At the head of the long table sat the king—elegant, poised, and watching everything with eyes like tempered steel. He looked no older than fifty in human years, but there was a timeless weight behind his gaze. Beside him sat the queen, her dark hair swept back into a jeweled crown of braids, her presence silent and sharp. To her side lounged several other women—concubines, each beautiful in their own unique way, draped in silks and whispered perfume.
On the king's left sat the crown prince.
He was striking. Brown-haired, with fine, sculpted features and a mouth that curved more easily into smirks than smiles. His gaze moved with practiced disinterest until Evelyn stepped into view.
She didn't see it—the quick narrowing of his eyes, the flicker of amusement that danced across his face as he watched her approach. She focused instead on keeping her breath even and her face composed. Her stomach coiled with unease. There was something about this hall, these people with disturbingly red eyed that made her feel like she was walking barefoot over a floor of hidden thorns.
As she moved behind the crown prince, her tray balanced with quiet grace, he "accidentally" dropped his fork.
Clink.
The polished silver danced once across the marble and came to a stop near her feet.
Without hesitation, Evelyn bent to retrieve it, her hair slipping over her shoulder in a curtain of gold, her delicate fingers brushing the fork. Unaware of the crown prince's eyes raking over her—studying her as one might study a prized new horse.
When she rose, she placed the utensil quietly on the side of his plate. "My apologies, Your Highness," she murmured, her voice calm, respectful.
"No harm done," the prince said, his smile slow and too smooth, like wine laced with something darker.
She bowed slightly and turned, moving on to serve one of the concubines seated nearby. The woman, a regal beauty in sapphire silk, looked at her with sharp curiosity—eyes like cold crystal, assessing. Evelyn kept her gaze low, her hands efficient as she refilled a goblet.
Behind her, the prince's voice floated lazily through the golden air. "I didn't know that there was an additionalof servants in the palace."
There was a short pause before lady ulsura, the second concubine responded, het voice light but laced with a steel core. "Yes. We were short-staffed. Additions were necessary."
"Try not to indulge in unnecessary pleasures with the help, my prince," the concubine added, sipping from her glass without glancing his way.
The prince gave a soft, indulgent laugh. "Of course."
Once she had finished her task and stepped back, joining the line of maids near the far wall, hands clasped before her, eyes cast down. But behind that quiet façade, her mind churned.
~~~~
With the clatter of cutlery fading into the halls and the laughter of the royal family softening into silence, the servants began the tasks that came only when the noble mouths had fed. Evelyn stood among them, her delicate hands moving in a rhythm she had mastered in the past month. Though she had been born into silken robes and the scent of blooming gardens, tonight she wiped crimson wine off gilded goblets and scrubbed silver platters until her palms reddened.
The dining hall, once a place of grand conversation and overflowing decadence, now resembled a battlefield of crumbs and spills. Some maids took to polishing the long oak floors while others vanished down stone corridors to return dishes to the scullery.
Evelyn worked quietly, her thoughts elsewhere, her movements precise. As she helped Martha fold embroidered napkins, she caught the older woman's tired smile.
"Another busy day has ended." Martha muttered, half-laughing, wiping her brow.
"Yeah. With all the chores, it's hard to notice the day pass by."
Evelyn agreed.
Eventually, with the final candelabra extinguished and the last of the crystal wiped clean, the bell rang faintly in the lower quarters—a sign the night's duties were concluded. The servants filtered out like shadows, tired and silent. Evelyn followed, her arms aching and her feet dragging over the cold floors of the vampire palace.
The uncomfortable bed offered no solace, its thin mattress doing little to cushion her weary bones. She lay on her back, staring into the impenetrable darkness of the ceiling. The fear was still there, a cold knot in her stomach, but it was muted now, dulled by sheer exhaustion. She desperately hoped the royal family, those terrifyingly creatures, would never, ever discover that she, a mere human servant in their eyes, was the Fae princess who had dared to steal from them. The thought sent a fresh jolt of fear through her, but it was quickly swamped by the overwhelming tide of her fatigue.
Her thoughts lingered over the news that had broken her heart and introduced her to new reality that she was not aware of. Her beautiful green eyes shimmered, rimmed red from earlier tears, but now they were dry. She had cried to the point that crying no longer offered release. Tears were useless in a world that did not care. Not when you were a servant. Not when you were a banished fae princess hiding under human skin.
With her mind and body tired to the point of collapse, she finally drifted off. Sleep, dark and absolute, claimed her, offering a brief, blessed oblivion from the crushing weight of her new reality.
~~~~
The next morning, the chill of the stone floor seeped through the thin soles of Evelyn's worn slippers as she padded towards the communal bathing area. The water, perpetually cold in these lower levels of the castle, was a brutal shock, but its icy embrace was a welcome jolt, a physical sensation strong enough to momentarily distract her from the dull ache in her heart.
She splashed her face, rubbed at the lingering redness around her eyes, and pulled back her tangled, golden blonde hair, wishing for the perfumed oils and soft brushes she had known in her past life.
The bathing area, usually a place of hushed efficiency, was abuzz with low, excited murmurs. Evelyn, scrubbing vigorously at her arms, listened over the splashing water and the creak of buckets.
"Did you hear about the return of prince Kael," said one of the maids, her voice barely above the steam curling in the air.
"Prince Kael?" asked another. She was rinsing her legs, glancing sideways. "That's what I heard too. The guards at the west gate said he came back with victory."
"I bet it's true," the first said with a breathless edge. "He's never lost a war. Not even once. And the king barely acknowledges him."
"That's because he's not the heir," another chimed in bitterly, wringing out her cloth. She was older, with graying hair and a permanent frown. "If he was the heir, we would have been woken up to celebrate his victory. Its a shame. He would make such a powerful king. Much more so than… well, no matter." She trailed off, glancing around nervously, as if afraid of being overheard.