Janelle
I'm scrubbing the kitchen grease pit when I hear my name called. The voice is unfamiliar, cultured, and definitely doesn't belong to Mrs. Crawford or any of the other staff who usually bark orders at me.
"Janelle?"
I look up, squinting through the steam and smoke, my face streaked with grease and sweat. Standing in the kitchen doorway is a man I don't recognize, tall, dark-haired, with kind brown eyes and clothes that scream nobility. He seems completely out of place in the servants' domain.
"Yes, sir?" I scramble to my feet, wiping my filthy hands on my already-stained apron. "Can I help you with something?"
He steps closer, seemingly unbothered by the kitchen's chaos and my disheveled appearance. "I'm Lord Darius Blackwood. I've just returned to court, and I was hoping we might speak."
