The next morning, Althea and the other girls woke up early to begin their chores. They crowded around the chore roster, eyes skimming through the wooden board for their assigned duties.
Althea's heart skipped a beat when she saw her name—Laundry.
"If as much as a drop of water touches your body, you'll turn into a mermaid," Petri's words echoed in her head. "The royal family won't hesitate to kill you."
Panic gripped her. How was she supposed to handle laundry without touching water?
Think... you need to think of a way out.
What if she pretended to be sick? Would Sylvia believe her? She had to try because there was no way she was going to do laundry.
"Althina!" Sylvia called out to her. Althea looked up, heart pounding in her chest. The woman stood with her hands on her hips, brows furrowed. "Come here!"
Althea hurried towards her.
"Why haven't you gone to fetch the dirty clothes from the palace rooms?" Sylvia demanded. "I've given you the easiest jobs so that you'll not go running to the prince."
Althea began to cough loudly, pressing her hand to her chest as she gasped for air. She staggered slightly to sell the lie.
Sylvia narrowed her eyes. "What is wrong with you? Are you sick or what?"
"I—I have a fever." Althea sniffed. "I don't think I can do laundry today. I'll catch a… a cold if I do." Her voice shook, her hands trembling as if she'd stood hours in the rain.
Sylvia placed her palm on Althea's forehead.
"Tsk tsk," she clicked. "You're really burning up."
Althea braced herself, expecting her to insist that she do the laundry even if she was going to turn into an ice sculpture. Instead, Sylvia's tone softened with an unsettling smile.
"You look really sick. Why not tidy the bedrooms instead? I'll get another girl to do laundry in your place."
Althea blinked. That was… unexpected. The smile Sylvia gave her made her skin crawl. She was better off when the woman wore a frown than this unsettling smile.
"Thank you, ma'am," she muttered, bowing quickly before walking away. She grabbed the cleaning equipments and got to work, her thoughts returning back to last night.
I'm a mermaid… one of the most hated creatures in Erston. And Petri knows about it.
What if she told Caysen? She shuddered with fear.
She turned into a corner and paused, deciding to clean Caysen's room first. She'd seen him leave the palace earlier, which meant she had time to finish before he returned. An encounter with him was the last thing she wanted.
She entered the room, shutting the door softly behind her. The space was tidy except for the crumpled sheets on the king-sized bed. She hummed softly as she worked, fluffing the pillows and straightening the sheets.
"Ouch!" She stumbled, falling hard onto her knees. Something had caught her foot.
She looked down. The hilt of a sword poked out from beneath the bed. Groaning, she rubbed her aching toe.
"Why would he leave a sword lying around like that?" she muttered. "How careless of him.
Curious, she bent down and dragged it out. That's when she saw it—a wooden box well hidden deep beneath the bed.
It's none of your business, she told herself.
But her curiosity whispered louder, getting the better of her. She hesitated, then slowly opened it.
Her eyes widened. Gold and silver coins—fillee it up to the brim. Her breath caught in her throat. If she had this much money… she could escape. She could find a place where mermaids weren't hunted like beasts.
The sudden creak of the door snapped her out of her fantasy. She shut the box, heart racing, and shoved it back under the bed just as Caysen stepped inside.
His eyes narrowed. "What are you doing?"
She froze in fear. Why was he back?
He stood with arms crossed, brow furrowed, clearly confused—and suspicious—as to why she was crouched under his bed.
He'd been halfway out of the palace when he remembered his sword.
"I..." Althea panicked. In her fear, she picked up the sword—by the blade. A sharp pain shot through her palm.
"Ah!" she cried, dropping the sword. Blood dripped from her hand onto the pristine floor.
Caysen's pupils dilated. His jaw tightened.
The scent of blood hit him like a wave, and he filled with an intense bloodlust.
No—Not now. You've already fed, he told himself. But the hunger increased anyway.
