Maximillian We reached the palace gates just before noon. The heat clung to my skin, and the sun had begun its ruthless climb overhead. The guards barely looked up as they checked our manifest, waving us through with a bored flick of the hand. Either they trusted Matthias’s name, or they didn’t see two farm hands as much of a threat.I sat stiffly in the truck as we rolled past the towering walls and manicured hedges, the grandeur of the palace pressing in from all sides. My stomach was a tight coil of nerves—not because I feared being found out, but because I hated being watched. Places like this always had eyes. Too many.A palace staff boy—no older than thirteen—darted over and pointed us toward the back service entrance near the kitchens. The scent of roasting meat, baked bread, and hot oil hit me before I even stepped out. A flurry of maids, chefs, and kitchen hands bustled about like bees around a hive. Judging by the pace and the shouting, some kind of banquet was brewing.
Maximillian Two days later, Mr. Matthias handed me the delivery sheet with the royal crest stamped at the top—golden ink and all. The Palace. That wasn’t just another delivery; it was the delivery. One of the most important ones we’d had in a while. Automatically, I felt a weight settle on my shoulders. It meant a long trip into town and a truckload of fresh poultry and slaughtered pigs—cleaned, wrapped, and packed with more care with more care than I’d ever seen Matthias give to anything—human or animal. He’d even wiped the corners of the crates himself. That said a lot.The old man might not have been good with words, but he understood that a royal contract could feed the farms for the next six months.I stepped out toward the truck, squinting under the morning sun, and spotted Steven leaning against it, a bottle of water tipped at his lips like he was modeling for an advert. He spotted me and smirked—that slow, condescending kind of smirk that suggested he knew something I didn
Maximillian It was clear as day—black and white, no room for misinterpretation. Steven-whatever-his-surname-was—hated me. The kind of hate that simmers under polite smiles and stiff nods. He didn’t need to say it out loud; I could feel it in the way his eyes lingered just a second too long on me, or how his jaw tensed whenever Edwina laughed at something I said.The air around him practically sizzled with the heat of his disdain. And I knew exactly why. All because of Edwina.The one girl we both liked—unfortunately.I’d told myself I was here to lay low, keep my head down, do the work, don’t get involved, and build a quiet life under the radar. But the truth was, my mission blurred every time she looked at me with those thoughtful brown eyes—calm, but always searching. She had this gentle resilience about her that tugged at places in me I thought I’d sealed off for good.And of course, Steven noticed.He wasn’t subtle about it. Suddenly, Edwina was sent on errands the moment I wal
Maximillian The pig farm was a different beast entirely. The smell hit harder than I expected—strong, sour, and absolutely unforgiving. It clung to my clothes, my skin, even the inside of my nose. The noise was worse—grunts, squeals, the constant slosh of mud and feed underfoot. It was chaos, noisy and foul, nothing like the quiet kind of work I used to imagine when I thought about “normal jobs.”But Mr. Matthias didn’t sugarcoat anything. He gave me clear instructions—muck out the pens, scrub the troughs, stick to the feeding schedule. It was brutal work, no doubt about it. Even though I’d never actually done something like this before, it didn’t feel entirely foreign. I knew all about pig farming—at least in theory. I'd heard enough, read enough, seen enough. And hard labor? That never scared me. It never had. I reminded myself of that as I rolled up my sleeves, trying to shake off the creeping doubt gnawing at the edge of my mind. My body still knew how to push through—muscle me
EdwinaThe morning sun hadn’t fully crested the horizon when I stepped out of the house, wiping my damp hands on my worn jeans. The sky was still blushing pale orange, the air crisp and cool with dew. I’d barely slept—my mind had been too alive with thoughts of everything that could go wrong… and everything that might go right. I kept playing out different scenarios in my head, imagining the worst outcomes and then daring to hope for better ones. It was exhausting.Beside me, Justice stood silently, adjusting the collar of the shirt I’d loaned him—one of my father's old work shirts. It was a little snug across his shoulders, but he didn’t complain. He never did. And somehow, he looked more put together than usual, though the shadows beneath his eyes still clung stubbornly. I noticed them and wondered if he, too, had spent the night wrestling with his thoughts.We walked side by side, barely speaking. The silence between us wasn’t awkward—it was the kind that wrapped around you like
Maximillian I was sitting on a bench near the emergency exit, nursing a bottle of water and feeling like I hadn’t slept in days. My shirt was still wrinkled from the night before, and I probably looked like hell. My back ached, my limbs were heavy, but I was awake. Hyperaware.“There you are,” I said when I saw her coming. I managed a faint smile. “You disappeared.”“I had something to take care of,” she replied, slightly breathless. There was something different in her voice. It hovered just beneath the surface—something she was holding back. “Actually… I have news.”My brows lifted. “What kind of news?” Please let it be good. We hadn’t had any of that in a while.“I asked Mr. Matthias for a job,” she said, her words quick, excitement barely contained. “On his poultry farm. And he said yes.”I blinked, then sat up straighter. A smile cracked across my face—real and immediate. “Are you serious?”She nodded. “I start tomorrow. He said they need more hands, and he’s willing to pay.”“T