The water from the tap was only lukewarm, but at that moment I was grateful even for that. I scrubbed myself for at least fifteen minutes, determined to wash every trace of dirt off my skin. Only then did I notice the bruises — dozens of them, blooming in purple and blue along my legs and arms. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd truly felt pain; I'd always been used to comfort.
As I washed my hair, thoughts of home filled my mind. I still couldn't believe everything that had happened in the past few days. It all felt like a terrible dream — something unreal. That my father was gone, that I had been forced to flee the estate, and that now, in some foreign castle, they wanted to turn me into a servant girl.
"Time's up! Out!" a woman banged on the door.
"Just a moment!" I called back, wrapping a dry sheet around myself before stepping onto the cold stone floor and quickly dressing in the clean clothes they had given me.
When I opened the door, I came face to face with the strict old hag who had slapped me only a few hours earlier. She was gripping the arm of a dark-haired girl, who stood beside her with her head bowed.
"What's your name?" the crone demanded, her bony hand gripping my jaw and jerking my head upward so sharply that I let out a small groan.
"Carina," I muttered through clenched teeth, holding her gaze — something that clearly displeased her. "And what's your name?" I asked back, a question I probably shouldn't have asked.
"Listen here, you little brat," she hissed, leaning so close I could smell the garlic on her breath. "I ask the questions here. You'd better show some respect, because you are nothing in this place — and it would take only one word from me to have you hanged. Do you understand me?"
I gave a small nod, though the pain in my jaw was becoming unbearable.
"Repeat after me: 'Yes, ma'am.'"
"Yes, ma'am," I echoed, and only then did she release me. With a cruel laugh, she shoved the brown-haired girl through the doorway.
I slipped quickly down the empty corridor and hurried back to my assigned room. Without a word, I threw myself onto the bed, burying my face in the hard, musty pillow. Only then did I let the tears fall — silent, trembling drops of everything I had been holding in.
The other girls were chatting and laughing nearby, but I paid them no attention. I just wanted to calm down, though that was almost impossible in this place.
I don't know how long I lay there — maybe I drifted off for a bit — but I woke suddenly to a loud voice shouting. My eyes flew open, and I sat up quickly to find the other girls standing excitedly in the middle of the room.
"Now that everyone has settled in, it's time to show you this beautiful castle — your new home," said a woman with jet-black hair tied back with a white ribbon. "My name is Mrs. Brennen. If you ever need anything, come to me."
Her smile was gentler, far more genuine than anyone else's I'd seen here so far. "Now, please, follow me."
The girls began whispering eagerly among themselves as they followed Mrs. Brennen, and I had no choice but to join them — drawing attention to myself now would be dangerous.
We walked down a long corridor filled with rooms similar to ours, clearly housing other girls like us. At the end, we reached a large black wooden door and stopped.
"Before we go any further," Mrs. Brennen began again, "there are a few important things you need to know. Last night, when you were brought here, you entered through the western wing. That area is only used temporarily. Where you live now is part of that wing — and let me assure you, you are the lucky ones. You are handmaids; your duties will be far better than those of the lower servants. You'll learn more about that in time. For now, let's continue — I'll show you the rest of the castle."
She pressed down the handle, and with a long creak, the door swung open.
Stepping through felt like entering another world. The once-gray walls were painted a soft peach, with golden and amber motifs curling across their surfaces. Massive double windows lined the hallway, their sides draped with deep red curtains, and sunlight streamed through them in warm, rich beams. The ceilings soared at least five meters high, hung with chandeliers dripping with crystal. Beneath our feet, polished marble tiles gleamed — every step echoing sharply against the walls.
We walked briskly down the corridor, turning right several times until I completely lost my sense of direction. Eventually, we reached an arched wall and stepped into a more open space.
"This is where the western wing ends," Mrs. Brennen explained as we gazed around in awe. "Straight ahead is the ballroom, and beyond that lies the eastern wing — that's where the soldiers, guards, and commanders reside. If you go up the stairs and turn left, you'll reach the southern wing. When guests arrive, that's where we accommodate them."
She continued her explanation as we moved along, our heads craning to take in every beautiful detail.
"And what's to the right?" a bold girl asked suddenly.
Mrs. Brennen's expression changed. Her eyes flicked toward the top of the red-carpeted staircase before she answered in a low, serious voice.
"That is the northern wing. You may only enter there with explicit permission. That is the first and most important rule — and if you value your life, you will not dare break it."
The air in the hall seemed to freeze. Then, after a tense moment, Mrs. Brennen smiled again — a calm, satisfied smile — and continued walking straight ahead. We followed silently behind her.