in his chest, a flicker of warmth that confused and irritated him. It felt like… recognition, but impossible. He had never seen this girl in his life.
He hated the feeling instantly.
"What," he said quietly, "do you think you're doing?"
Helena dropped to her knees, gathering the uniforms with shaking fingers.
"I—I didn't see you, Your Highness. I swear, I didn't mean—"
"Be silent."
Her breath caught.
Servants nearby froze, eyes wide.
"You bumped into me," Kira continued, voice dangerously calm, "and expect to leave without consequence?"
"I'm really sorry," she whispered, bowing low.
Kira stepped closer, shadow falling over her.
And again—
again—
that unwanted warmth stirred in his chest.
He clenched his fists.
He didn't like this.
He didn't like her.
He didn't like anything that made him feel.
"What is your position?" he asked sharply.
"I—I'm a cleaner, Your Highness."
"Not anymore."
Helena looked up, confused. "Your Highness?"
"You," Kira said coldly, "are now my private maid."
The corridor gasped.
Even Helena's breath fled her.
"Wh—what? But I— Your Highness, I didn't— I can't— I mean—"
"Are you refusing?" Kira asked softly, dangerously. "Are you defying royal command?"
"No!" she said quickly. "I just— I heard things… about you."
He raised a brow. "Oh? And what did you hear?"
"That you're… cold. And strict. And no one lasts long serving you."
"That is correct."
Helena swallowed painfully.
"You will obey," Kira finished.
Her hands trembled, but she bowed.
"…Yes, Your Highness."
Kira turned and continued walking toward his meeting, his cape fluttering behind him. On the outside, he appeared calm, unaffected. But inside, something twisted unpleasantly beneath his ribs.
Why did he feel anything at all?
Why did looking into her eyes make his heart react?
Why had he suddenly claimed her as his personal maid?
This was foolish. Irritating. Dangerous.
He refused to feel anything.
He refused fate.
He refused the curse.
And yet… he hadn't been able to walk away.
From that moment on, Helena's life turned miserable.
Kira worked her relentlessly.
She cleaned rooms already spotless.
She carried books too heavy for one person.
She polished armory he didn't even use.
She stood for hours outside his door in silence.
If she made a single mistake—
"Again," he would say coldly.
"Start over."
"That is unacceptable."
Some servants pitied her.
Others laughed.
Rumors spread quickly:
"She won't last long."
"Kira's last private maid quit crying."
"She's too fragile."
Helena did her best.
But at night, when she fell onto her thin cot, tears slid down her cheeks.
It wasn't fair.
She didn't ask for this.
She didn't want to serve him.
She just wanted to help her grandmother.
Meanwhile, in his chamber, Kira sat in darkness, staring into flames that flared strangely whenever he remembered the moment she collided with him.
"It's nothing," he muttered to himself.
"She's nothing."
But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't erase the image of her eyes.
And that scared him more than anything else.
Because the last thing he wanted in this world was to feel anything at all.
Not when love was a curse that killed.