That night, she couldn't sleep.
The letter that she had written in a hurry sat on her desk like an empty promise. She felt it was too selfish, too little but she oulsnt bring herself to say anything more. She promised them she's safe and she'd be back. Though she wasn't so sure it would be the case. But she didn't want them to worry, or worse, send out a search party.
So, when twilight broke through the darkness, she pulled on the clothing that could only be described as rags that she exchanged with a beggar the day before. She slipped out of the manor, leaving not only her family but herself behind. Now, she was going to put on the mask of a poor girl seeking work. It was a safe way inside the Captain's residence.
As she walked down the streets already waking, she kept her head down and her hood low. Her heartbeat raced and every step felt so heavy with her lies and what lies ahead. Forgive me mother, she thought, though she'd never dare write it.
She reached Darian Valeric's house and her mouth went dry. A soldier passed by, nodding a greeting to her and she almost turned around and ran but she forced her feet to walk forward, making sure she didn't look half as anxious as she felt. Instead of heading to the front door, she walked around the side and found another passage used by the servants.
She saw two women unloading baskets from a cartoon. They were talking but their voices were clipped, loud and their words distinct to her own.
"Work?", Serenya rasped, her tone rough and words dragged, to blend in as one of their own. "I'd do anythin' for no coin, just some bread and roof. Gimme a chance."
The older among the women narrowed her gaze at her and said, "Plenty come beggin'. Most can't last a day."
Serenya bowed her head low, clasping her hands infront of her, "I'll last....please."
The younger maid let out a snort, using one hand that wasn't holding the basket to toss her braid back. "Big words from a tiny little thing. One day trial, we'll see the. If ya ain't usin' them pretty hands proper, you're out."
Serenya felt her pulse hammer but she nodded quickly, but careful enough not to sound too eager, "One day's all I'm askin'"
They jerked their chin. No smile and no welcome. Turns out the maids of the infamous Captain were as cold as him.
Lest they should change their mind suddenly, Serenya immediately stepped into place, observing their pace and their style. She had never worked like this but now she had to learn to survive. Good thing she's a quick learner.
The side door creaked open. There was heat, smoke and chatter from the inside. She steadied her breath, ducked her head and stepped inside.
The kitchen seemed to swallow her whole. Orders frew around like arrows, somewhere a pot slammed. Water sloshed in the basins.
"Scrub them pans!" the older maid barked.
Serenya rolled up her sleeves, bit her tongue, and started working. The soap stung her hands raw and grease clung to her wrists, but she kept moving, copying the rhythm of the others. She asked no questions and didn't dare falter. This was a test and she would not fail.
A half-hour passed. Maybe more. She couldn't tell. She was getting tired now but she didn't dare pause.
Then–"You. Girl."
She froze. The older maid pointed a dripping ladle at her. "Take yerself upstairs. Rooms need seein' to. Don't dawdle."
With a small "Aye", Serenya dried her hands on her skirts and obeyed. The bucket they shoved into her arms sloshed water onto the floor, but no one cared. She slipped out of the kitchen, into the quieter main halls.
The manor above breathed differently. Fewer voices. More shadows. Only her footsteps seemed loud in the otherwise eerily silent halls. She moved from one chamber to the next, cloth in hand, dusting and scrubbing every inch of the place, her disguise clinging to her like a second skin.
And then the air shifted.
She looked up. And saw Him.
Darian Valeric filled the corridor as though the hall had been built to contain him. Broad shoulders beneath a dark tunic, posture taut with a soldier's discipline. His face was cut sharp, too still, the kind of stillness that came from years of watching battlefields and not blinking. His hair—black, cropped close—threw his eyes into sharper relief: pale, glacial, unblinking.
Serenya's first thought was cold. Not like winter's sting, but like stone that had never once known warmth. She also thought that he looked beautiful in a strange tragic sort of way, but quickly pushed the unwanted thought away.
This is the man they fear? This is the monster I'm meant to unravel?
Darian Valeric stood at the far end of the hall, one hand braced against the doorframe, eyes cutting like steel. His gaze landed on her.....and stayed.
The bucket slipped in her grip, water almost falling over the edge.
Darian's gaze held hers just long enough to send shivers down her spine. Does he know, she wondered, what I'm here for? Or perhaps he remembers me from the market.
Then, his gaze felt as though it passed through her. Like she was invisible. He walked past her and into another chamber. She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding and slowly lowered the bucket down to the floor. Her hands shook and her knees would have buckled. Just the sight of him was enough to shake her resolve.
But she didn't stop. No, she couldn't. She pushed herself into the nearest room and bent to her task as if nothing happened.
A moment later, footsteps padded in behind her–lighter, quicker.
"Y'new?" a voice asked, softer than the ones before.
Serenya turned to find a girl close to her age but maybe a little younger, cheeks pink from kitchen heat, carried a bundle of linens in her arms. Her smile was small but seemed genuine.
"I heard you got yelled at. Don't mind Marta barkin'," the girl said, setting the linens down on a table. "She bites less once she knows ye'll last."
Serenya forced a small nod and smiled, roughening her voice to match. "I'll last."
The girl's grin widened. "Good. Name's Brisa. I'll help ye with these rooms. Goes faster with two."
"I'm Rhyn. Thanks."
Serenya continued dipping the cloth into the bucket, grateful for company. Brisa seemed nice and she could use a friendly face. She matched her movements, wiping down the table and shaking out sheets.
Even then, every time the door creaked, she froze wondering if he was back and onto her.