Inferna did not object to Soliana being there.

  That was the first thing she noticed.

  No one stopped her when she crossed the lower corridor that morning. No one asked where she was going. A maid passed close enough that their sleeves brushed, murmured an apology out of habit, and kept moving.

  Soliana paused for half a step—just long enough to check if the apology had been meant for her.

  It had been.

  She continued on.

  The first thing she helped with was small enough to feel permitted.

  A bundle of cloth sat abandoned near a stairwell, folded but clearly meant to be carried somewhere else. Soliana lingered beside it, glanced up and down the hall, then picked it up.

  It was lighter than she expected.

  She followed the direction she’d seen others go before, counting turns the way she always did—left, right, down the narrow stair where the stone dipped in the middle. When she reached the laundry room, she hesitated at the threshold.

  No one looked at her.

  She set the bundle down where the others were stacked and stepped back.

  That was it.

  No comment. No correction. No one asking who had brought it.

  The next thing was easier.

  A steward passed her in the corridor, muttering under his breath, arms full of ledgers. One slipped loose.

  Soliana caught it before it hit the floor.

  “Oh—thanks,” he said absently, already reaching for it. “Can you take that to records?”

  She nodded before he finished speaking.

  He was gone by the time she registered that she hadn’t been told where records were.

  She still found it.

  Somehow.

  After that, things began to stack—not all at once, but gradually, like snow that didn’t look like much until you noticed how quiet the world had become.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Hold this.”

  She did.

  “Take these upstairs.”

  She did.

  Once, someone gestured vaguely and said, “Put it with the rest,” and Soliana knew exactly what that meant.

  She didn’t stop to wonder how.

  The palace began to feel less like a maze and more like a pattern. Certain doors were louder. Certain corridors always smelled faintly of oil. The guards near the east stair rotated just before midday, which meant the path cleared for a few minutes after.

  She learned without trying.

  She moved without thinking.

  At some point, someone handed her a tray and didn’t watch to see if she dropped it.

  She didn’t.

  The work stayed small. Errands. Carrying. Fetching. The kind of things no one remembered assigning once they were done.

  She liked that.

  There was no pressure in it. No weight beyond what her arms could manage. When she finished one thing, another appeared—not urgently, not insistently. Just… naturally.

  “Can you take this when you’re done?”

  “Yes.”

  “After that, help her.”

  Okay.

  She began to recognize faces.

  Not names—not yet—but faces. The woman who always smelled faintly of soap and herbs. The man with the scar on his chin who hummed while he worked. The girl who rolled her eyes whenever someone mentioned inventory.

  They recognized her too.

  Not formally. Not with questions.

  Just with glances that didn’t linger anymore.

  Once, someone said, “You’re quick.”

  Soliana smiled before she realized she was doing it.

  Later, she completed an errand and returned to find no one waiting to tell her what came next.

  She stood there, uncertain for the first time all day.

  Then she noticed a crate near the wall—half unpacked, tools spilling out unevenly.

  She knelt.

  Sorted them.

  Put them where they obviously belonged.

  When she stood again, a woman nearby gave her a brief look—not approval, not disapproval. Just acknowledgment.

  “Thanks,” she said, already moving on.

  Soliana followed the next task without thinking.

  Near the end of the afternoon, she felt it—the smallest flicker of awareness, like realizing you’ve been walking for a while without feeling tired.

  She wasn’t being directed anymore.

  She was being included.

  That was when the head servant noticed her.

  It wasn’t dramatic.

  The woman paused near the archway, eyes scanning the room in that particular way people did when they were counting without counting. Her gaze landed on Soliana and stayed there a second longer than anyone else’s had.

  Soliana felt it and stilled, hands tightening reflexively.

  The head servant frowned—not sharply, just thoughtfully. Her eyes moved from Soliana to the work being done. To the cleared space. To the finished task.

  She glanced at the ledger tucked under her arm.

  Then she looked back at Soliana.

  Nothing was said.

  After a moment, the woman gave a small, noncommittal hum, adjusted her grip on the ledger, and walked on.

  Soliana exhaled without realizing she’d been holding her breath.

  No one corrected her.

  No one asked who she was.

  By the time the torches shifted, her legs were pleasantly sore and her hands smelled faintly of oil and soap. She carried one last bundle down a familiar corridor and passed it off without breaking stride.

  “Thanks.”

  She nodded, already moving.

  It struck her then—not as a realization, not as a thought she needed to hold onto—but as something simple and unremarkable:

  She enjoyed this.

  The movement. The clarity. The way one thing followed another without anyone telling her to wait.

  When she finally slowed, leaning briefly against the stone wall near a window slit, the palace felt different than it had that morning.

  Not kinder.

  Just… navigable.

  Inferna hadn’t welcomed her.

  It hadn’t needed to.

  She pushed off the wall and took the next turn without hesitation.

  Tomorrow, she would do it again.