Chapter 5

Amelia sat curled in the corner of her servant chamber, her thin frame shivering despite the warm sunlight peeking through the tiny window.

Her tangled hair cascaded around her face, a curtain shielding her from the whispers that still echoed in her ears. She had been left here, forgotten for the moment, but not entirely.

The heavy creak of the door snapped her out of her haze. An older woman, stout and severe, stood in the doorway. Her face was lined with years of hard labor, her expression sharp with disdain.

She carried a bundle of folded linens, which she thrust at Amelia without preamble.

"You stink," the woman said flatly, her voice rasping like dry parchment. "Bathhouse is down the corridor. You've got ten minutes to make yourself presentable, or I'll send you back to wherever they found you."

Amelia looked up but didn't speak. The woman sneered, her disdain palpable. "Don't just sit there like a mute. Move!"

Amelia flinched at the sharpness in her voice and scrambled to her feet, clutching the linens as if they might shield her. The woman muttered something under her breath and left, slamming the door behind her.

The bathhouse was a stark contrast to the dungeon's suffocating filth. The air was warm, moist with steam, and smelled faintly of lavender and lye. Wooden tubs lined the walls, each filled with clean water.

A small mirror hung crookedly on one wall, its surface fogged. The floor was made of uneven cobblestones, damp from years of use, and the walls were streaked with mildew.

Amelia approached one of the tubs tentatively, her footsteps silent on the damp stone floor. She undid the ties of her tattered dress, letting it fall to the ground in a heap. The dirt caked on her skin was so thick it almost felt like armor.

The water was scalding as she stepped in, making her gasp. It seeped into her pores, loosening the grime that clung to her body. She sat down carefully, the water lapping at her shoulders. For a moment, she simply sat there, staring at the murky surface.

Then she grabbed the rough bar of soap and began scrubbing furiously, watching as the water darkened with filth. The grime came off in thick layers, swirling into the water like a dark cloud.

Her skin, once hidden beneath months of filth, emerged smooth, glowing faintly under the flickering lantern light. She ran her fingers over her arms, marveling at the softness she hadn't felt in so long.

Amelia tilted her head back, letting the water soak into her hair. It felt heavier than ever, tangling around her arms as she worked to clean it. With every stroke of her fingers, the knots loosened, and the strands began to flow like a dark waterfall down her back, reaching her knees.

When the bath was finished, she stepped out and wrapped herself in the towel, shivering slightly as the cool air hit her damp skin. She approached the small mirror mounted on the wall, its surface tarnished and cracked.

For the first time in years, she truly looked at herself. Her large hazel eyes stared back, wide and curious despite the shadow of exhaustion that lingered in their depths.

Her face, now clean, revealed high cheekbones and soft, full lips. Her hair, untangled and smooth, framed her features like a curtain of silk.

Her gaze dropped to her body, and she frowned slightly. Her figure was fuller than she remembered, her waist narrow but her hips wide, Her legs were long and shapely, though her bare feet looked rough and scarred.

Amelia dressed slowly, pulling on the simple maid's uniform. The skirt was long, brushing her ankles, and the sleeves were snug around her arms. The neckline dipped slightly, exposing the base of her throat, but it was modest.

Amelia stared at herself for a long moment before hanging her veil to dry. It would be ready by nightfall, and she would wear it then.

The older woman was waiting for her outside the bathhouse. She eyed Amelia critically, noting her clean skin and wet hair.

"Better," she muttered, though her tone was grudging. "At least you don't look like something dragged in from the streets."

Amelia didn't respond, keeping her gaze on the ground.

"You'll start in the kitchens," the woman continued, her voice clipped. "It's hard work, but don't think you'll get any favors. You're nothing special here. Just another mouth to feed."

"Yes," Amelia whispered.

"Yes, *ma'am*," the woman corrected sharply.

"Yes, ma'am."

The woman sniffed disdainfully. "Good. Now get moving."

Amelia followed, her bare feet silent against the cobblestones.

