Page 6

A woman stands at the door, a deep red shawl hanging loosely around her pronounced clavicle bones. Wisps of light blonde hair fall around her gaunt face, falling loose from her braid that trails dangerously low to the floor. She clasps her hands together, hiding a slight tremor. Bags are prominent beneath her deep brown eyes.

Draped in her arms is a glittering blood red gown.

Her eyes inspect me right back, likely taking in my disheveled appearance complete with bile. “Oh dear, we need to get you cleaned up before dinner.” She gingerly sets the dress down in the cleanest corner of the room and rushes toward me, hand stretched out. I flinch.

She flinches back, then hides it with a cringe. “Akemi, is it?” Her face is earnest.

“Yes,” I respond.

“I’ve been made privy of the plans, you know. They say you are to be the future Lady of the Jord.”

I almost gag once more.

She continues, ignoring my reaction. “We’ll need to get you all fixed up so the Court gets the right impression. Wouldn’t want them thinking you’re weak or scared.”

At that, my heart picks up a notch. No, I would not want the Jord Court to think they can just walk all over me.

The woman seems to catch on to my thoughts. “I’m Olga, head servant and seamstress of the Jord Court. Now stand up; let’s get you washed.” Olga then hollers out the doorway, directing who knows who to get hot water and buckets and soap.

She proceeds to strip me naked and scrub my entire body with a foaming soap until she deems me clean enough. My nail beds alone caused her to curse under her breath. Eventually, Olga holds out the sparkling red gown for me to step in.

It fits snugly, hugging my curves. The flickering firelight of the dungeons make the dress shimmer and reflect onto the walls. And I almost chuckle trying to hold in the fact that something so beautiful as this dress would spray the stone with speckles of crimson.

It’s far more likely that the red on the stone walls would have come from something else entirely.

Olga ties two pieces of my dress behind my neck and begins brushing my hair. The front drapes low, almost to my navel, exposing a heavy amount of cleavage. Around my neck and hanging low between my breasts is a golden chain. I had refused initially, but Olga insisted. Said that it was a personal item of the lord’s and that I have to wear it.

I only let her put it on based on the fact that she would likely be reprimanded otherwise.

“It’s pointless, you know,” she says.

“What?”

“Trying to escape.”

I freeze. “That’s not going to stop me from trying.”

“Then they will just find someone or something you love and hurt it until you break down and stay.”

I turn to face the woman, really looking at her. Her lips are turned down. A line is etched between her graying eyebrows. “Olga, did they do that to you? Is that why you are working for the Jord Court?”

Olga quickly looks down and shakes her head, completely ignoring my question. “We should be heading out now. Follow me.”

Without pause, Olga leaves the cell. I hurry to follow her along smooth, red walls of the underground cave of the Castle Varlok. It had never occurred to me before that some Underlings might have similar backgrounds to my own. Working to make ends meet, no matter the cost. My hate didn’t lessen for the Jord Territory as we twisted and turned to the dining hall, but my worldview of a dejected, terrifying place began to crack.

Olga leads us upward through various castle passages. Either the court is small, or no guests are allowed on the premises, because the halls are eerily quiet. My dress continues to flicker and sparkle against the polished red stone as we pass flaming sconces. Upon further inspection, the flames don’t look normal; they are more of a vibrant red and yet no heat radiates off of them.

“Almost there,” Olga says over her shoulder before leading up a winding staircase. The stairs spiral in tight circles, and with no windows, my chest tightens in the enclosed space.

Despite Olga’s frail body, she treads along at a fast clip, ignoring many of the halls off-shooting from the stairwell and continuing our climb. Finally, we step out into a wide hall, and I gasp, taking in as much of the drafty, cold air as possible.

I don’t think I would have made it much farther in that stairwell without a panic attack.

The opening is grand, all white marble and pristine—a stark contrast from the red stone throughout the rest of the castle.

A few servants are dusting the shelves along the walls, hosting a myriad of collectables ranging from armor sets and weapons to horrific sculptures of people captured for an eternity in what has to be their cause of death. Some stop their tasks and nod to acknowledge Olga only to stare at me. Their eyes widen and posture goes rigid until they realize themselves and curtsy deeply. Recognizing my station already.

My fucking station as a future bride to the Jord Lord.