The kiss was hot and wild, fueled by his drunkenness, yet filled with an urgency that sent shockwaves through her. This was Catherine's first kiss, and when they pulled apart for air, she felt dizzy.

He kissed her again, and as his tongue worked its way down her throat, his hand roamed her body, exploring her curves with an eagerness that left her breathless. Before long, they were both undressed.

She should have pulled away. Should have said something, anything. But she had always hoped her first time would be special, and no better way to be disvirgined by the boy she really liked since they were kids.

So, she responded to his kiss, losing herself in the heat of the moment and letting her longing take over.

As their bodies moved together, she felt the tension build, a swirling mix of passion and uncertainty. She wanted to be close to him, to feel every inch of him. She moved her waist up, which only drove him crazy. He grabbed her hands and pinned it above her head. Then, in a slow, sensual move, he thrust into her, filling her completely.

"George..." she gasped.

She felt the heat radiating from his body, every thrust overwhelming her senses. There was no turning back now.

As their movements grew more urgent, she lost herself in the rhythm. Each moan from him sent shivers down her spine. She felt the world go still, leaving only their breaths, their bodies entangled.

With one final surge of energy, he drove into her deeply, the overwhelming sensation pulling her closer to the edge. She felt the heat of his release, of her release too, and in that moment, everything else faded away: the doubts, the fears, and the consequences.

As he lay back on the bed beside her, his breathing heavy and shallow, Catherine felt both exhilarated and shocked.

What. Just. Happened?

The reality started to set in, with panic and fear washing over her. She turned to look at him, but he was fast asleep, a peaceful expression settling on his face.

She rose quietly, redressing with shaky hands. Just before she left, she checked to see if the coast was clear, then hurried back to the staff quarters, guilt clinging to her every step.

Elizabeth found her just as she was slipping inside. "Catherine! Where have you been? It's nearly three."

Catherine turned away, her cheeks flushed. "I... I was with Isla. She couldn't sleep."

Her mother studied her, unconvinced, but she let it pass.

- - -

The next morning, the grand breakfast room glowed in sunlight and polished silver. Catherine joined the row of maids setting out plates, her nerves thrumming each time she moved. Across the table, Prince George sat poised, composed as usual, smiling politely at his parents.

Still trying to steady herself from the night before, Catherine fumbled with the tea, spilling a drop. Her hands were shaking as her thoughts spiraled.

He doesn't remember... does he? She thought. He's acting as though nothing happened.

Her friend, Isla, noticed her flustered behavior but said nothing.

On the other hand, George's own mind was a blank ache. He had woken up with a splitting headache, grateful for the pill and water he saw beside him. A thoughtful maid, perhaps? He considered, dismissing it easily.

He had no recollection of the night before, except for the laughter, whiskey, his friends, and music at the pub. They had promised him an unforgettable night, and safe to say that they kept their word as the rest of the night was blank. He didn't even know how he got to his bedroom.

At the breakfast table, he sneaked glances at Catherine, noting her distraction and the way she wouldn't meet his eyes. Was she upset about something? Maybe she'd seen his drunken state last night and was embarrassed? Or Was she not feeling too well? He would check on her later.

As the day went on, George prepared for Eldoria's favorite pastime for the royals, falconry. As part of tradition, he had to always go with a few servants: a butler, four bodyguards for security, and a maid as his attendant. And as usual, he would choose Catherine as his attendant.

This was one of the few times he got to spend time with her lately. As children, they were almost always inseparable, but the more they grew older, their roles became more prominent, and they slowly drifted apart.

"I'm not feeling too well, Your Highness," Catherine said lightly, masking her nerves. "I... I'll have to decline. Someone else can accompany you."

George frowned, surprised. Is she avoiding me? he thought. But why? He sensed a change, but he didn't press.

The staff were just as shocked. Catherine's absence was unprecedented. The rest of the maids rushed forward, eager to accompany the prince. After a while, he picked Isla to go with him.

As the rest of the staff walked back into the palace, their whispers, speculation, jealousy, and the ever-present rumor followed her.

