The courtyard shimmered in the noon light as the maid candidates were led into a separate chamber. Lena followed quietly, her thoughts spinning. The hall behind her still echoed with names and footsteps, but here it was quieter, only the sound of sandals against polished stone and the faint trickle of a fountain somewhere nearby. The air smelled of roses and something sweet like honey.

They were told to stand in rows again, facing a long table where several older women sat, dressed in elegant but severe attire. Their eyes were sharp, scanning the group as if reading secrets written on each girl’s face. One of them tapped her fan against the table and said, “You will answer when spoken to. You will move only when told. Today’s selection determines who will serve in the royal residence. The rest will be dismissed.”

Lena’s stomach tightened. She didn’t know what was expected of her, but she could feel that this was no place for mistakes.

The woman in the center—tall, gray-haired, with an expression that could cut through silence—raised her hand. “Bring them forward one by one,” she said.

The first girl stepped up. She bowed gracefully, introduced herself, and answered questions about her family, skills, and education. The older women nodded slightly. The next girl followed. Then another. Lena tried to listen, but the words blurred together. Sewing, cleaning, etiquette, herb knowledge. The expectations sounded like something from another century.

When her turn came, her heart thudded so loud she could hear it in her ears.

“Name,” the gray-haired woman asked.

“Lena Carter.”

The woman’s brows arched. “That is not a name from this kingdom.”

“I… I come from far away,” Lena said.

Murmurs rippled through the judges. One leaned to whisper, but the gray-haired woman silenced her with a glance. “Far away,” she repeated slowly, then studied Lena from head to toe. “You look lost, child. Do you know what you are applying for?”

Lena swallowed. “To be… a maid?”

A faint smile crossed the woman’s lips, though it was hard to tell if it was amusement or pity. “A maid serves the royal household with loyalty and silence. She must be graceful, disciplined, and invisible. Can you do that?”

Lena hesitated. Her instinct was to say no. She had never been graceful or silent. She had always been the one asking too many questions, bumping into things, spilling coffee on her reports. But something told her refusal would not end well.

“Yes,” she said quietly.

The woman nodded once. “We shall see.”

Lena was told to step aside. The evaluation continued until the last girl finished. Then the judges conferred in low voices. Finally, the gray-haired woman stood. “Twenty candidates will proceed to training. The rest may leave.”

A murmur of relief and disappointment spread across the room. The steward read the names aloud. When Lena heard hers, she froze. She was in.

The other girls gathered near her, some smiling nervously, others whispering complaints. The one who had spoken to Lena earlier—her name was Mira—grinned and nudged her elbow. “Told you to keep your head down. Looks like it worked.”

Lena managed a faint smile. “Thanks. I still don’t understand what’s happening.”

“You’ll get used to it. Or not. Depends on your luck.” Mira laughed softly, but her eyes were cautious, always watching the guards near the door.

They were led out through a narrow corridor into a wide courtyard filled with small training stations. There were tables set for tea service, mannequins dressed in royal garments, and practice areas for cleaning and arranging flowers. The sun hung high overhead, warm but not harsh, casting long shadows across the stone floor.

A woman in a dark green robe approached them, carrying a cane. Her movements were quick, precise. “I am Mistress Halden,” she said. “You will address me as such. For the next three days, we will test your obedience, patience, and grace. Those who fail will be dismissed immediately.”

Her gaze landed on Lena for a moment longer than on the others. “You especially. Something about you feels... misplaced.”

Lena lowered her eyes, unsure how to respond.

The training began. They practiced setting tea without spilling, folding linens into exact corners, and walking in silence while balancing trays. Lena’s fingers fumbled at first. She dropped a cup, tripped on the edge of her skirt, and received a sharp tap of the cane across her palm. Mira whispered encouragements, but even she struggled to keep a straight face when Mistress Halden scolded them for crooked posture.

By sunset, Lena’s arms ached and her back burned. Yet, as she placed the last set of silverware perfectly on the table, she felt a strange calm. There was rhythm in the work, a quiet order she hadn’t felt in her chaotic city life.

When they were finally dismissed, the sky had turned orange and violet. Mira plopped down beside her on a bench near the courtyard wall. “Not bad for your first day,” she said. “You didn’t cry, that’s something.”

Lena laughed weakly. “I think I used up all my tears when I woke up here.”

Mira tilted her head. “You really don’t remember how you got here?”

Lena hesitated. “No. I was in a city. I left work. Then... there was an accident.”

Mira frowned. “An accident?”

“A car hit me. I think.”

Mira blinked, confused. “A car?”

Lena realized how strange it sounded. There were no cars here, no electricity, no signs of her world anywhere. She forced a smile. “It’s… like a wagon. Never mind.”

Mira didn’t press further. The bell rang from the tower, signaling curfew. The two stood and headed toward the dormitory, a long stone building lined with narrow windows. Inside, rows of beds filled the room, each with simple linen sheets and a small wooden chest beneath.

Lena lay down on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The sound of crickets drifted in through the window. The world outside felt unreal, yet too vivid to deny. She touched her arm where the cane had struck—it still stung.

In her mind, she saw the rain, the flashing lights, the car speeding toward her. The moment of impact replayed again and again. Then, a voice, faint but clear, echoed in her memory—something she hadn’t noticed before.

You have crossed the gate.

Her eyes opened. The room was dark except for the soft glow of the moon. Mira was already asleep beside her.

Lena whispered to herself, “The gate…”

Outside, a wind swept through the courtyard, rustling the banners. Somewhere deep within the palace, a locked door creaked open, and a candle flickered to life, as if answering her words.