BOOK FIVE
Mistress Victoria, the lady of the second castle. A name that sends a shiver down my spine. I've never crossed paths with her, and I fear that my lack of knowledge of her tastes will prove to be my undoing.
I continue my journey to the kitchen, my steps heavy with dread as I contemplate the impossible task that my cruel mistress, Hanna, has assigned me. I've never served in the kitchen, but she knows that all too well. I'm meant to assist the stewards, and nothing more. This is just another trap, another ruse to catch me in a mistake.
As I near the kitchen, the heat and clatter of pots and pans assault my senses. My pulse races as I steel myself for whatever challenge awaits me, when a voice stops me in my tracks.
"Wait," it calls, and I turn to see a slave girl in a worn brown dress waving to me. "Mistress Hanna sent me to you. She said you need to clean up before serving Mistress Victoria and her guests."
My face must betray my confusion, because the girl adds, "Not that. Go to the storeroom and find yourself a decent dress.
✨
With little time to spare, I dash down the long hallway, approaching the dusty, untended storeroom. The door is heavy, its handle cold to the touch, and when I push it open, cobwebs and dust fall around me like a veil. I try to ignore the temptation of the books, wanting nothing more than to get my hands on some of the most intriguing titles—philosophy, literature, even vampires—but I remember my task, and search the dresser for a suitable gown.
It's a futile effort.
The dresses are all either tattered or stained beyond repair. I sink onto a dusty crate, despair clouding my thoughts. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a shimmer of green. A dress, still in perfect condition. It calls to me, beckons me closer, but before I can reach for it, the sound of footsteps freezes me in place.
"My, my. You look...intrigued," a voice says, and my heart stops. It's a man, tall and handsome; a hypnotizing kind. His voice is both commanding and playful, seductive and dangerous.
His words, silken and seductive, send a rush of heat through my body. I struggle to keep my composure, my fingers trembling as I grip the green dress. My voice, when I finally find it, is barely above a whisper.
"I'm here because I've been asked to serve Mistress Victoria."
A knowing smirk plays on his lips, his eyes narrowing as he studies me. "Indeed. But why are you here, in this storeroom, searching through old dresses?"
My heart thunders in my chest.
The man's presence is overwhelming, his words a heady mixture of challenge and curiosity. I force my chin up, trying to find some semblance of control in this unnerving situation.
"You are correct, sir," I reply, my words measured and even. "I am in search of a decent dress."
"Oh? And why, might I ask, is a simple slave girl suddenly concerned with appearances?" His voice is a whisper, low and husky. He's standing so close now, his warmth suffocating.
My eyes dart around the storeroom, looking for some way out, but I'm trapped, my body responding to the sudden proximity of this man. His gaze is intense, probing, and I can feel his sharp, black eyes trailing down my body.
"I've been asked to serve Mistress Victoria," I repeat, my voice trembling. "And I am to make a good impression."
The man chuckles, a rich, full-throated sound that vibrates through my bones. "So, you seek to impress, hmm?
The man's eyes roam over me, as though taking in my vulnerability. A knowing smile plays on his lips as he draws closer.
"You may be a slave," he murmurs, his voice low and seductive. "But I don't believe you're just a slave." His hand brushes lightly against my arm, his fingertips barely grazing my skin. "There's more to you than meets the eye, isn't there?"
My cheeks flush, my heart racing.
The man's smile widens, his gaze lingering on my chest. "I can't help but notice that your dress seems to be missing a few laces," he says, his voice a low rumble. "Perhaps I can assist?"
Before I can object, he takes a step closer, his hands reaching for the dress, and my heart skips a beat.
His fingers brush lightly against my skin, his touch warm and electric. He works slowly, carefully unlacing the gown, his eyes never leaving mine.