The palace was quieter than usual, but whispers clung to the corners like shadows.
Halvra's gaze followed Vanella the moment she stepped into the hall. Every movement Vanella made—how she carried water, how she bent to scrub floors, even the way she folded cloth—was noted, judged, and twisted into fault.
"More dust," Halvra snapped, pointing at the floor Vanella had just cleaned. "Do you think this palace was built for laziness? Do it again. And don't imagine anyone will notice if you slack."
Vanella bent over the floor without a word, counting her breaths, keeping her back straight. Every fiber of her body screamed to fight back, to throw something, to scream—but she remained controlled, silent.
Liora hovered nearby, hands clasped nervously. "Matron, perhaps she's done enough—"
"Enough?" Halvra's laugh was sharp and cruel. "There is no 'enough' for the insolent." She leaned closer, voice low so only Vanella could hear: "You think you can go unnoticed after what happened in the western wing? People like you… you are bold, but boldness will break you."
Vanella's jaw tightened. Inside, the familiar coil of rage and controlled madness tightened further, but she bowed her head, masking every emotion.
By midday, Halvra's schemes had grown subtler. She sent Vanella to clean the upper chambers no servant usually touched. There, fragile porcelain was stacked just slightly off-balance, jars of scented oils placed along edges where a slip could ruin them.
Vanella worked slowly, deliberately. Every tray, every bottle, every shard of dust accounted for. Her movements were precise, almost mechanical, but Liora noticed the tension in her shoulders.
"Be careful," Liora whispered, voice trembling. "The matron… she'll watch for a slip. She wants you to fail."
"I know," Vanella said quietly.
Meanwhile, far across the palace, Raven had passed through the halls during his inspection. Guards reported nothing unusual, yet something had caught his attention—a streak of fire behind calm eyes. Most servants feared him openly; this one… this one held something else.
He didn't pursue it immediately. Curiosity was patient. Observation was silent.
As Vanella finished the chamber and adjusted the last delicate jar, Halvra's lips twitched in frustration. She would need to escalate again. Perhaps a rumor whispered to other maids, perhaps a misplaced report to a distant overseer. But Vanella… Vanella had survived the last trap. That made her dangerous.
And Halvra liked dangerous things broken, not admired.