The evening air carried the scent of lavender from the freshly laundered towels as Evelyn sat before her dressing mirror, fingers tracing the embossed cover of her book. Behind her, Ruth gently towel-dried her damp hair, the firelight casting flickering shadows across their reflections.
"Your Highness." Ruth called, squeezing water from a dark curl. "You terrified everyone today. When I first mounted that horse, my knees shook for an hour—yet you rode as if you'd been born in the saddle."
Evelyn studied her own face in the mirror, her brow faintly creased. "It was... strange. My body moved before I could think. Like muscle remembering what my mind had forgotten." She turned the book absently in her lap. "And that stallion... I just knew it,he wouldn't harm me. Just like ...in my dream."
"You adored that horse." Ruth observed, combing through the ends of Evelyn's hair. "Though you never asked his name."
Ruth's reflection shrugged, pragmatic. "If you love him so, just tell Sister Grace to buy before we leave. You're the Crown Princess—she'd hardly refuse you."
Evelyn laughed and tapped Ruth's forehead with the spine of her book. "And how would we explain a warhorse trailing us back to the palace? We came here to learn decorum, not collect rebellious steeds." Her smile softened. "Besides, even if we brought him, when would I ride? The palace has no patience for wild things."
"Tch. Being a 'lady' is dull." Ruth grumbled, twisting Evelyn's hair into a loose braid. "I've never seen you glow like you did today."
Evelyn caught Ruth's hand in hers, their fingers interlacing in the mirror's frame. "Then let this memory be enough. You've stood by me through every stifling ceremony—knowing you're here is my joy."
Ruth immediately wrapped her arms around Evelyn's shoulders from behind, her cheek pressed to Evelyn's crown. "Then I'll never leave." She declared, voice thick with playful insistence. "Because my happiness is being wherever you are."
The wooden pallet in the dojo guesthouse creaked under Evelyn's restless movements. Unlike the down-filled beds of the palace, this unforgiving surface made sleep impossible. With a sigh, she struck a flint and lit the bedside candle, its wavering light illuminating the borrowed book's embossed cover.
She flipped to the introduction, where bold script declared:
"The Hernandez Count Family—an elite lineage of female royal guards—shall carve their legacy into history's spine. Though some may bury their existence, those they've saved will bear witness to their valor."
"Female royal guards?" Evelyn scoffed, fingers tightening around the pages. "What absurdity. If they were royal guards, what does that make us Campbells?" The words tasted like vinegar on her tongue. Yet something prickled at the back of her neck as she read deeper into the night, the candle burning lower with each turned page.
The next day.
At first light, Ruth stirred awake to find Evelyn's bed vacant. She blinked, then gasped—there sat the Evelyn,rigid at the writing desk, her face bloodless in the gray morning light.
"Your Highness!" Ruth rushed forward, pressing a palm to Evelyn's forehead. "You're ice-cold! Did you sleep at all?"
Evelyn jolted as if startled from a trance. She slammed the book shut with trembling hands. "I—I lost track of time." She lied, forcing a smile that didn't reach her shadowed eyes.
Ruth gripped her shoulders, voice hushed with urgency. "Should I ask Sister Grace to cancel today's lessons? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Beneath Evelyn's sleeve, the book's spine creaked ominously.
The morning light bled through the rice paper screens as Evelyn rose abruptly, arms outstretched like a marionette awaiting its strings. Ruth sighed but obeyed, her fingers working deftly through the layers of silk and linen. The rustling fabric filled the heavy silence until Evelyn's question cut through:
"Ruth." She began, her voice oddly detached. "How old were you when you came to serve House Campbell?"
"Seven, why?" Ruth answered automatically, her hands never pausing as she cinched the obi tighter than necessary. The familiar ritual of dressing usually calmed them both.
Evelyn's next question came like an arrow loosed in darkness: "And before that... had you ever heard of the Hernandez women? The royal guards?"
Ruth's hands stilled. The morning birdsong outside suddenly seemed too loud. "Miss." She said gently, turning Evelyn to face her, "You're mixing up bedtime stories with real life." Her thumbs brushed invisible wrinkles from Evelyn's shoulders. "The Campbells have always been the royal guards. Everyone knows this."
A hollow laugh escaped Evelyn's lips as she looked at their reflection in the polished bronze mirror - the young perfect noblewoman and her devoted maid. Her palm came up to press against her own cheek, the touch neither gentle nor harsh. "You're right." She laughed at herself ,"What am I thinking?"