Back at the quarters, when Elizabeth saw her daughter, she was concerned. "You didn't go with George?

Catherine shook her head, repeating the same lie. "I'm not well today."

Her mother reached out. "Is it a fever..."

"I'll be fine, ma. I just need to rest a bit," Catherine replied, hiding the storm inside.

Why was he acting so normal? Maybe he's regretting it and trying to move past it. How would her mother react when she finds out?

Her thoughts were spiraling. She knew she couldn't keep avoiding the Prince and lying to her mum, but she just needed time to process it.

- - -

At the falconry grounds, George arrived with his friends and staff. They laughed, shot a few birds, but suddenly, they heard commotion at the entrance as paparazzi snapped away.

Princess Katarina arrived with her entourage. As the daughter of King Edward and Queen Margaret, from the Kingdom of Drakonhelm, she carried herself with grace and wit, disarming everyone.

One of George's friends introduced the two of them. Katarina spoke politely, talking about her own family, she being the fourth of six sisters, and her father, King Edward, known for both his generosity and gravitas.

George matched her conversation, talking about Eldoria and its history. They talked about royal expectations, having both come from different royal households, so they understood each other.

Although he found her engaging, George remained cordial but kept his guard. Katarina, on the other hand, was genuinely taken aback by him. Her friends teased, but her smile lingered on George, looking for ways to stay close to him.

The day continued on until it was evening, and George returned to the Palace, his mind preoccupied with everything that had happened.

Isla found Catherine just before dinner. "What's wrong, Cathy?" she asked, worried. "You've been acting... off since breakfast. Why didn't you go with the Prince?

Catherine smiled faintly. She couldn't tell her friend yet. "I'm fine. Really."

Isla wasn't convinced. She was about to press further, but stopped after hearing footsteps behind them.

Prince George approached, looking dashing as ever. And they immediately stood up to greet him.

Catherine tried to steady her thoughts, but she could feel the panic gnaw at her.

"Can I have a moment with Ms Catherine?" he asked.

"Yes, Your Highness," Isla replied, briefly glancing at Catherine.

After Isla left, neither of them said anything. There was a tense, lingering silence between them.

Has he finally remembered? Oh God, is he going to put me in the friendzone forever?

Then, George stepped closer, looking at her with concern, and asked. "Is this about last night?"

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 weeks 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."

The next day, Catherine woke up tense. She could barely sleep last night. She remembered the note, and her throat tightened. The rumors were now venturing into threats.

Elizabeth had asked what was in the envelope, but she had shrugged, lying that it was one of the maids playing a prank on her. She didn't want her mother to feel more worried about her than she already was.

Could it actually be a prank? She thought to herself as she entered the palace to start her shift. Every glance at her seemed loaded. Could it be her? Could it be him? Catherine was starting to become paranoid.

The palace itself felt changed. There was a new curfew in place, posted quietly on the wooden notice boards along the hallway in the staff quarters. New schedules slipped into kitchen tables, instructions whispered by supervisors.

Each message was the same: Staff were to avoid royal corridors after dark, keep interactions brief, and "hold themselves to the highest standards." There had been no grand announcement, only the slow, suffocating tightening of a net she hadn't realized she was caught in.

Catherine tried to shake off her paranoia as she continued with her day. But as soon as she walked into the staff dining hall, she caught flashes of conversation:

"Something's brewing," muttered a young footman to his friend.

"There was a maid found near the prince's wing one night" a senior butler whispered to two royal advisors, their heads close.

Catherine ducked her head, hoping she wouldn't draw their attention. She hurried to the kitchen, where Isla was already bustling about, stacking trays beside the great stone washbasin.

Isla saw her fear. "Ignore them," she said quietly, stepping in when Mrs. Harrow barked an order at Catherine. Isla took on the brunt of the task, arranging the trays with precision, blocking the worst of the barbs. Catherine's shoulders sagged with relief.

