The morning light came in thin lines through the cracks in the door.
Belle hadn't slept. Her eyes were heavy, but her body stayed tense the whole night. The bed beneath her was hard. The collar around her neck itched.
Her thoughts drifted back—far from the cold walls and locked doors.
She remembered her mother's tired eyes, always shadowed with worry. Her touch, rough but still warm when she stroked Belle's hair at night. She was all Belle had ever known.
Her mother had been seventeen when she got pregnant.
The man who fathered Belle had walked away without looking back. Her mother was an orphan, alone in a city that didn't care if she starved. With no one to turn to, she ended up working at a brothel, doing what she had to do to survive. She never wanted that life. But hunger didn't care about dreams.
Belle had grown up in those dim, perfumed halls, hiding behind curtains and under tables. She started helping at nine—cleaning, running errands, wiping tears. But her mother was strict about one thing.
"No one touches you," she had said once, her voice steel. "Not as long as I'm breathing."
Belle had believed her. Trusted her. Loved her.
So she never imagined the day would come when her mother would take money to give her away.
Not even to a man. To something worse.
She hugged her knees on the bed, the robe still wrapped around her. Her body ached. Her heart, worse.
A knock snapped her from her thoughts.
The door opened. A guard stepped in. "Get up. Training."
Her chest tightened.
He didn't wait to see if she followed. He turned and walked off.
Belle stood and stepped out into the hallway. A few other girls were already lined up outside—some younger, some older. All wore the same robe. All had collars around their necks.
She moved to stand beside them.
The hallway was cold. Silent. No one dared to speak.
After a few minutes, footsteps echoed from the far end.
A tall man approached—broad shoulders, clean uniform, a thin scar down his cheek. His eyes were sharp, and his mouth tight like he didn't smile much. If ever.
He stopped in front of them and looked each girl over slowly.
"I am Markus," he said. "You answer to me. You listen to me. You learn, or you suffer. Simple."
No one said a word.
"You will be trained to serve. To speak only when allowed. To carry yourselves with grace, with silence, with obedience. You belong to him now. And if you're lucky, you will never anger him."
Belle looked straight ahead, trying not to shake.
Markus continued. "Today, we start with the basics. Walk. Kneel. Speak. Eyes down. No questions."
He turned sharply. "Follow."
They moved into a wide room—plain and cold like everything else. No windows. Just mirrors on one wall, a row of low benches, and a small table with objects Belle didn't recognize.
Markus stood in front of them. "You will learn how to carry your body properly. No slouching. No dragging your feet. Back straight. Head lowered. Hands folded unless ordered otherwise."
He walked past Belle, tapping her elbow with a stick. "Straighten."
She obeyed quickly.
Then he pointed to the floor. "Kneel."
They all slowly dropped to their knees.
"No. Not like that. Watch."
A girl stepped forward from the side door.
She was beautiful—dark hair, glowing skin, and eyes that sparkled like she already knew everyone was beneath her. She moved like silk. Quiet. Dangerous.
She knelt slowly, gracefully, arms placed just right on her thighs, her back like a statue.
"This is Calista," Markus said. "Luciano's favorite."
Belle swallowed.
"Look at her. Learn from her. If you disobey her, you're disobeying him. And that won't end well."
Calista looked at them, eyes cool. She didn't smile. She didn't need to.
Markus nodded to her. She stepped back.
"Now you try again."
The girls repeated the kneeling. Belle fixed her posture. She tried to remember everything.
They trained for hours—how to walk silently, how to sit without shifting, how to respond with only a word: yes, sir or yes, ma'am.
Markus walked up and down, correcting them, tapping shoulders and arms. When a girl moved too slowly, he shouted. When one whispered to the girl next to her, he yanked her by the collar.
"Eyes forward!"
Belle's legs burned from kneeling.
Her throat stayed dry. She didn't know if she would cry or pass out first.
Then it happened.
A girl on the end—small, brown curls, barely older than sixteen—hesitated when Markus told her to speak. She stammered. Looked around. Eyes wide.
Markus stepped forward. "You speak when I say. Not when you feel like it."
