The next morning dawned cold and gray, the sky a muted canvas of heavy clouds. Anastasia rose from her bed with a sense of unease lingering in her chest, a tightness that refused to loosen. Her mind was still consumed by the events of the previous night, playing over and over the words she had spoken, the men's eyes on her, and the Duke's unnerving reaction.
How could she have been so foolish? The relief she had felt when the Duke took her side was quickly fading, replaced by the cold realization that she had drawn unwanted attention to herself. She wasn't supposed to be noticed. She was supposed to be invisible, to survive quietly in the shadows of the Duke's estate. Now, she had stepped into a world far more dangerous than anything she had known before.
After dressing quickly, Anastasia made her way down the narrow servant corridors to the Duke's chambers, keeping her head low. Her task today was simple—clean the Duke's study while he attended to other business. She tried to focus on the mundane nature of her duties, hoping it would ground her, help her forget her reckless words.
But when she entered the study, the air was thick with tension, as if something unseen lingered there. The remnants of last night's meeting were still scattered across the table—half-empty glasses of wine, crumpled papers with hastily scribbled notes, and the faint scent of smoke from the extinguished fire. As Anastasia gathered the used cups and began tidying the room, her eyes fell on a piece of parchment, tucked slightly under a large leather-bound book on the Duke's desk.
She hesitated. Servants were never to touch the Duke's personal belongings, especially not his correspondence. Yet something about this piece of paper seemed to pull her closer. It was the way it was half-hidden, as though someone had left it there intentionally, knowing it might catch her eye.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she carefully slid the parchment out from under the book. The handwriting was unfamiliar but precise, the words sharp and formal:
"The crown will soon move against those who oppose its authority. The key lies in the girl. She is more important than you realize. She must not learn the truth of her lineage, or all will be lost."
Anastasia's breath hitched as she read the words again, her mind struggling to make sense of them. The girl. Could they mean her? What truth of her lineage? The questions swirled in her mind, threatening to unravel the delicate balance she had tried so hard to maintain.
She quickly folded the parchment and returned it to its place, her hands trembling. She needed to leave, to escape the room before someone caught her prying. But as she turned to go, the door creaked open.
The Duke stood in the doorway, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Anastasia's heart pounded so loudly in her ears she was sure he could hear it.
"I didn't hear you come in," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her mind racing to come up with an excuse for why she was lingering near his desk.
The Duke's gaze flickered from her to the table, where the parchment was hidden. His expression remained unreadable, but there was something dangerous in his stillness, like the calm before a storm.
"You've been very quiet since last night," he said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. "Yet, I suspect your mind is anything but."
Anastasia lowered her gaze, praying he hadn't noticed her glancing at the letter. "I'm sorry, Your Grace. I meant no disrespect. I was just cleaning."
"Is that so?" The Duke's tone was soft, but laced with an edge of suspicion. He crossed the room slowly, his eyes never leaving her. "Last night, you spoke as though you understood the intricacies of power, of politics. But now, you look as though you wish you could disappear into the walls."
She swallowed hard, her hands clenching at her sides. "I shouldn't have spoken out of turn. I—"
"You were right," he interrupted, his voice calm but unnervingly cold. "More right than you realize. And that is why I find you so interesting, Anastasia."
Her breath caught in her throat. There it was again—the subtle hint that he knew something about her, something she didn't understand. She had tried to push it out of her mind, but the words on the letter came rushing back. She must not learn the truth of her lineage…
Before she could respond, the Duke took another step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Do you know why I spared your life?"
Anastasia froze, her pulse racing. This was the question she had avoided asking herself, the one truth she had been too afraid to face. Why had he taken such an interest in her, a simple palace slave, when he could have easily let her die?
"I assumed it was to serve you," she said, her voice faltering.
A dark smile flickered across the Duke's lips, though there was no warmth in it. "Yes, to serve. But also… to see if you would reveal yourself."
Her blood ran cold. "Reveal myself? I don't understand."
The Duke's eyes narrowed, watching her closely, as though every word she spoke was being carefully measured. "No, you don't. Not yet. But soon, Anastasia. Soon, you will understand why you matter."
Her heart raced, a thousand questions bubbling up inside her, but before she could ask any of them, there was a knock at the door. The Duke's expression darkened as he turned away, striding to the door and opening it just wide enough to speak with whoever was on the other side.
Anastasia strained to hear, but the voices were hushed. Still, she caught fragments of the conversation—words like "urgent" and "new orders from the palace" that only deepened the sense of dread swirling inside her.