There was a war to prepare for. He couldn't afford to lose control now
"You must be really dumb," he snapped, snatching up the sword. "Why would you grab it by the blade?"
Althea winced, holding her bleeding hand. She was in pain and that was rhe least he could say?
"Guard!" he barked. A man rushed into the room. "Fetch the physician. Now."
Without another word, he turned and left the room. He couldn't stay—her scent was too strong. His restraint was hanging by a thread.
At the top of the stairs, he stopped. The sword was still stained with her blood. Just one taste, a tiny voice whispered.
He hesitated… then ran his tongue along the blade. His body tensed. Her blood... It awakened something primal. Something dangerous.
He needed to know who—what—she really was.
Back in the room, Althea sat trembling on the floor, cradling her injured hand. The physician arrived, pouring a green ointment over the wound. Pain flared up her arm, sharp and blinding, before he wrapped it in clean cloth.
Despite the pain, she forced herself to finish tidying the room before heading back to the servants' quarters for lunch.
She barely had time to sit when Sylvia came storming in. "Althina!"
"Not again." Althea groaned and stood slowly from her bed.
"Good," Sylvia said. "You're going to accompany Eloise to the market. We need rice for the three-day celebration."
Althea sighed. She had hoped for a little rest, but Sylvia was hell-bent on making her life miserable. She tied her hair into two pigtails and wrapped a scarf around her head to protect herself from the scorching sun.
They rode in a creaky and old cart pulled by a donkey. The bumpy road made her hit her hand twice, and she winced as the pain increased.
The market was a chaotic and smelly mess—stalls pressed close together, flies buzzing everywhere. Vendors shouted their prices to the buyers while swatting at the insects with rags.
Althea trailed behind Eloise, who moved quickly, barely glancing back.
"Hurry up, girl!" Eloise called. She stood at a vegetable stall, haggling over carrots and cabbage.
Althea tried to keep up, half-walking, half-running through the crowd.
She didn't hear the warning until it was too late.
"Move out of the way!" someone shouted.
Splash!
A bucket of water drenched her.
The next morning, Althea and the other girls woke up early to begin their chores. They crowded around the wooden board, looking for their names and the chores they were supposed to do.
Althea's heart skipped a beat when she saw her name—Laundry.
"If as much as a drop of water touches your body, you'll turn into a mermaid," Petri's words echoed in her head. "The royal family won't hesitate to kill you."
Panic gripped her. How was she supposed to handle laundry without touching water?
Think... you need to think of a way out.
What if she pretended to be sick? Would Sylvia believe her? She had to try because there was no way she was going to do laundry.
"Althina!" Sylvia called out to her. Althea looked up, heart pounding in her chest. The woman stood with her hands on her hips, brows furrowed. "Come here!"
Althea hurried towards her.
"Why haven't you gone to fetch the dirty clothes from the palace rooms?" Sylvia demanded. "I've given you the easiest jobs so that you'll not go running to the prince."
Althea began to cough, she placed her hand on her chest as if she was gasping for air.
Sylvia narrowed her eyes. "What is wrong with you? Are you sick or what?"
"I—I have a fever." Althea sniffed. "I don't think I can do laundry today. I'll catch a… a cold if I do." Her voice shook, her hands trembling as if she'd stood hours in the rain.
Sylvia placed her palm on Althea's forehead.
"Tsk tsk," she clicked. "You're really burning up."
Althea braced herself, expecting her to insist that she do the laundry even if she was going to turn into an ice sculpture. Instead, Sylvia's tone softened with an unsettling smile.
"You look really sick. Why not tidy the bedrooms instead? I'll get another girl to do laundry in your place."
Althea blinked. Sylvia had allowed her. The smile on her face made her feel worried, but she quickly brushed away her worries.
"Thank you, ma'am," she muttered, bowing quickly before walking away. She grabbed the cleaning equipments and got to work, her thoughts returning back to last night.
I'm a mermaid… one of the most hated creatures in Erston. And Petri knows about it.