The kitchens were a hive of activity. Servants bustled to and from, carrying trays piled with food or scrubbing pots until they shone. The air was thick with the smell of roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and spices Amelia couldn't name.

A gruff cook thrust a knife into her hand and pointed to a pile of vegetables.

"Chop those. Fast. And don't cut yourself, or I'll make you clean the blood off the floor."

Her hands were clumsy at first, the knife slipping against the hard surfaces of carrots and potatoes. She worked as quickly as she could, her inexperience showing in the uneven slices.

The cook scowled but didn't say anything, moving on to bark orders at another servant. But as the hours passed, she found a rhythm. The work was exhausting, her fingers growing raw and blistered, but it was better than the dungeon.

By midday, her hands were raw from scrubbing pots, her fingers wrinkled from the hot water. The repetitive motion gave her time to think, though the memories that surfaced only made her heart ache.

She remembered the palace from years ago, when she was a child. It had been grand and intimidating even then, but it was also filled with warmth.

She could still see her father's smile as he carried her on his shoulders through the grand halls, her laughter echoing off the high ceilings.

The memory brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them away quickly, focusing on the task at hand.

As noon approached, the older woman returned, her sharp eyes scanning Amelia's progress.

"Not bad," she said grudgingly. "At least you're not completely useless. Now get upstairs and start cleaning the guest chambers. And don't forget to change the linens-last night's guests left a mess."

Amelia nodded, wiping her hands on her apron before hurrying out of the kitchen.

The work was relentless, but it was better than the suffocating darkness of the dungeon. Amelia moved through the palace corridors, her hands busy and her mind numb.

By the time she finished her duties, the sun was beginning to set. Her hands were blistered, her back aching, but she felt a strange sense of relief. The work was hard, but it kept her mind occupied, sparing her from the memories that threatened to overwhelm her.

She returned to the servant quarters, where her veil hung drying by the window. Amelia reached for it, her fingers brushing the fabric. Tomorrow, she would wear it again, shielding herself from the world.

But tonight, she would rest.

She sank onto the small cot in the corner of her chamber, pulling the rough blanket over herself. Her hair spread around her like a dark halo, and for the first time in months, she allowed herself to hope-if only for a moment-that she might survive this.

The next morning Amelia was even her duties.

Today chore was a different kind of chore.

Amelia's stomach churned as she stood outside the grand doors of Queen Julian's chambers, clutching a cleaning rag so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

The older maid beside her gave a sharp huff, her weathered face twisted in disdain.

"Don't stand there dawdling," the woman snapped. "Get inside and do your work. Her Majesty doesn't wait for the likes of us."

Amelia nodded, but her feet felt like they were glued to the floor. The memories began to claw their way back, unbidden and unwelcome.

The sound of the knife slicing through flesh filled her ears-a wet, sickening noise that refused to fade no matter how many years had passed.

She could still hear the screams, high-pitched and desperate, echoing through the chambers like a banshee's wail. And the blood-so much blood-pooling around the fallen queen's lifeless body.

She had been there. Just a child, her small hands trembling as she reached out to the queen, trying to stop the bleeding, trying to fix what could not be fixed.

But then Julian had turned to her. Her face twisted in rage and madness, blood staining her hands as she gripped the knife like a lifeline.

Her body trembled at the memory, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. She felt the walls of the palace closing in on her, suffocating her. She couldn't do this. She couldn't face Julian again.

"Girl!" the older maid barked, snapping Amelia out of her spiraling thoughts. "Stop wasting time!"

Swallowing hard, Amelia forced her feet to move. She knocked softly on the door, her heart hammering in her chest.

"Come in," a voice called from within, smooth and commanding.

The room was opulent, a testament to the queen's vanity and power. Golden tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of battles won and kingdoms conquered.

A massive four-poster bed dominated the room, draped in crimson silk that shimmered like blood under the sunlight streaming through the arched windows. The scent of roses and lavender hung heavy in the air, almost suffocating.

