The dining hall was everything Riella expected — warm lighting, sweet aromas, women dressed in silks too soft to belong to freedom.
Chloe led her to a long table lined with golden-rimmed plates and polished cutlery. But Riella couldn't focus on the food. Her mind was elsewhere — on the way the maids moved. On the back doors she'd passed. On the woman called Lady Zoey… and the name General Leonardo.
Every name here meant something. Every silence even more.
As Chloe chattered about meals and embroidery lessons, Riella smiled politely. She held her fork, but her eyes scanned the walls — four guards posted. Two at the entrance. One near the windows. One pretending not to watch her.
They were watching her.
So, they knew she was different. Or dangerous.
Good.
She excused herself after the meal, pretending a headache. Chloe allowed it — too easily.
Back in her room, Riella sat at the edge of the bed, the dress clinging to her like silk-coated chains. She slipped off her slippers and knelt beside the vanity. Her fingers explored the wooden edge of the lower drawer.
Hollow.
She tapped it again. Yes — there was space behind it. Enough to hide something.
Later, after the lights dimmed and the hallways grew still, Riella sat by the window, eyes wide open, heart racing like a hunted doe's.
She had no map. No plan. Just instincts.
But if there was a door, then there was an outside.
And if there was an outside, then there was a way home.
Or revenge.
The dress still smelled like lavender and new silk. Riella hated it.
She slipped it off, folded it neatly, and shoved it beneath the bed like a dead thing. Her old clothes were gone, burned maybe. Disposed of like her past. She was supposed to become someone else here.
She wouldn't.
Instead, she wrapped herself in the linen robe Chloe had offered, tiptoed to the door, and leaned her head against it. The hallway beyond was quiet — but not dead. The kind of quiet that listens back.
She creaked the door open. Just a sliver. Just enough.
The lights were dim. A shadow moved far down the corridor — a maid or a ghost, Riella couldn't tell.
She slipped out barefoot.
One turn. Then another. Her mind memorized every door, every window, every blind corner. She passed a study with an old grandfather clock. A glass cabinet with a locked drawer. A stairwell — marble and tall, but too open.
She wouldn't go down there yet.
Instead, she veered left and found a narrow corridor that smelled like boiled herbs and damp cloth. She followed it, pulse racing, and paused at a wooden side door that looked — promising.
Locked.
She checked the hinges. New. Someone made sure this door stayed closed.
Her fingers trembled. She hated that. Trembling made her feel small.
No. Not again.
She reached into her robe pocket and pulled out the small pin she had hidden since the night before. It wasn't much, but she'd practiced on her dresser drawer back in her room. The lock here looked old, barely used.
She knelt. Inserted the pin.
One click. Two.
A noise.
Her heart froze.
Footsteps — soft, steady. Not rushed. Confident. Coming from behind.
She slipped the pin into her robe again and stood, pretending to admire the wallpaper.
"Lost, Riella?"
Chloe.
Her voice was gentle, almost musical. But Riella heard the question behind the question.
"No," she lied. "I was just... restless."
Chloe smiled, stepping closer. She held a tray of warm milk and fruit slices. "You should've called for me. I would've sat with you."
"I didn't want to disturb you."
"Sweet girl," Chloe said, placing the tray on a side table. "You could never disturb me."
Riella smiled back. But her fists were tight.
Chloe tilted her head, her eyes searching Riella's face. "Be careful wandering alone at night. The house is old… and full of memories. Some of them not kind."
"I understand."
"Good." Chloe turned, pausing just before walking away. "You'll be given sewing duty tomorrow. I expect you to show up at sunrise."
She disappeared down the hall, her footfalls softer than secrets.
Riella stood still until the hallway emptied.
Then she looked back at the locked door and whispered, "Tomorrow night, then."