The sound was soft but sharp enough to rouse me.
I jolted upright on my bed, my heart hammering, only to find two maids moving about the bedroom.
They carried folded garments in their arms, slipping them into the large wardrobe. Their steps were light, their faces expressionless, and when they noticed I was awake, they dipped their heads once before leaving the room without a single word after they finished their work.
The door clicked shut, and silence fell again.
I sank back against the pillows, letting out a long breath of relief.
My eyes drifted to the bedside table. The tray still sat there—empty now, save for the faint smudges of crumbs and a streak of milk at the bottom of the glass.
So I really had eaten it all.
The memory stirred faintly. The buttery taste of the pastries, the warmth of the milk easing into me like a balm.
At the time, I hadn't thought much about it. I'd told myself I wasn't hungry. But my body had betrayed me, devouring every bite as though starved.