The girl whispered, "I-I'm sorry…"
He stared at her. Then called out, "Luisa."
The door opened.
Luisa entered with calm steps, holding a leather whip.
The girl cried out softly, "Please, no…"
Markus pointed. "This is what happens when you disobey. When you forget your place."
Luisa grabbed the girl's arm and dragged her to the front of the room.
"Watch," Markus said. "Let this be your lesson."
The girl was forced to her knees. Her robe was pulled down from her back.
Belle's breath caught.
Luisa raised the whip.
The first strike made a sound Belle had never heard before—sharp, cruel.
The girl screamed.
It didn't stop after one.
Again. And again.
By the fifth, the girl collapsed forward. Silent.
Markus looked at the others. "That's what happens when you forget."
Silence fell like a stone.
The girl was dragged out of the room.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Belle felt her stomach twist, but she didn't blink. She didn't breathe too loud. She didn't dare.
Markus's voice returned, calm as ever. "Tomorrow, you'll be tested. Fail, and you'll join her."
He looked at each of them one last time.
"Class dismissed."
As Markus turned to leave, the heavy silence still hung thick in the air. The girl who had collapsed was gone, but her screams lingered in Belle's ears.
Just as she tried to rise from her sore knees, another male guard entered.
"Line up," he barked.
The girls scrambled into a single file, eyes down, hands folded like they'd been taught. No one dared to whisper. No one looked around.
Belle's legs trembled as she stood, but she stayed silent and moved with the others. Her collar felt tighter somehow—heavier after what she'd just witnessed.
The guard led them through another hallway—this one steamy and warm. The sharp chill in the air faded as they neared a heavy iron door.
He pushed it open, revealing a large bathroom lined with smooth stone and flickering wall lamps. A row of copper pipes spilled warm water into a sunken bathing pool. Steam curled up into the air. The scent of lavender and something bitter floated in the room.
On the side were baskets filled with folded towels and small glass jars of soaps and oils.
Another woman stood near the pool—older, dressed in black with her hair tightly tied. She held a long stick in one hand and wore a cruel look of boredom.
"Undress," she said coldly.
The girls hesitated.
Belle's fingers froze on the tie of her robe.
"Now!" the woman snapped.
One by one, the girls slipped off their robes, folding them neatly, revealing bruises, thin bodies, and shame. Belle clutched her arms as she stepped out of hers, trying not to shake, not to cry. Her collar was still on. It would never come off.
"In," the woman said, pointing to the pool.
They stepped into the warm water.
Belle hissed softly as the heat stung her knees and feet. Still, she moved forward. She didn't want to be last.
The girls soaked quietly.
There was no laughter. No whispers.
Only silence and the soft sounds of water.
The woman walked along the edge, eyeing them. "You wash yourselves properly. No filth. You were chosen. That means you will not stink like stray animals."
Belle dipped her head underwater, rubbing her arms and neck. The lavender-scented soap clung to her skin, trying to make her clean. But she didn't feel clean. Not at all.
As she came up, her eyes found the girl across from her—Calista. She had stripped without shame. Her back straight, her hands slow and graceful as she washed. She wasn't just used to this life.
She owned it.
Calista met Belle's eyes for the first time.
Belle looked away quickly.
The woman by the pool snapped her stick against the stone floor. "Eyes down!"
Everyone obeyed.
The girls continued to bathe until the woman clapped twice.
"Out. Dry yourselves. Move quickly."
They climbed out one by one, the heat replaced again by the cold air of the palace. Their bodies were still damp as they reached for the towels in the baskets and wiped themselves down in silence.
Once dry, they were each handed a folded bundle of plain clothes—thin cotton dresses, pale grey in color, sleeveless with high necks, and fitted tightly at the waist with a small black belt. No shoes. No undergarments. Just the dress and the ever-present collar.
"Put them on," the woman ordered.
Belle dressed quickly, trying to keep her back turned. The fabric clung slightly to her damp skin, uncomfortable and cold.
As she tied the small belt at her waist, her eyes flicked to the corner where the whips had been hanging earlier. A reminder.
This was just the beginning.