What if she told Caysen? She shuddered with fear.
She turned into a corner and paused, deciding to clean Caysen's room first. She'd seen him leave the palace earlier, which meant she had time to finish before he returned. An encounter with him was the last thing she wanted.
She entered the room, shutting the door softly behind her. The space was tidy except for the crumpled sheets on the king-sized bed. She hummed softly as she worked, fluffing the pillows and straightening the sheets.
"Ouch!" She stumbled, falling hard onto her knees. Something had caught her foot.
She looked down. The handle of his mighty silver sword was peeking out from under the bed. She massaged her aching toe.
"Why would he leave a sword lying around like that?" she muttered. "How careless of him.
Curious, she bent down and dragged it out. That's when she saw it—a wooden box well hidden deep beneath the bed.
It's none of your business, she told herself.
But her curiosity whispered louder, getting the better of her. She hesitated, then slowly opened it.
Her eyes widened. Gold and silver coins—fillee it up to the brim. Her breath caught in her throat. If she had this much money… she could escape. She could find a place where mermaids weren't hunted like beasts.
The sudden creak of the door snapped her out of her fantasy. She shut the box, heart racing, and shoved it back under the bed just as Caysen stepped inside.
His eyes narrowed. "What are you doing?"
She froze in fear. Why was he back?
He stood with arms crossed, brow furrowed, clearly confused—and suspicious—as to why she was crouched under his bed.
He'd been halfway out of the palace when he remembered his sword.
"I..." Althea panicked. In her fear, she picked up the sword—by the blade. A sharp pain shot through her palm.
"Ah!" she cried, dropping the sword. Blood dripped from her hand onto the pristine floor.
Caysen's pupils dilated. His jaw tightened.
The scent of blood hit him like a wave, and he filled with an intense bloodlust.
No—Not now. You've already fed, he told himself. But the hunger increased anyway.
There was a war to prepare for. He couldn't afford to lose control now
"You must be really dumb," he snapped, snatching up the sword. "Why would you grab it by the blade?"
Althea winced, holding her bleeding hand. She was in pain and that was rhe least he could say?
"Guard!" he barked. A man rushed into the room. "Fetch the physician. Now."
Without another word, he turned and left the room. He couldn't stay—her scent was too strong. His restraint was hanging by a thread.
At the top of the stairs, he stopped. The sword was still stained with her blood. Just one taste, a tiny voice whispered.
He hesitated… then ran his tongue along the blade. His body tensed. Her blood... It awakened something primal. Something dangerous.
He needed to know who—what—she really was.
Back in the room, Althea sat trembling on the floor, cradling her injured hand. The physician arrived, pouring a green ointment over the wound. Pain flared up her arm, sharp and blinding, before he wrapped it in clean cloth.
Despite the pain, she forced herself to finish tidying the room before heading back to the servants' quarters for lunch.
She barely had time to sit when Sylvia came storming in. "Althina!"
"Not again." Althea groaned and stood slowly from her bed.
"Good," Sylvia said. "You're going to accompany Eloise to the market. We need rice for the three-day celebration." She informed her.
Althea sighed. She had hoped for a little rest, but Sylvia was hell-bent on making her life miserable. She tied her hair into two pigtails and wrapped a scarf around her head to protect herself from the scorching sun.
They rode in a creaky and old cart pulled by a donkey. The bumpy road made her hit her hand twice, and she winced as the pain increased.
The market was a big one. Chaotic yes and vet smelly too. Buyers were looking around for the cheapest wares, while sellers were calling onto them while shooing away the flies.
Althea trailed behind Eloise, who moved quickly, barely glancing back.
"Hurry up, girl!" Eloise called. She stood at a vegetable stall, haggling over carrots and cabbage.
Althea tried to keep up, half-walking, half-running through the crowd.
She didn't hear the warning until it was too late.
"Move out of the way!" someone shouted.
Splash!
A bucket of water drenched her.