Chapter 55 CHAPTER 055
Ari's POV:
The morning crawled in slowly.
I was up before the sun had fully decided to show itself, the sky outside still that murky shade of blue-grey that couldn't make up its mind. My back already ached from yesterday and the day hadn't even started yet.
But it was the moon festival, and apparently that meant nobody slept.
The entire house had shifted overnight into something frantic and humming. Maids moved through hallways with their arms full, voices overlapping, instructions being barked from every direction. Flowers arrived in crates. Tables were dragged across marble floors, the scraping sound cutting through everything. Someone was always calling someone else's name.
I wrapped my apron strings twice around my waist and got to work.
The morning was a blur of motion — hauling linens from the storage room, pressing tablecloths until they fell in perfect, crisp lines, arranging centerpieces that someone else would probably rearrange the moment I turned my back. I carried things. I set things down. I was pointed in directions and I went. I didn't complain.
I didn't have the energy to complain.
By mid-morning, my arms were feeling it. By early afternoon, my feet had joined the protest. But nobody was stopping, so I didn't stop either. Around me, the house slowly transformed — the grand hall dressed up like it was trying to impress someone important, the banquet table stretching long and proud down the center, candles placed at careful intervals, silverware aligned with a precision that felt almost aggressive.
It will be beautiful tonight. I could admit that, at least.
"Ari."
I turned.
Harry was standing near the far end of the hallway, hands tucked into his pockets, watching the controlled chaos with the kind of easy calm that made it obvious he wasn't the one carrying anything. He wasn't looking at me exactly, but he also was looking at me.
Our eyes met for exactly one second.
I looked away first and went back to straightening the candle in front of me.
It had been happening all morning. Every time I turned around, there he was. Near the staircase. By the doorway. Leaning against the wall at the edge of the hall while the rest of us worked. He wasn't doing anything suspicious, wasn't saying anything, just — there.
I told myself it was coincidence.
I went back to work.
Sierra arrived a few minutes later.
Her eyes moved over the hall slowly, cataloguing, searching for something wrong the way some people searched for something right.
She found me almost immediately.
I felt it before I saw it — that specific shift in the air that happened whenever her attention landed on you.
"Ari." She said my name like it was a small inconvenience. "The east corridor needs the ceremonial runners laid out. All of them. And when you're done, the canopy outside needs the hanging arrangements sorted — Lena made a mess of it. After that, come straight back here. We'll be starting on the table setting soon and I need someone reliable on the food."
Around me, I watched the other maids receive their assignments in small, single tasks. One thing. Maybe two.
I nodded and said nothing.
I did the east corridor. I fixed Lena's mess outside under the canopy, standing on a step stool with my arms above my head long enough that my shoulders burned. I came back and I was handed more.
Another glance from across the hall. Harry, again, near the main doorway, talking to one of the guards but watching the room from the corner of his eye. I caught it before he looked away.
I picked up the next assignment and kept moving.
Evening crept in and with it came the final push.
The banquet table needed to be set before the guests arrived, before the festival lights came on outside, before everything shifted from preparation into performance. The kitchen was pure chaos — covered dishes lined every counter, warmth and the smell of roasted meat heavy in the air, someone always about to collide with someone else.
Sierra positioned herself at the center of it like she was conducting something.
"Ari." She appeared at my shoulder without warning. "You'll carry the main course platters to the table. All of them."
I looked at the platters.
They were large. Heavy. Stacked and covered, some of them still steaming.
I looked back at her.
"All of them at once?"
"Did I stutter?"
The other maids nearby found very interesting things to look at on the floor.
I loaded my arms carefully — one platter balanced, then another resting on top of the first, then a covered dish tucked against my side, then another balanced on my forearm. My fingers gripped the edges hard. My elbows locked. Someone handed me one more and I took it because saying no hadn't worked out for me yet.
I moved toward the banquet hall slowly, measuring every step.
It was too much. I knew it was too much. But I kept walking, jaw set, refusing to give anyone the satisfaction.
I made it halfway across the hall.
Then the edge of my shoe caught the slight ridge where two floor tiles met, the same ridge I'd noticed a dozen times today and successfully avoided every single time until this exact moment.
Everything tilted.
I tried to correct — shifted my weight, gripped harder — but physics had already made its decision.
The platters went first, then the dish at my side, then everything else in a cascading, horrible sequence that I couldn't stop and couldn't slow down. The sound was loud in n the quiet of the prepared hall. Metal against marble. Food hitting the floor. A serving lid spinning on its edge in a long, dramatic circle before it finally fell flat.
The silence after was worse than the noise.
I stood there in the middle of it, empty-handed now, the mess spreading around my feet, my face burning so hot I could feel it in my ears.