Isla knew how Catherine felt, as she herself had searched for warmth in a cold place. Before coming to work in the palace, her father's excessive drinking had broken up his marriage, and it had destroyed her mother. She never felt love in her home. She remembered the sting of shame from being blamed for a missing coin and the general feeling of always wanting to be a part of something.

When she met Catherine, she understood that pain and quickly defended her against the other maids. Catherine had also vouched for her in one particular incident. "If you accuse Isla, you accuse me too." ,and since then, Isla's loyalty was forged, vowing to always protect her.

No one saw the flash in Isla's eyes or the fear coiled tight inside her. She said nothing more, just continued working while keeping Catherine's panic at bay.

As the afternoon light slanted through high windows, Catherine passed through a quiet corridor, still feeling on edge. She saw Prince George coming the other way towards her. He looked tired, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, his hands jammed awkwardly in his pockets.

She hadn't seen him for days. Obviously, by choice, because she still didn't know how to act around him. So, she tried to avoid him, but there was nowhere to hide this time. It was no use, he'd already seen her.

"Catherine," he said, voice softer than she expected, "can we talk?"

She nodded and followed him into a small alcove out of sight.

He hesitated, choosing his words. "Did something really happen that night between us? I... I've tried to piece it together, but I can't. I have this feeling something's changed between us because I think you've been avoiding me. Please, I need the truth."

Catherine's breath hitched. She tried to come up with something to say. "Umm... I... I was with you. You... you were drunk, so I helped you to your room. That's all. Nothing more."

He looked at her, searching for any sign of lies. And for a moment, something filled the space between them.

The first time he met Catherine, she had just arrived at the Palace with her mother. She was this 6-year old girl in the gardens beside the palace, clutching a wildflower he'd picked up for her. His face was rosy with a shy smile. He did like her. Back then, the world felt simpler.

"Catherine..." he whispered, reaching for her hand, but just then, footsteps echoed as Mr. Alden, the King's junior royal secretary, appeared around the corner. He paused, eyeing them both with shrewd calculation.

"Your Highness, you're needed at the library," he said. His tone was polite but held an edge, a hint that nothing in this palace went unnoticed.

George turned and left, casting Catherine one last, uncertain look as he disappeared.

She waited a moment, trying to steady her heart beating erratically, before she left as well.

During an afternoon tea training, Catherine fumbled a tray, the cups rattling, nearly falling. Maids gasped. Mrs. Harrow's eyes narrowed in on her, lips pressed in a thin line.

Later, Mrs. Harrow cornered Catherine in a stone-lined corridor.

"Appearances matter," she said, her voice low. "You may think you're invisible, but you're not. Staff position is earned with discretion. If I find you in the wrong place again, things will change for you... and your mother."

Isla walked in just in time to hear the threat, placing herself firmly at Catherine's side. "With all due respect, Mrs. Harrow, Catherine's only ever put the palace first. We all make mistakes. If you want someone to help with extra work, I'll do it."

Mrs. Harrow glared at them, huffed, and walked away.

- - -

As dusk began to settle, Elizabeth was called into the administrative offices. A senior supervisor greeted her, words formal but heavy.

"Mrs. Elizabeth, I'm sure you've heard the rumors about your daughter. We do not take things like that lightly, and we require absolute transparency. Any staff caught up in a scandal will be dealt with accordingly. I trust your daughter is aware of the risks."

Elizabeth bristled with anger, even though she was feeling a bit scared on the inside. "My Catherine has never brought shame to the palace. And she never will."

The supervisor nodded and dismissed her, but Elizabeth could not forget the chill in their warning. She's been here before, and she will not allow her daughter to go through the same thing she did.

She returned to their quarters shaken, hoping to talk to her daughter about the situation. But as soon as she walked in, she saw Catherine doubled over by the washstand, retching violently.

"Catherine?" Elizabeth rushed to her side, her heart in her throat. "Are you alright?"

Catherine wiped her mouth, her eyes tired. "I don't know, ma. I just feel sick."

Slowly, Elizabeth pieced everything that's been happening in the last few days together: the rumors, Catherine's odd behavior recently, and now, the nausea.

If what she was thinking was true, then nothing would ever be the same.