Every surface gleamed-marble floors polished to perfection, gilded mirrors reflecting the grandeur of the space. Servants bustled about, their movements quick and practiced as they attended to Julian's every whim.

Queen Julian sat at the center of it all, reclining on a chaise longue as though she were a goddess presiding over her court. Her golden hair cascaded around her shoulders in perfect waves, her emerald-green gown clinging to her curves.

She exuded power, her sharp eyes scanning the room with a predatory gleam.

Amelia kept her gaze down as she entered, clutching her cleaning supplies like a shield. She moved quickly, blending into the background, determined to be invisible.

But Julian noticed her.

"Stop," Julian said, her voice cutting through the murmurs of the room like a blade.

Amelia froze, her heart plummeting.

Julian's sharp gaze locked onto her, scrutinizing her with an intensity that made Amelia's skin crawl.

"Who is she?" Julian demanded, addressing the older maid.

"The new girl, Your Majesty," the woman said with a quick curtsy. "She's here to assist."

Julian's lips curled into a cold smile. "Come closer," she said, motioning for Amelia to approach.

Amelia hesitated, her feet unwilling to move.

"I said, come closer," Julian repeated, her tone sharp and impatient.

Amelia obeyed, her steps slow and tentative. She felt every pair of eyes in the room on her as she approached the queen.

Julian's gaze raked over her, taking in every detail-the long, dark hair that tumbled in waves down her back, the hazel eyes that seemed too wide, too knowing. Her uniform, though modest, couldn't hide the curve of her hips or the swell of her chest.

Julian's eyes narrowed.

"Such a beautiful servant," she said, her voice laced with something cruel. "Almost... too beautiful."

Amelia felt her cheeks flush, but she kept her head down, refusing to meet Julian's gaze.

"Tell me, girl," Julian said, leaning forward. "Where are you from?"

"Nowhere of importance, Your Majesty," Amelia murmured, her voice barely audible.

Julian's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Is that so?"

The tension in the room was palpable. The other servants exchanged nervous glances, sensing the queen's displeasure.

"You will tend to my feet from now on," Julian said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Amelia whispered, her voice trembling.

Julian leaned back, dismissing her with a wave of her hand. But her eyes lingered on Amelia, cold and calculating.

As Amelia knelt by Julian's feet, her hands trembling as she worked, the memories came rushing back with brutal clarity.

She was nine years old,

hiding behind a curtain in the queen's chambers, she hadn't meant to be there- it had been an accident. She had been playing a game of hide-and-seek with Xander and had stumbled into the room.

The door bust open, and she peeked out, her heart pounding as she saw Julian enter, her face twisted with fury.

Julian lunged, the knife plunging into the queen's smoach over and over again. The sound was sickening, and Amelia bit down on her hand to keep from crying out.

The queen's body crumpled to the ground her blood pooling around as Julian stood over her, panting.

The door slammed open, and the king entered, his face a mask of fury.

"What have you done?" He demanded

"The cunt deseved it," Julian spat, her voice shaking.

The king's expression softened, and to Amelia horror, he pulled Julian into his arms.

"She's gone now," he said, his voice calm. "It's over."

He kissed her, his hands gentle as he wiped the blood from her face.

And then they saw her .

The memory was too much. Amelia's hands shook so violently that she nearly dropped the basin of water she was using to clean Julian's feet.

"Careful, girl!" Julian snapped, her voice sharp.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," Amelia said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Julian's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Amelia thought she recognized her. But then the queen looked away, dismissing her without another word.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Amelia worked tirelessly, her body aching but her mind numb. As she finally returned to her quarters that night, she collapsed onto her cot, her chest heaving with silent sobs.

The memories wouldn't leave her, no matter how hard she tried to forget. The past was a shadow that clung to her, a weight she could never escape.

And as she lay there in the darkness, she couldn't shake the feeling that Julian knew more than she let on-and that her nightmare was far from over.