"Come to the back of the stables at midnight.
I wish to see you, my dear, my beloved Viella."
The words written on the piece of paper left in her apron that morning rang in her ears the whole day, playing a vague image of tender promises and whispers of love as she cleaned her sister's room in submissive silence.
Carefully, she placed each decorative plate aside as she wiped the wooden surface of the console table by the fire.
It was something that kept her day bright through the disappointment of once again being ignored by her father, stepmother, two older brothers, and three sisters.
Not that she wasn't used to it by now, but it was her special day.
The day she finally turned eighteen.
It was the age every girl in the kingdom was deemed old enough to decide for herself what she wanted to be outside of her duties as a woman—the moment she was given the opportunity to choose a specialty outside of motherhood.
Some chose to be seamstresses, painters, writers, gardeners, singers, musicians, clockmakers, herbalists, and many more.
An ocean of possibilities that, to someone like her, was a promise too great not to celebrate. But it seemed her family did not share her excitement.
Viella placed the last plate back in its place, then glanced at her sister and stepmother, who sat embroidering flowers on a piece of fabric. Their beautiful, smooth hands worked diligently in silence, accompanied by a tray of foreign tea and small pastries.
Normally, she would not dare disturb them. However, if she did not receive their congratulations, she needed at least their acknowledgment—that soon, she wanted to be someone else, something else, besides the discarded princess of Olaos. The bringer of misfortune, the unwanted daughter of King Peter.
No. This time, she would form her own identity and become a person worthy of love. Known for more than what her hands could do to make ornaments spotless and bring tea when called.
"Excuse me, Mother?" Viella started, despite her racing heart. Her voice was louder in the silence of the sleeping chambers. She clutched at her dirty rag nervously as Queen Joanna looked up from her work, her eyes sharp like the gaze of a hungry hawk.
"Yes? Daughter?" she asked, her words soft yet laced with expectation. She knew, Viella realized.
"I don't mean to interrupt your work, but I wish to know whether you realize what day it is?" Viella asked, ignoring her younger sister's smug look. She looked down at the floor, knowing her prolonged gaze would be a sign of disrespect. She was asking for a beating today.
"I realize, dear daughter," Queen Joanna said, amused. "What of it?"
"Well, it is a known tradition that each girl who turns eighteen will be gifted the opportunity to learn a craft. I... wish to be a herbalist. If you could give me the formal approval, I would be most grateful," Viella said, almost whispering.
Her voice was soft, but even she could hear the joy in her words. It was her dream to become a great herbalist, to create medicine for the sick, to make up for the life given to bring her into this world. It was her way of honoring her late mother.
Viella's head snapped up when the Queen began to laugh instead. Joanna threw an entertained glance at her eldest daughter, who tried to hide an amused smile. Crown Princess Safana looked at Viella with mocking eyes.
"A herbalist?" Crown Princess Safana asked. "Isn't it enough for you to sweep the balcony for fallen leaves? Do you still want to pick them as well?"
Viella's lips parted. The ache in her heart rendered her speechless.
"Dear child," Queen Joanna began, once she regained her composure. "You ask for a gift you are not deserving of. Your greatest blessing is the opportunity to be bedded by a man who would at least take care of you, free you from this life of servitude... to us, once I find it in me to see you off." She waved at Viella as if she were just a speck of dust carried by a random wind.
Joanna continued, "Then you can slave away for your own children. Is that not more fitting for a young girl of your history? An unwanted, titleless princess, who should count her lucky stars to have a paid job. If it were up to me, you'd be sold off to be the slave of an old man who'll use you like a soulless doll whenever he pleases," she said, her words sending shivers down Viella's back as she imagined dirty old hands groping her, pushing his will upon her.
Viella swallowed, forcing back tears that threatened to invite more mockery. "You're right, Mother. Forgive me for my brazen ask," she managed, with only one word breaking. She sucked in a breath. "But may I ask, where is my payment?"
Viella had never recalled receiving a single penny. To her knowledge, she was already a slave to her family, working day and night with no wage at all.
Queen Joanna looked offended, as if she were an ungrateful rat who dared question her generosity.
"You seem to forget that the clothes on your back, the food on your plate, the soap that cleans your body—all are given to you for free!" Queen Joanna exclaimed. Viella lowered her head.
The Queen was referring to the clothes, food, and hygiene products all the maids received for working there, though they still received a monthly wage of three silvers. While she didn't.
Feeling like a dark cloud, Viella stepped back, her back bowed and head facing the ground. Her lips trembled, but she still spoke steadily. "I apologize for my insolence. I must have forgotten my place for a moment. Please forgive me," she said, swallowing her dignity.
Queen Joanna sighed, then waved her away. "You've rather spoiled my evening, child. Go get Wilma to replace you; I don't think I want to see your face anymore today." She returned to her handiwork, while Crown Princess Safana threw an annoyed look at her.
Viella bowed once again, following protocol, she stepped back twice before turning, leaving the bedchamber with a heavy heart.
Not five steps after she left, Viella felt hot tears stream down her reddened cheeks, her heart weighed down with emotions and words she could not express. There were so many hurts, burdens, and crushed hopes that she couldn't begin to put them into words.
"You spoiled my whole day," Viella said to no one in particular.
With her tears dried by the corner of her sleeve, Viella readied herself to face yet another unkind individual in the maids' sleeping chambers. She knocked, only entering when the older woman allowed her in.
"Good evening, Madam. Her Majesty calls for you," Viella said, without waiting for an answer. Wilma, who was already in her sleeping garments, cursed under her breath.
"Your mother is the lucky one for being dead. She doesn't have to deal with your uselessness," she said, loud enough for Viella to hear. She had heard many insults in her life, but this was new. It was cruel.
In silence, Viella walked past dozens of other maids who sneered and glanced at her with mocking eyes. Their words were soft, but enough for her to hear.
The lucky unwanted princess who didn't have to do any hard labor, yet became their personal maid. And yet, couldn't even do that well.
Poor Wilma, too old to deal with Viella's incompetence. Now she'd turned eighteen, but look, even at her age, she still could not manage the work she'd done for nearly all her life. Tsk. What a pity.
Viella went to her private sleeping chamber—another thing that set her apart from the rest of the maids. She closed the door behind her, and when she was sure no one could hear, Viella lay on her bed and cried herself silently to sleep.