Chapter 3: Chapter 2 – Mockery in Bloom

The Final Maid(Hiatus)Words: 8455

Chapter 2 – Mockery in Bloom

The dry bread had been chewed and swallowed with quiet dignity, and now Princess Aurelia was out in the garden behind her forgotten wing of the palace.

It wasn't much of a garden anymore.

The grass reached past her ankles in places, and stubborn vines twisted up the broken trellises and along the faded stone path. Here and there, wildflowers bloomed where no gardener had touched soil in years. What had once been a royal courtyard now looked like something nature had taken back out of spite.

Aurelia stood near the edge of it all, small gloved hands on her hips. “...It’s all messy again,” she muttered, her voice gentle. “Does no one care about it?”

Behind her, Seraphina quietly followed, her steps light on the uneven stone. “It used to be cared for, long ago,” she said softly, gaze wandering over the overgrown hedges. “But it’s been years since any gardener was sent this way.”

Aurelia tilted her head. “But this is part of the palace, isn’t it?”

“It is. But... not all parts are treated equally, my lady.” There was no bitterness in Seraphina’s tone—only calm fact.

Aurelia turned back to the wild garden with a small sigh. “It’s a shame. It could still be pretty.”

She began stepping through the tall grass, skirts brushing against wild stems. Seraphina followed close behind, keeping an eye out for uneven ground and thorns. Though she didn’t say it aloud, she had trimmed the worst of the growth herself last week—clumsily, with tools too dull and a schedule too tight. She was no gardener, just a maid with too many roles and too few hands.

“Sera,” Aurelia said suddenly, stopping near a tangled bush. “Can I help today?”

Seraphina blinked. “Help with…?”

“With the trimming! The vines. I want to help cut them down.”

Aurelia turned around, looking up with a small hopeful smile.

But Seraphina’s instinctive answer was firm. “No, my lady. You’ll ruin your dress.”

Aurelia immediately pouted, puffing out her cheeks in offense. “Why do you always say that! I can help too.”

Seraphina folded her arms, eyeing the overgrown garden and the small, stubborn princess in front of her.

“…Very well,” she said after a beat. “I’ll fetch something for you.”

Aurelia’s eyes lit up. “Really?!”

“I’ll get the safest tool I have,” Seraphina said with a sigh, already walking off. “But don’t expect it to be fancy.”

When she returned, it wasn’t with a garden shear or a trimming knife—but with a pair of small sewing scissors.

Aurelia blinked at it.

“This is all I can give you,” Seraphina said calmly. “I’m not letting you wave something sharp and heavy around.”

“It’s tiny,” Aurelia whispered.

“Then you’ll get tired faster and take a nap.”

Aurelia stared at the scissors for a moment, clearly offended. But in the end, she reached out and took them with both hands like they were a royal sword. “Fine. I’ll make it work.”

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She turned back to the vines with renewed energy, kneeling near a cluster that had taken root in the cracked tiles. She leaned forward and began carefully snipping the smaller stems, holding her skirts with one hand and cutting with the other.

Seraphina stood nearby, watching with her arms folded and a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips. The sun caught in her short brown hair, making it gleam like chestnut. Though she looked no older than twenty, the gentle exhaustion in her eyes revealed otherwise.

She stayed quiet, enjoying the rare sound of Aurelia humming softly to herself while working.

But the quiet didn’t last long.

Soft footsteps approached—measured and not familiar.

Seraphina’s smile faded instantly. She turned her head slightly, eyes narrowing as the shadow of a figure fell across the grass near them.

Someone was coming.

___

Aurelia continued trimming vines with focused delight, tongue slightly sticking out as she tried to snip a particularly stubborn stem. Her tiny scissors clicked, barely effective, but her joy in the act was genuine.

Seraphina, arms crossed, watched her work with quiet amusement—until the garden's peace broke like glass under a boot.

Three figures stepped onto the stone path without warning. Their steps were slow and precise, yet the air around them tightened.

Seraphina immediately lowered her head, her posture straightening in instinctive submission. Her hands folded neatly in front of her apron.

Aurelia blinked and turned, still kneeling, and immediately froze at the sight.

Leading the group was a tall young woman in a sleek violet gown, embroidered with gold filigree. Her platinum-blonde hair shimmered in the sun, twisted into an elaborate braid. Cold, calculating eyes the color of polished steel fixed on Aurelia like one might observe a bug on glass.

Fourth Princess of the Empire — Thalia Serenelle Veltria.

Two silent maids followed behind her, their expressions dull, backs straight as pillars.

Thalia stopped near the edge of the overgrown vines, her pristine shoes untouched by dirt. She looked over the chaotic garden with faint disgust, then turned to her youngest sibling.

"...Horticulture suits you, Aurelia," she said coolly. "Trimming weeds. It's good work for someone like you."

Seraphina said nothing. Her head remained bowed. As a servant, she couldn’t speak unless addressed. This moment belonged to Aurelia.

Aurelia stood up slowly, dusting off her skirt. Her eyes flicked up to her sister’s without meeting them directly. “It’s… good to see you, Big Sister Thalia.”

Her voice was soft, respectful—but her fingers trembled just slightly around the scissors.

Thalia’s gaze swept over her like a cold wind. “Still so small,” she murmured, then added with a faint smirk, “Did your loyal maid forget to feed you again?”

Aurelia stiffened.

She could take insults. She could bear being ignored. But talking down to Seraphina—that felt like spitting on her mother’s grave.\

Her lips parted before she could stop them. “It’s not her fault. It’s your fault. I know you told the kitchen to send us scraps.”

Thalia’s eyes narrowed, but then—she laughed. Not joyfully. Cruelly.

“Oh dear,” she said, voice honeyed with venom. “Still blaming others, are you? If you must curse someone, curse your mother. She’s the reason you situation is like this.”

Aurelia’s breath caught in her throat. Her jaw clenched. But she didn’t speak further.

She knew when to retreat.

Thalia’s smile twisted as she stepped forward. “At the end of the month,” Thalia said, “a debut celebration will be held for all those reaching fifteen this year. Of course, younger royals are expected to attend as well—so they know what’s expected of them when their own time comes.

Her eyes slid to the coin pouch. “Buy something decent for once. Try not to embarrass the family.”

The smile she wore as she turned to leave was the same one executioners wore when pulling the lever—detached, almost bored.

She didn't spare Aurelia a second glance.

As she walked off, her voice drifted back on the breeze:

“...I didn’t know there was a jungle in the imperial palace.”

When the sound of her footsteps finally vanished, Seraphina raised her head, exhaling slowly.

“…You shouldn’t go,” she said immediately. Her voice was quiet, but the edge of fear beneath it was clear. “That event will be nothing but a trap.”

Aurelia looked at her, eyes surprisingly calm.

“I know,” she said simply. “I won’t go.”

Seraphina blinked.

“I’d rather spend the evening with you,” Aurelia continued. “Even if I’m not that smart, I’m not completely clueless.”

Seraphina stared for a moment—then smiled, soft and bittersweet. “My little dumb princess.”

“I heard that!” Aurelia whirled, cheeks puffed in mock outrage. She threw a tiny punch at Seraphina’s side, but it landed like a petal tap.

Seraphina laughed. For the first time that morning, it was a true, unrestrained laugh—one that filled the garden with a kind warmth the palace had long forgotten.

Aurelia, flustered, tried again, now swinging both fists. “Don’t laugh! S-Stop laughing, Sera!”

But her maid only smiled wider, gently taking her hand and squeezing it.

They stood together in the garden—a forgotten princess and the only person who stayed.