They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.
For Army, it was a flash of detergent, socks, and the words: "Reincarnated into the world of The Rose and the Crown!"
She opened her eyes, expecting a crown on her head. Or a dagger in her hand. Maybe a scroll declaring she was the long-lost saintess. Something cool.
Instead, she woke up holding a wet bedsheet.
The smell of steamed linen filled her nose, mixing with an unmistakable hint of mold and something faintly rank—like forgotten cheese under a palace floorboard. Someone shrieked behind her, "You're late for folding duty again, you useless lump!"
Army blinked. She was surrounded by piles of laundry—shirts, socks, curtains, and a suspiciously soggy pillowcase. The head maid, a woman with hair pinned so tight it looked like it could crack glass, glared down at her.
"The royal underpants aren't going to fold themselves, Army!" she snapped. "Move it!"
Outside the small basement window, stone spires and fluttering banners peeked through the gloom—exactly like the fantasy novel she'd read cover to cover before she died.
"I reincarnated… as a maid?" Army whispered.
"Back to work!" barked the head maid, slapping a damp shirt onto the folding table. "And try not to drop anything, or you'll be scrubbing floors till the next moon."
Army sighed and forced herself to sit up straighter. Her fingers felt stiff and strange. She wiggled them. No magic spark. No sword calluses. Just rough, detergent-chapped skin.
Her mind reeled. The Rose and the Crown was supposed to be a story about heroes and villains, saints and sinners. She'd thought she'd come back as someone important—like the fierce villainess with the poisoned fan, or the saintess with the healing touch.
Not the maid who cleaned up their messes.
"And you—yes, you!—are the laziest maid in the East Wing," the head maid snapped again. "How'd you get this job, anyway? Must have pissed off the Lady Ilayne or something."
Army frowned. Lady Ilayne was the one noble everyone whispered about but nobody wanted to cross. She was rumored to be dangerous—someone who could curse you without touching a thing.
Great.
She forced a smile. "I'm… special," she said. "Just you wait."
The head maid snorted. "Special doesn't get you out of folding the king's socks."
After a day of scrubbing tunics and drying underpants that belonged to people with fancier titles than she had brain cells left, Army collapsed onto a straw cot in the servant's quarters. Her back ached. Her soul was cracked.
She stared at the rough ceiling and tried to make sense of this ridiculous new reality.
In The Rose and the Crown, there was a crown prince with silver hair, a saintess who healed the war-torn, a cunning villainess with a fan made of knives, and a magical prophecy that could change kingdoms.
None of them were named Army.
She was sure of it.
"I must be a background character," she muttered. "I didn't even get a villain arc."
A voice chuckled from the bed next to hers. "Don't look so crushed. We all hoped we were secret princesses when we got here."
Army turned to see a girl with freckles and an ironic smile—another maid who looked like she'd seen too many palace secrets and not enough pay.
"You too?" Army asked.
The girl shrugged. "I tried kissing a frog yesterday. Didn't even get a wart. Just slimy rejection."
Army laughed despite herself. "At least the frog was real."
They settled into an uneasy friendship, trading stories about palace gossip and the rumors about the royal family's darker corners.
The next morning, everything changed.
A parchment scroll, sealed with red wax and marked with the royal crest, was hammered onto the laundry room notice board.
"New Maid Assignment: Prince Castor's Wing. Volunteer Required. No one else will do it. Literally. We tried. He bit the last one."
The entire laundry room went silent.
Whispers rippled like a sudden chill.
"The cursed prince?"
"He threw a chamber pot once."
"Bit a steward's ankle."
"His mother died, didn't she?"
The head maid looked around. Everyone took one cautious step backward.
Except Army.
She was scrubbing a mop head and didn't notice the commotion until the scroll was nailed right in front of her.
"Army! Thank you for volunteering!" the head maid said with a grin that could curdle milk.
"…What." Army blinked.
"Don't make me twist your arm," the head maid added, hands on hips. "Besides, who else is brave enough?"
Army wasn't brave.
She wasn't even sure she wanted to do this.
But curiosity and a hint of something else—maybe pity—pushed her forward.
That's how Army ended up outside a heavy door in the palace's East Wing, holding a towel and a bowl of soup. Alone.
The corridor was dusty, cold, and silent. It was as if the palace itself forgot this part existed.
Her heart pounded.
He's just a kid, she reminded herself. A brat, sure, but I survived high school.
She pushed open the door.
A chair flew past her head and shattered against the wall behind her.
"GET OUT!"
A boy—maybe ten or eleven—with wild dark hair and bloodshot eyes glared at her from beneath a fortress of blankets and pillows.
His voice was hoarse, furious. "I don't need another maid! Get lost!"
Army ducked as a book flew after the chair.
She set the bowl of soup down calmly, meeting his glare with a steady look.
"You throw one more thing," she said, "and I'm dumping this soup on your pillow."
Silence.
His eyes narrowed.
"You wouldn't dare."
Army smiled sweetly. "Try me, Prince Bitey."
For the first time, the boy cracked a reluctant smile.