Aria lingered briefly in the hallway after Kael had disappeared around the corner, his amber eyes still lingering in her memory. She shivered and focused on the task ahead. A silent servant appeared, bowing slightly.
"Follow me," the servant said, motioning down a narrower corridor. "I will show you to the slave quarters. The king expects all new arrivals to be prepared for their first day."
Aria nodded, her heart tightening. She followed silently, the echoes of her footsteps bouncing off the cold stone walls. The corridor narrowed, and the air grew cooler, carrying the faint scent of damp stone and dust.
The servant led her to a small, sparsely furnished room. A few wooden benches lined the walls, and basins with cold water sat in the corners. "This will be your space for now," the servant explained before leaving with a quiet nod.
Aria's stomach rumbled. On a low bench, a tray had been set with bread, dried fruit, and a small cup of warm water. She ate slowly, careful to make no noise. Each sound in the castle seemed amplified, a constant reminder that unseen eyes might be watching.
When she finished, she moved to the basin. The water was cool against her skin, sharp but refreshing. She washed quickly, tying her hair back tightly afterward. Then she changed into the simple gray uniform for servants. The coarse fabric scratched, but it was unassuming, a small comfort in a place where drawing attention could be dangerous.
The other servants were already at work in the nearby corridors. Some glanced at her curiously, but their whispers were soft, cautious, a shared understanding of the dangers within these walls. She followed their example, moving quietly, mimicking their precise motions as they polished floors, dusted furniture, and arranged supplies.
Aria began in the east wing, carefully cleaning the ornate tables and sweeping the floors. The castle seemed alive with its own history. The tapestries on the walls depicted centuries of kings, queens, and humans bound in servitude. She traced her fingers over the stone, imagining the stories embedded in the castle walls, the whispers of victories, betrayals, and lives long forgotten.
A young servant named Maris noticed her hesitant movements. "Here," she said softly, guiding Aria's hands over a carved table. "Follow the grain of the wood it makes it shine."
"Thank you," Aria whispered, grateful for the small guidance.
Hours passed slowly. Each task required her full attention. The shadows stretched along the corridors, and every distant footstep or echo of a door closing set her nerves on edge. Lucien had not appeared, but the memory of his crimson eyes weighed heavily in her mind. His presence, even unseen, demanded vigilance and restraint.
By midday, her arms ached, and her hands were raw from polishing, but there was a quiet sense of accomplishment. She had followed orders, observed the movements of others, and navigated the first challenges of the castle. Surviving here would require more than obedience—it would demand patience, observation, and careful attention to the smallest details.
Even in silence, the castle reminded her:
every shadow, every glance, and every misstep could cost a life.