The steam rose in lazy curls from the sunken marble bath, carrying the faint, expensive scent of sandalwood and rose oil. It fogged the gilded mirrors and beaded on the cold stone walls of the king’s private chamber. The other maids moved with practiced efficiency, their soft footsteps and the gentle slosh of water the only sounds as they finished their tasks. Their eyes remained downcast, their movements a silent ballet of servitude. My own hands, clumsy and new, fumbled with the final stack of fresh towels. I could feel the weight of a gaze hotter than the steam, a pressure between my shoulder blades that had been there since I’d entered the room to help my mother.