Morning in Dravenguard began not with sunlight, but with command.
The bells in the eastern wing struck twice before dawn, ringing to wake the castle. And so I rose in silence, same as every other day. I folded her blanket, rinsed my face with chilled basin water, and tied my hair with the gray ribbon that marked my station: personal handmaid to the princess of Dravenguard.
'What kind of day will you turn out to be?'
Sigh.
I moved from the maids' quarters to head for Vaeloria's.
The corridors were cold at that hour, their windows weeping mist. I attempted making my steps silent over polished black stone.
"This castle never welcomes me not even now. Especially not now."
Servants who once passed me with soft nods now looked away. One girl nearly turned around entirely on seeing me from afar. Another whispered something as I passed. I caught the word: "Chosen."
The word had soured.
The ball, that night of radiance, still clung to me like a shadow. The gown. The music. His eyes.
Lucien's.
The Crown Prince of Artherion had picked me from a thousand jeweled faces. Not for beauty. Not for power. Not even, it seemed, for affection.
Just… chosen.
And that choice, once thought a miracle, had become a curse I had to wear daily.
Princess Vaeloria made sure of that.
"Is that dirt on my hem?" Vaeloria asked coldly that morning as I knelt to fasten her boots.
"No, my lady," I shuddered.
"You hesitate too long when you speak. It makes you sound guilty. Or is that something they teach in Artherion?"
I paused a second too long. Vaeloria noticed.
Her hand closed in around my braid and yanked meupward. I winced, my body folding back onto my knees.
"I told you," the princess hissed, voice low and venomous. "You walk differently now. You carry yourself like someone seen. But you were picked. Not loved. Not lifted. Just… noticed."
The grip tightened.
"I wonder how long he'll remember your name."
Then she let go.
I dropped without a sound. Somehow, I began to feel the same way. If there was something between us, if he loved me or found a moment of affection with me he would have at least taken me away. Ill'd have preferred being a concubine of his than being Vaeloria sister. Dravenguard is a hellhole, this pit Lucien wants to condemn me to.
"Finish the laces," Vaeloria muttered, turning away. "And do try not to look so haunted. It's unbecoming."
The chamber returned to silence, but my heart did not.
I finished the laces.
I stood and headed for the tea table to serve the princess.
I poured tea.
I answered every call with a quiet "Yes, my lady" that tasted more bitter each time.
Inside me, something burned.
Resentment, I told herself.
'No, why should I be feeling this way. I've been serving the princess since we were twelve and though she's been cruel, I had always served without the tiniest bit of resentment. What's happening to me?'
Not hope. Not longing. I know I now feel a dull, growing anger at the way I had been made spectacle. Like a flower plucked only to be forgotten. To be trampled.
That night still lived in my mind, the warmth of Lucien's hand, the strange softness in his voice, the way the entire hall had frozen when he reached out to me who was struck down and on the ground. He had taken the first dance from his father the king, and to top it off, that first dance, he had it with a servant girl.
I should been flattered.
I should felt chosen.
But all I felt now… is trapped.
That single moment had painted a target across my back. The servants whispered that I had bewitched him. The nobles mocked me in veiled poetry at court gatherings. And the princess, the one I was bound to serve, made me suffer in every detail.
Extra polish on the boots. Embers swept by hand. Late hours. Early tasks. Silent punishment. Every slip, however small, greeted with cold cruelty.
And I endured it.
Because there was nowhere else to go.
Because leaving would mean treason.
Because the rose behind my ear now felt dry, now almost gray I would imagine, but still pulsed with something unspoken.
That night, long after the castle had gone quiet, I sat beside the servant's fire alone, sleeves rolled, fingers red from scrubbing velvet sheets that didn't belong to me.
I stared into the flames.
"I didn't ask for him to look at me," she murmured aloud, to no one.
"I didn't ask for anything."
The fire cracked.
I closed my eyes.My heart began to crumble under the weight of this burden.
"I didn't ask for this."
A wind passed through the hearth. The flame leaned toward her slightly, flickering.
And behind me, just for an instant, the faintest whisper stirred the stillness of the room.
"But you were still chosen."
I turned. Startled. Scared and as fast as I could.
No one was there.
Only shadows.
And the rose behind her ear began to faintly, faintly glow.