THE TRIPLET ALPHAS ARE HERS Chapter 1

The fever had settled into Mother’s bones three days ago and refused to leave.

Seren watched her grind dried moonwort in the stone mortar, each movent slow and deliberate. Her mother’s hands trembled. The pestle scraped against granite in uneven rhythms, nothing like the confident grinding Seren had grown up hearing from the next room.

"You’re doing it wrong," Seren said quietly.

"I’m doing it fine." Mother didn’t look up. Sweat beaded at her temples despite the morning chill that seeped through the servants’ quarters. The small window above their workspace showed grey sky and nothing else.

Seren reached for the pestle. "Let ."

"No." Her mother pulled the mortar closer, protective. "You’ll crush it too fine. The King needs it precisely asured."

"The King won’t know the difference if you’re the one making it or ."

"The King knows everything." Mother finally t her eyes. Her face looked hollowed out, shadows pooling beneath her cheekbones. "The palace listens even when it looks asleep. Rember that."

Seren had heard this warning a hundred tis. Maybe a thousand. Never wander. Never linger. Never look twice at anything that isn’t your concern. Keep your head down and your mouth shut. The rules had been beaten into her since she could walk, and she’d followed them perfectly for eighteen years.

"I rember," she said.

Mother’s hands stilled. She stared down at the half-ground herbs, then set the pestle aside with a soft click. "I can’t do this today."

"Then rest. I’ll finish it."

"You don’t know the asurents."

"You’ve made watch for ten years. I know."

Before her mother could argue, sharp knocking rattled their door. Three quick raps, pause, two more. Official summons. Seren’s stomach dropped.

Mother straightened despite the visible effort it cost her. "Co."

The door swung open. A steward stood in the threshold, his face pinched with impatience. He wore the silver buttons that marked him as upper household staff, far above the servants who actually touched dicine and dirty laundry.

"The King requires his morning tonic imdiately," he said. "He’s taken a turn."

Mother bowed her head. "I’m nearly finished."

"You look half dead yourself." The steward’s gaze swept their small room with obvious distaste. "Can you walk to the royal chambers without collapsing?"

Seren stepped forward. "I’ll take it."

"No," Mother said sharply.

"You can’t." Seren kept her voice level, respectful. She looked at the steward. "I know the formula. I’ve prepared it before under supervision."

The steward studied her for a long mont. His eyes were calculating, weighing risk and convenience. Convenience won.

"Fine. Finish it now. You have ten minutes." He turned on his heel and left without another word.

The mont the door shut, Mother grabbed Seren’s wrist. Her grip was weak but desperate. "Listen to . You go straight to the King’s chambers. You don’t stop. You don’t speak unless spoken to. You keep your eyes on the floor."

"I know."

"The west corridor is closed for repairs. Take the eastern route through the gallery, but don’t look at the paintings. So of the court ladies walk there in the mornings and they’ll think you’re being presumptuous if they catch you staring."

"Mother—"

"And if you see Prince Cassian, you turn around. I don’t care if it makes you late. You find another way."

Seren pulled her wrist free gently. "I’ll be careful."

She finished grinding the moonwort, added the other herbs in their precise ratios, and mixed everything with the distilled water that Mother kept in sealed bottles. The tonic turned the color of pale jade. She poured it into a crystal vial and stoppered it tight.

Mother was sitting on her cot now, watching with fever-bright eyes. "Co straight back."

"I will."

Seren slipped the vial into the padded pouch at her belt and left before her mother could give her more warnings.

The servants’ corridor was narrow and dim, lit by tallow candles that left more shadows than light. Seren walked quickly, counting doors out of habit. The palace was a maze designed to confuse outsiders and she’d learned its paths the way other girls learned embroidery patterns.

"Seren!"

She turned. Lysa hurried toward her, still tying her apron. Lysa was a maid in the guest wing, round-faced and perpetually optimistic in a way that baffled Seren.

"Where are you going?" Lysa asked.

"King’s chambers. Mother’s sick."

Lysa’s expression shifted to sothing more serious. "Oh. Do you want company? I can walk with you partway."

"You don’t need to."

"I’m heading that direction anyway." Lysa fell into step beside her. They climbed the narrow servants’ staircase together, their footsteps muffled on worn stone. "Have you heard the rumors?"

"I don’t listen to rumors."

"Well, you should. Everyone’s saying the King might not last the week."

Seren said nothing. The tonic in her pouch felt heavier.

"And if he dies," Lysa continued, lowering her voice, "then Prince Cassian becos king. And you know what that ans."

"It ans we’ll have a new king."

"It ans everything changes." Lysa caught her arm, pulling her to a stop at the top of the stairs. They’d reached the gallery level. Morning light filtered through tall windows, turning dust motes into gold. "The whole palace feels wrong lately. Like sothing’s about to break."

"Things break all the ti. We clean them up."

"This is different." Lysa’s hand tightened. "Just be careful, alright? The King’s chambers are in the restricted section. If you see anyone you’re not supposed to see, keep walking. Don’t make eye contact."

"I know the rules."

"I know you do. But today feels strange." Lysa released her. "I’ll see you at supper?"

"If I’m back in ti."

Lysa disappeared down a side corridor. Seren continued alone, the crystal vial cool against her hip. The gallery stretched ahead, lined with portraits of dead kings and queens who all seed to watch her walk past. She kept her eyes forward, counting her steps.

The palace did feel coiled. Like sothing waiting to spring.

She tried not to think about what that sothing might be.