W… where am I?"
Althea's eyes fluttered open. Her hand instinctively flew to her throbbing head. The cold stone ceiling above her was unfamiliar—so were the walls. The mattress beneath her was far softer than anything she'd ever slept on.
Then it all came rushing back, the memories of seeing Jeromy's decapitated body, and his blood splashing all over her dress.
Her body ached badly. Every limb was sore, her throat parched, her head pounding like someone was drumming on it. She forced herself into a sitting position, though the pain made her groan.
The door suddenly creaked open, and a chubby woman entered, her scowl made more menacing by the burn scar that covered half her face.
"Finally," she said, her voice sharp. "The princess herself wakes up. Took you long enough."
"Where… am I?" Althea asked, voice dry.
"The palace of Erston," the woman snapped. "Now get up and quit asking questions."
Althea flinched and scrambled up to her feet.
The woman—Sylvia, as she would later come to know—tossed a plain dress at her. "Put it on and be outside in two minutes—or you'll regret it."bShe left without waiting for an answer.
Althea didn't argue. Her body was too tired for that. She stripped out of her bloodied gown and slipped into the plain gray dress. The fabric itched, but she was used to it. Pain was already her constant companion.
Outside, five other girls stood in a line, each dressed in similar dresses like hers.
"A rooster will be placed in each room, listing your daily duties," Sylvia announced. "Make sure you read it." Her gaze landed on Althea, hard and cold. "What's your name?
"Althea."
"Althina, huh?" Sylvia mocked, twisting her name on purpose. "Try not to faint before lunchtime. Now get to work!" she snapped at all of them.
They were assigned to clean thirty rooms in total—six each for one person.
The palace was grand, intimidating and void of any colors. Maids passed silently through the corridors, heads bowed, going about their jobs.
"Hey." A voice called out to her.
She turned to see the three girls approaching—led by a taller, broad-shouldered one whose voice sounded like a man's. Petri was her name.
"Come here."
Althea came to stand before her.
"We've got something else to do. Cover our rooms too, will you?" Petri's smile was tight and fake.
"But—" she started, but the words died in her throat when Petri stepped hard on her bare foot.
"If you scream, I'll crush the other one," Petri whispered, her hot breath foul against Althea's face.
Tears stung Althea's eyes as she clamped her mouth shut to stifle her screams.
"Well?" Petri pressed harder. "Will you do it, Althina?"
Althea nodded quickly.
"Good." Petri stepped away. "Tell anyone, and I'll burn you alive." The other girls laughed at her as they walked off.
Althea bit down a sob, staring at her bloodied foot. She ripped a strip from her dress and wrapped it around the wound. Then, she picked up a broom and mop and got to work.
The rooms were vast, far too much for one girl, a tiny and hungry girl to clean. Some were tidy, but others were littered with dirty clothes, used towels, and half-eaten meals that has become stale. Why didn't they eat their foods? she wondered
By noon, her muscles screamed in paon. Her stomach growled so loudly it echoed in her ears. She felt lightheaded, and fatigued.
The final room was at the far end of the hall.
She knocked twice—No answer.
She hesitated, then turned the knob and pushed the door open.
The room was... grand. More luxurious than the others. Tall windows that overlooked the forest. Unlike the others, the draperies 2re pushed aside, letting the floor get bathed in golden sunlight.
Then—an aroma wafted through her nose.
She turned and spotted a gold tray on a small table. Steam rose from it. Roasted lamb ribs. Warm bread. Blueberries. A glass jar filled with red wine. Her stomach growled loudly.
Just one bite, whispered the voice in her head. No one will know.
"No," she murmured. She turned away from the table. But her throat burned, and her lips cracked with dryness. Her body was screaming. Her will? Fading fast as aroma became stronger and the voice in her head, louder.
She turned back. One bite, she told herself. Just one, and she'd continue cleaning.
She reached for a blueberry and popped it into her mouth. The flavor burst across her tongue.
Before she knew it, she was tearing bread, gulping wine, moaning softly at the taste of roasted lamb. It was the best thing she'd ever eaten.
Then—
"I don't remember asking anybody—especially you—to join me." The meat slipped from her hand, to the floor.
Caysen stood at the doorway, watching her. He'd been there for some time, but she'd been to busy have heard the door open.
His expression was unreadable. Cold. Still.
"Thieves," he said, stepping into the room, "are not welcome in my palace."
"I—I'm sorry," she stammered, trembling. "I didn't mean to touch it."
"But you did," he said. He moved towards her.
Every day, he fought to keep his cruelty in check, but a scapegoat always came along each day.
He stopped in front of her, gaze sweeping over her trembling figure. Malnourished. Wounded. Frightened. And yet… strikingly beautiful.
His hand rose slowly. With one finger, he lifted up her head.
Cold, steel eyes met hers. "Now... what do I do with you?"
A strange sensation coursed through him. His blood heated. His senses flared. It wasn't hunger—it was something darker.
But he had fed just hours ago. So why this… need to have more?
"You've taken my food," he said calmly. "What shall I eat now?"
"Please…" she sobbed, "I haven't eaten in days. I didn't mean to…"
"Did Sylvia not feed you?" he furrowed his brows.
"No," she choked.
His expression hardened. "And the injury on your foot?" he looked down at the cloth she had used to tie it.
"A girl… she stepped on it." she replied, her voice trembling.
He was seething now. One thing he hated aside mermaids was someone who flouted orders. He had ordered Sylvia to tend to her, giving her food and medicine until she was fit to work.
"Eat the food," he said firmly.
Althea stared at him. "Please… I said I'm sorry. I swear it won't happen again."
"I'm not punishing you," he said, voice low. "But I will—if you don't eat." She blinked up at him, confused.
Caysen stepped back and folded his arms. "Eat, Althea. That's an order." She hesitated, then picked up the lamb ribs and slowly dug her teeth into it under his watchful eyes.
He watched her closely. The way her lips parted. The way her hands trembled. A strange feeling stirred in his chest—and somewhere much lower.
He frowned.
This girl was going to be a problem.