The servant's wing of Lady Selene Valtier's estate was a place of perpetual silence and shadow. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone, the faint aroma of burnt herbs lingering from the incense meant to mask the stench of blood. The walls were cracked, the floors uneven—this was not the palace of luxury that the nobles saw, but the hidden, neglected space where the servants were expected to live and die without complaint.
Evelyn moved swiftly through the dim corridor, careful to keep her footsteps light. The tray in her hands rattled slightly, betraying her exhaustion, but she tightened her grip. A single mistake would cost her. Lady Selene did not tolerate incompetence.
She reached the lavish quarters of the first wife—a stark contrast to the servants' wing. The double doors were carved with intricate patterns of roses and thorns, gilded edges catching the glow of enchanted lanterns. Beyond them lay a world of silk, gold, and cruelty.
Evelyn inhaled, steadying herself, before knocking.
"Enter," came the smooth, almost lazy voice.
Pushing the door open, Evelyn kept her head bowed as she stepped inside. Lady Selene reclined on a chaise, her dark hair cascading over her bare shoulders. The red silk of her gown clung to her form, exuding an effortless grace that only masked the venom beneath her beauty.
Evelyn approached silently, setting the tray on a small polished table beside her. She poured the wine carefully, ensuring not a single drop spilled.
"You're late," Selene murmured, golden eyes gleaming with amusement.
Evelyn swallowed hard. No excuse would satisfy her.
Selene's lips curled into a smile that never reached her eyes. "Perhaps you need a reminder of your place."
Before Evelyn could react, a sharp crack echoed through the chamber—Selene's goblet striking the side of her face. The impact sent her stumbling, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth.
Selene sighed, stretching like a satisfied cat. "Try not to be so slow next time. I do hate incompetence."
Evelyn clenched her jaw, swallowing her pride and the sting of fresh pain. She had no choice but to endure. She was nothing more than a servant.
Evelyn dropped to her knees, head bowed, her cheek burning from the hit. "I'm sorry, my lady. Do forgive my incompetence. I will forever be grateful for your kindness."
Selene stared at her, unimpressed. She swirled the wine in her goblet, then sighed. "Whatever. Now run along, slave."
Evelyn clenched her fists but kept her head low. Without another word, she rose and backed out of the room. Selene's laughter followed her, cold and sharp.
"What are you doing, Marianne?" Evelyn asked, sitting cross-legged on the cold stone floor of their shared maid's quarters.
"Nothing." Marianne waved a hand dismissively before leaning in, eyes wide with gossip. "But have you heard? The King is choosing a wife tomorrow! His tenth wife—can you believe it?"
"Hmm. He's the richest man in the whole of Noctara," Evelyn muttered, barely looking up as she scrubbed at the worn fabric of her dress.
Marianne huffed, flopping onto the straw-filled mattress beside her. "Richest? He owns Noctara! The whole continent of Varethia bows to him. And yet, ten wives? What does he need ten for?"
Evelyn shrugged. "Power. Control. Who knows?"
Marianne shivered. "I'd rather scrub floors forever than end up in that castle."
Evelyn said nothing. Because in Noctara, fate was never kind to those who thought they had a choice.
"I wonder what the King looks like," Evelyn mused, her fingers idly tracing patterns on the stone floor. "They say he's a demon. Does that mean he's hideous? Or… is he handsome?"
She had spent her entire life within the palace walls, yet she had never once laid eyes on the King. Few had.
Rumors painted him as a nightmare—a devil in human form. They called him many names: Dracula's son, Lucifer, Mammon.
Marianne hugged her knees, voice hushed. "If he were truly monstrous, why do women still fight to be his?"
Evelyn glanced at her. "Maybe they don't have a choice."
"Or maybe he threatens to eat them alive!" Marianne exclaimed before lunging at Evelyn, knocking her over.
Evelyn yelped as she hit the floor, then burst into laughter. "Heyyy… don't do that!" She swatted at Marianne, still grinning. "And I don't think he eats humans. Ugh!"
Evelyn had barely spent a few minutes in the room when a sharp scream pierced the air. Heavy boots echoed down the hall, followed by the unmistakable sound of doors being thrown open.
