Not caring much about the gossip floating like mist in the bathhouse air, Evelyn silently rinsed her shivering body. The cold water, sharp and merciless in the early dawn, bit into her skin with each splash, but she barely flinched. It was nothing compared to the coldness she had learned to live with inside her heart. Her long golden-blonde hair clung wetly to her back as she finished, strands shining faintly even under the dim torchlight.
She wrapped herself in the coarse, thin towel and walked quietly back to the servant quarters, her bare feet slapping softly against the stone floor. By the time she reached her room, Lyra was already gone, likely assigned to early kitchen duties. Evelyn dried her hair quickly and tied it up in a neat bun. Her fingers moved with grace and precision, though she hardly paid attention to the reflection in the fogged-up mirror. She slipped into the usual faded green servant attire—worn at the edges and a little loose—but even so, it did little to dim the light she seemed to carry. Her beauty was not loud, but ethereal—quiet, unintentional, almost otherworldly. It clung to her like a secret, a whisper of nobility that set her apart.
Her eyes, soft green like moss after rain, held a serenity that made people unsure whether to pity her or admire her from afar. Her skin, pale with a slight warm undertone, bore the kind of glow that looked kissed by moonlight. The same features that set her apart were what branded her as different from her siblings—the same inherited traits that once belonged to the mother who birthed her, and then vanished.
Evelyn made her way to the main hall where servants gathered each morning to receive their chores. The massive stone chamber echoed with the shuffling of feet and low voices. There was no sunlight yet—only the cold gray hint of dawn filtering in through the high windows. A few torches burned low, their flames flickering and casting long shadows.
The Head Steward, a stiff man named Bereth, stood on the raised platform with a wooden board and quill in hand. He went through the morning roll call with rigid discipline, calling out names one by one. First came the male servants, who were sent to the training yards, stables, and armory. Then, it was the women's turn.
He called several maids.."Margaret, Tina and jackline, you will be going to the laundry area. Beatrice and Marie, follow them. Teresa, Anne and Janet. You should join the others in the kitchen.... The list continued until she finally heard her name. "Evelyn. You and marla should get the fruit baskets and go to the orchard. Make sure you pick the ripe fruits."
~~~
They reached the orchard just as the sky began to tint softly with the first strokes of gold. The trees stood tall and heavy with fruit, their leaves rustling gently. The two girls worked in companionable silence for a while, placing oranges and grapes carefully into the baskets. Birds began to chirp lazily, announcing the sun's slow rise.
Marla—a sprightly girl with curly brown hair and a playful grin—trotted up beside her, waving with a bright, "Morning!"
"Whats with the cold weather today?," Marla muttered, hugging herself as they walked.
"I'm also wondering about the same thing." Evelyne murmured. Her voice barely audible as she looked around the garden.
"I heard it might rain later," Marla added, kicking a small pebble off the path. "Not that it matters. Rain or shine, we still do the same chores."
Evelyn gave a small nod, not disinterested but not particularly eager to chat either.
"This orchard's nice though," Marla continued, looking around. "Sometimes I like to pretend I'm a noblewoman out for a morning stroll, not someone who has to pick apples before sunrise."
Evelyn cracked a faint smile. "It's peaceful."
"It is. And the apples don't complain or throw things at you," Marla joked, making Evelyn chuckle softly.
As they began picking, Marla spoke again, this time about nothing in particular: the way one of the kitchen cats kept stealing scraps, how she'd once spilled soup on a noble's boots, the way the youngest princess cried over a chipped mirror. It was the kind of chatter that helped pass the time.
Evelyn responded here and there, letting the rhythm of the conversation and the gentle rustling of branches soothe the ache in her heart, even if just for a while.
The two girls picked the freshest fruits from the orchard, careful to choose only those that glistened softly in the faint pre-dawn light. The oranges were plump and bright, the apples firm with a ruby-red sheen, and the grapes clustered like dark jewels beneath the thin vines. A cool breeze whispered through the trees, rustling the leaves as the first light of day began to stretch thin fingers across the sky.
Their woven baskets, now heavy with fruit, swung gently at their sides as they made their way back toward the palace. The quiet shuffle of their shoes over the gravel path echoed softly, blending with the morning hush that still clung to the estate.
As they reached the corridor that would lead them into the heart of the palace kitchens, the atmosphere subtly shifted. From the opposite end of the corridor, footsteps approached—measured and sharp.
It was the head maid, Janice.
She walked with an unyielding posture, chin raised slightly, her long skirts brushing across the marble floor with purpose. Her hair was a neat twist of brunette, tightly pinned and void of softness. Her skin was pale, as was common among vampires, but her eyes were a telling sign—bright crimson. Not the deep, shadowed red of the elite, but the raw, burning hue that marked her place near the bottom of the night creature's hierarchy.
Her gaze landed on the two girls and she lifted a hand. They stopped immediately, both curtsying in silent acknowledgment.
She sized them up and down before settling her gaze on Marla.
"I want you to go to the East wing, to princess Stella. She needs an extra pair of hands."
Marla gave Evelyn the basket on her hand,and with an apologetic shrug, she turned to the hallway on the left before hurrying off to the East wing.
Left standing in the corridor alone with the weight of two baskets, Evelyn sighed inwardly. The cold of the hallway seeped through her faded slippers, but she adjusted her grip and walked on, eyes forward, expression composed.