Things changed the very same day.
Servants came.
Not one. Not two.
Many.
The once-silent wing of the palace filled with movement—footsteps echoing, curtains drawn open, fresh linens brought in, warm meals prepared on time. It was as if the forgotten space had suddenly remembered its purpose.
But Elira did not feel relieved.
She felt watched.
She sat quietly near the cradle, her small hand resting against Kael's blanket as unfamiliar faces moved around them. Maids bowed. Attendants spoke politely. Everything looked… proper.
Too proper.
Too sudden.
Too false.
"Your Highness, please allow us to handle the Third Prince," one maid said with a gentle smile.
Elira didn't move.
"I'll stay."
The maid's smile didn't falter—but something in her eyes dimmed slightly.
"As you wish."
Another maid stepped forward, placing a tray on the table. Steam rose from freshly prepared porridge, its warm scent filling the room.
"Your meal has been prepared," she said softly. "Please eat while it is warm."
Elira's gaze shifted to the tray.
Then back to the maid.
"…You made it?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
A pause.
Then Elira asked quietly, "Just now?"
The maid hesitated—just for a second.
"Yes."
It was small.
Almost unnoticeable.
But Elira saw it.
In her past life, she had learned to read people quickly. It was a survival instinct—one you developed when trust was a luxury you couldn't afford.
And right now—
Something felt wrong.
"Leave it there," Elira said.
The maid bowed. "Of course."
They all stepped back after that, returning to their duties with practiced ease.
But their attention never truly left the room.
Never left her.
Minutes passed.
Elira didn't touch the food.
Instead, she waited.
Watched.
Listened.
Kael stirred softly beside her, his tiny hand brushing against her sleeve. She gently held it, her gaze never leaving the tray across the room.
Then—
She moved.
Slow, careful steps carried her to the table. The maids subtly stilled, their movements growing quieter, slower.
Watching.
Elira reached up and picked up the spoon.
Her small hand trembled slightly—not from weakness this time, but from certainty.
She dipped it into the porridge.
Raised it.
Paused.
Then—
She turned.
And dropped the spoon onto the floor.
The sound echoed sharply.
"Oh."
Her voice was soft.
Clumsy.
Childlike.
"I dropped it…"
One of the maids stepped forward immediately. "It's alright, Your Highness. I'll—"
"No."
Elira looked up.
Her expression innocent.
But her eyes—
Sharp.
"Bring another."
The maid froze.
"…Your Highness, it's not necessary. That one is still—"
"I said," Elira interrupted gently, "bring another."
Silence.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Then—
"…Yes, Your Highness."
The maid bowed and turned away.
Too quickly.
Elira watched her go.
Watched the slight stiffness in her movements.
Watched the way the others avoided looking at her.
Something cold settled in her chest.
When the maid returned, she carried a new spoon.
Different.
Clean.
Untouched.
Elira took it.
Dipped it into the porridge again.
This time—
She didn't hesitate.
She turned slightly and walked toward a small decorative birdcage near the window. Inside, a white bird fluttered gently, unaware.
The maids froze.
"Elira… Your Highness?" one of them spoke carefully.
Elira said nothing.
She lifted the spoon.
And held it toward the bird.
A small tilt.
A single drop fell.
The bird pecked at it instinctively.
One second.
Two.
Three—
It stopped moving.
Just like that.
Its small body collapsed silently at the bottom of the cage.
Dead.
The room went completely still.
No one breathed.
No one spoke.
The truth hung in the air, suffocating and undeniable.
Poison.
Elira lowered the spoon slowly.
Her hand did not shake.
Her expression did not change.
But her voice—
When she spoke—
Was no longer that of a child.
"…Who did it?"
The words were soft.
Calm.
But they carried something far heavier than anger.
Authority.
The maids dropped to their knees instantly.
"T-This servant doesn't know!"
"It wasn't me, Your Highness!"
"Please forgive us!"
Voices overlapped, trembling, desperate.
But Elira didn't look at them.
Her gaze moved.
Slowly.
Carefully.
From one face to another.
Searching.
Measuring.
Someone here knew.
Someone here thought they could erase a forgotten princess and a cursed prince without consequence.
They were wrong.
Elira turned back to the tray.
Then—
With a sudden motion—
She kicked it.
The bowl shattered against the floor, porridge spilling across the marble like a stain that couldn't be hidden.
Flinches. Gasps.
Fear.
Good.
Her small hand reached back, gripping the edge of the cradle.
Grounding herself.
Protecting him.
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
But every single person in the room heard it.
"…If he dies…"
A pause.
Her fingers tightened.
"…you all die."
Silence.
No hesitation.
No doubt.
Just truth.
Because now—
This was no longer neglect.
This was war.