Guards.
That only meant one thing.
Trouble.
"All of you—OUT!" A deep, snarling voice commanded as the doors of the servant's quarters were flung open. A group of armored guards stormed in, their eyes cold and unyielding.
Behind them, a woman swept into the room, her silk robes trailing across the stone floor. She was not a noble, yet she carried herself like one. The chief handmaiden of the Third Wife. Her lips curled into a smirk as she surveyed the kneeling maids.
"Lady Vespera's patience has run thin." Her voice was honeyed poison. "Someone in this wretched excuse of a wing has stolen from her."
Evelyn's breath caught. Lady Vespera. The Third Wife.
No wonder they had come with force.
The chief handmaiden took slow, deliberate steps, her gaze flicking over the frightened maids. "You serve Lady Selene, do you not?" A pause. "Then surely, you won't mind proving your loyalty… with a little pain."
A flick of her wrist.
The guards moved. Whips cracked. Hands grabbed at them, forcing them up.
Evelyn barely had time to react before she was shoved forward, her bare feet stumbling against the cold stone. They weren't being punished here.
They were being taken somewhere worse.
"Today, all of you will learn what it means to steal from Lady Vespera."
A harsh silence followed. Then—
CRACK!
A whip tore through the air, striking a girl at the front. She screamed, collapsing forward as her dress darkened with blood. The other maids flinched, their heads bowed, but no one spoke.
"Who did it?" The handmaiden's voice was sickly sweet. "Come on now, confess."
Nothing.
CRACK!
Another scream. Evelyn bit her lip hard, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth.
Then—the heavy doors swung open.
Lady Selene entered, her expression unreadable, her steps deliberate. The guards stepped back instinctively.
"Who gave you the right to touch what's mine?" Her voice was smooth, deadly.
The handmaiden hesitated, but before she could respond—
"And why shouldn't they?"
Lady Vespera strode in, dressed in silk and arrogance, her smirk unwavering. "One of your little rats stole from me."
Selene's eyes flickered with something dark. "That's a lie. My maids serve only me."
Vespera leaned in, voice dripping with venom. "Since you poisoned Elder Maurice before he could tell the king you're a witch… I'd say I can do whatever I please."
Selene froze. A single breath passed before she schooled her expression. "What do you want?"
Vespera's lips curled.
"Their heads."
"What?" Lady Selene's voice was sharp, her eyes flashing with rage. "Have you no respect? I am the First Wife! You will address me properly and give me the respect I deserve!"
Vespera smirked, tilting her head slightly. "Respect?" she mused. "Why would I respect a murderer?"
Selene's fingers curled into fists, but Vespera wasn't done. She took a slow step forward, lowering her voice just enough for only Selene to hear.
"I will not humor your delusions, nor will I bow to a woman who poisons those who oppose her. If you refuse to meet my request…" She smiled, a cruel, knowing smile. "I will simply take this matter to our lord—King Damon."
Selene's breath caught. "Don't you dare."
Vespera's grin widened. "Then give me what I want."
"Their heads! All of them!!" Vespera's voice sliced through the cold air like a blade, echoing off the wooden beams of the courtyard. The scent of burning incense and damp stone lingered, but fear drowned out all else.
The maids trembled, their knees pressed against the rough ground, eyes darting toward the guards gripping their hilts. Shadows from the torchlight flickered against the towering pagoda-like walls, casting distorted shapes over their bowed forms.
Today was their last day.
Their final moments.
Unless—
Vespera's sharp nails traced the edge of her silk sleeve, a slow, deliberate movement. "Unless, of course… one of you is bold enough to prove your loyalty."
The silence thickened. The wind whistled through the courtyard, rustling the banners hanging from the eaves. Somewhere, a bronze bell chimed in the distance, haunting and slow.
She stepped closer, her voice turning almost playful. "Slap your mistress."
Gasps broke the quiet like shattering porcelain.
"Slap Lady Selena across the face, and you may live."
Evelyn's breath hitched. The other maids trembled beside her,
their eyes darting between the furious first wife and the coldly smirking third.
A test. A trap.
Would someone take the bait?
Or would they all die tonight?