Chapter three

Catherine froze at Prince George’s question. She opened her mouth, but she couldn’t find the words. Her mind raced through shame, panic, and dread as she braced for the moment when he says he remembers everything.

But before she could muster a reply, George’s frown deepened, and he clarified, “One of the stewards said there was some trouble with the kitchen staff about you being late on duty.”

Catherine’s heart nearly gave out in relief. She nodded awkwardly, trying to hide her fluster. He doesn’t remember, not the kiss, not their bodies tangled together, not the trembling after.

Then, her relief turned to disappointment. Was she hoping maybe…?

“Oh,” she managed to say, struggling to keep her tone light. “Um… that was a bit of a mess. Nothing important.”

George studied her for a bit. “Well, we all make mistakes, but if anyone bothers you, you’ll tell me, right?” he asked.

“I… of course,” she replied softly.

They catch up for a bit after that, but when George left, he still felt like their interaction was… off, like she wasn’t being herself with him.

- - Two week later - -

That morning, Catherine’s shift felt endless. The weeks had passed by routinely with work, the usual jokes and jabs from the maids, and her face burning whenever she caught sight of George.

As she stepped quietly into the scullery, she could feel everyone’s eyes on her, tracking her movement. What’s going on? She thought. The whispers felt different, it was sharper than usual.

When she bent to gather linens, she heard snippets from the conversation behind her.

“…saw her, plain as day, leaving the west wing. Near his rooms. Middle of the night—”

“She’s gotten bold. Maybe she thinks her mother’s spotless record covers her too…”

Catherine froze, her pulse quickening. What? Did someone see her that night?

A flush crept up her neck. She forced herself to continue with what she was doing, acting as if she hadn’t heard them, but the hum of rumor had quickened to a buzz. She quickly finished her task and hurried off, slipping into an empty parlor where she found Isla wiping down a sideboard.

Isla looked up, concern etched across her face. “Cathy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s wrong?”

Catherine hesitated, the words thick at her throat. She had never hidden anything from Isla. Sitting down, she whispered, “I need to tell you something… and you have to promise me, Isla. Swear you’ll keep it just between us.”

Isla nodded, moving closer, her eyes never leaving Catherine’s. “I swear. You know you can trust me.”

Breathless, Catherine confessed the secret she had kept to herself for days. “Remember that day I acted weird at the breakfast table, and when I didn’t go with the Prince to Falconry?

“Yes? You said you weren’t feeling too well.”

”Well… I… I lied. The night before, the prince had come back home drunk. I walked him to his room. But before I could leave, he…” Catherine paused for a moment, trying to steady herself. “He kissed me. One thing led to another, and…” She couldn’t say the rest. Her cheeks burned.

Isla’s hand flew to her mouth. “Omg! Does anyone else know?”

“No,” Catherine said, voice barely audible. “But someone may have seen me leaving that night. I heard them this morning.”

Isla held her hand and squeezed tighter. “People talk, Cathy. They’re vultures. They don’t already like you, so they would say anything to get in your skin, but I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise.”

Relief trembled through Catherine, but she couldn’t shake off the fear. “You can’t tell a soul, Iz. Please.”

Isla nodded, solemn. “Never.”

- - -

Elsewhere, in the queen’s rose-marbled sitting room, Prince George sat across from his mother. Queen Charlotte had heard the rumors, but she didn’t believe it. Still, she wanted to hear from him.

She studied him with the steady gaze she reserved for the most delicate state matters.

“George,” she said quietly, “I’ve heard things… things about you and one of the maids. You know that everything in this palace has a way of surfacing.”

George stiffened. “Rumors, Mother. That’s all they are.”

She set aside her embroidery, her face grave. “I know, but our family is always watched, always judged. If you give them a reason to talk, it will become an accusation. I’m sure you understand the cost of a single scandal… for you, and for us.”

He clasped his hands, jaw clenched. “Mom, there’s no truth to those rumors, but I promise to be careful.”

Her gaze softened, but her worry was still visible. “Be more than careful. There’s more at stake than a ‘harmless’ rumor.”

- - -

Back in the service hall, the day moved on with suffocating normalcy. Catherine tried her best to blend into the blur, acting as if nothing happened.

At midday, the maids assembled in the kitchen for announcements and the daily assignment rotation. Mrs. Harrow, the formidable head housekeeper, called the group to order.

“We run a palace, not a market!” she barked. “Everyone here is trusted to keep their head down and their service impeccable.”

She continued. “It has come to my attention that someone…”Her eyes flashed through the group. “...was found out of place at improper hours. I don’t want to know if this is true or not, but there will be no favoritism, no taking advantage of position. If I find anyone, anyone at all, breaking protocol, be assured that there will be consequences.”

Catherine’s stomach twisted. Every eye seemed to turn toward her. She pressed her hands to her apron, forcing herself not to break. Not here. Not now.

After the meeting ended, Isla sidled up to her. “Hey, keep your head down,” she whispered, “It’ll blow over if you don’t let them see that it’s affecting you.”

Catherine tried to smile, grateful for Isla’s steady presence. But she caught Daniel, one of the kitchen boys, watching her from the corner, a knowing smirk twisting his lips.

Once her shift was over, Catherine was relieved to be out of anyone’s view. When she got to her quarters, she found her mother folding some laundry. Elizabeth smiled softly when she saw Catherine, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Long day?”

Catherine sank onto a bench, exhaustion seeping in. “Long couple of weeks, really.”

Elizabeth pressed a kiss to her daughter’s hair. “I heard the rumor. I don’t want to ask if you’re not comfortable telling me just yet, but I need you to be very careful. These palace halls are more dangerous than they seem. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

Before Catherine could reply, someone knocked on the front door. Catherine stood up to answer it.

“For you, Miss Catherine,” the person said, pressing an envelope into her hands.

She frowned. No one ever wrote to her except her mother’s friend in the market, and this wasn’t her handwriting. Elizabeth watched, concerned as Catherine opened the seal.

What she read made her heart stop.

There, in harsh black ink, was a single line: “I know about your secret.”