When the Duke closed the door and turned back to her, his face was set in a mask of cold determination. "I have business to attend to," he said, his voice suddenly distant. "You will stay in your quarters until I send for you. Do not leave, do not speak to anyone."
Anastasia felt a rush of confusion and fear. "But—"
"Go." His voice was sharp now, final.
Without another word, Anastasia turned and left the study, her legs trembling as she hurried down the hall. She wanted nothing more than to flee, to escape this place and the suffocating mysteries it held. But where could she go? The Duke held her life in his hands, and now, it seemed, he held something far more dangerous—knowledge of a secret she didn't even know she possessed.
As she made her way back to her quarters, the letter's words echoed in her mind. The truth of her lineage… she must not learn it.
Anastasia felt a cold chill run down her spine. What did the Duke know? What was she not supposed to learn?
As she stood in her room
, the shadows in her small room seemed to grow longer, twisting into dark shapes that mirrored her racing thoughts. What awaited her? Why had the Duke called for her again? The air was thick with uncertainty, and as her heart pounded in her chest, she couldn't help but wonder if this was the calm before a storm.
Suddenly, the soft creak of her door drew her attention. The familiar face of Dana, another maid, appeared in the doorway, her expression a mixture of curiosity and disdain. She carried a tray laden with food, steam curling from the plates. The delicious aroma wafted into the room, reminding Anastasia of how long it had been since she had eaten something warm and satisfying.
"Your Grace has sent you something to eat," Dana said, stepping inside without invitation. She placed the tray on the small table, but the way she set it down was less than gentle, a hint of irritation surfacing in her movements.
Anastasia felt a flush rise to her cheeks. It felt strange to be on the receiving end of such kindness, especially when her entire life had been defined by service. "Thank you," she murmured, her eyes flickering to the tray. The sight of the meal made her stomach rumble, but the discomfort of being served gnawed at her insides. She was used to waiting on others, not being waited on.
Quickly, she stood, wanting to help Dana with the tray or at least clear away the emptiness that surrounded her. "Let me—"
"Sit down, Anastasia!" Dana snapped, her voice sharp and biting. The sudden reprimand made Anastasia freeze mid-step. Dana's eyes narrowed, and her lips curled in disdain. "What do you think this is? You're not some noble lady; you're still just a slave. You don't get to help."
Anastasia's heart sank at the harshness of Dana's words. She had only wanted to offer assistance, but it seemed that her new circumstances had drawn the ire of those who had once shared her struggle. The bitterness in Dana's voice hinted at something deeper, an undercurrent of resentment that twisted the air between them.
"I—I'm sorry," Anastasia stammered, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I just thought—"
"You thought wrong," Dana interrupted, crossing her arms over her chest, her gaze piercing. "You think you're special now, don't you? The Duke's little pet, getting all the attention. You have no idea how the rest of us suffer while you play the role of the favored servant."
Anastasia recoiled, taken aback by the venom in Dana's words. She had never considered herself favored; she was still the same girl who had faced the lash, who had suffered in silence. But now, her association with the Duke had thrust her into a role that others clearly resented.
"I'm not trying to take anything away from you," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just trying to survive, like everyone else."
Dana's laugh was hollow, full of scorn. "Survive? You think that's what this is about? You're playing with fire, Anastasia. Just wait until the Duke tires of you. You'll find out exactly how little power you have."
Anastasia's heart sank further, the weight of Dana's words settling heavily upon her. She had hoped that her new life with the Duke might bring her some semblance of peace, a break from the relentless fear and brutality of the palace. But now, with Dana's bitter reminder echoing in her mind, she was left questioning everything.
Silence stretched between them, thick with tension, and Anastasia found herself wishing for the solitude of her room again. She wanted to push past Dana, to reclaim her space, but the fear of confrontation held her in place.
She glanced down at the tray of food, suddenly feeling sickened by the thought of it. No matter how well-prepared or enticing it looked, the bitterness of the encounter drained the appetite from her stomach. With a heavy heart, she stepped back, allowing Dana to leave the room.
As the door clicked shut, Anastasia felt the weight of isolation settle over her once more. She was trapped in a life that offered little solace, no matter how the Duke's attention had shifted her fate.
Laying back on her bed, she stared at the ceiling, a thousand thoughts swirling in her mind. The resentment from Dana stung deeply, and it reminded her that even in moments of relative safety, she was still a slave—still at the mercy of those around her.
How long could she maintain this fragile existence? How long before the shadows of her past and the tensions of her present collided, leaving her nowhere to run?
She closed her eyes, wishing for clarity amid the chaos. But all she felt was the oppressive weight of uncertainty, heavy and unrelenting, pressing down on her like the suffocating darkness that surrounded her.