1
Licia
I let my fingers trail along a burnt orange vase with dark images of a half-bull, half-man chasing a maiden. The poor thing stares over her shoulder at him with huge eyes. Damn. I’d be the same if some beast chased me intending to mount me. That part is obvious in the way the artist skilfully added the minotaur’s erection. I snort a laugh that someone thought this image is in any way seductive. Or maybe that wasn’t the intention, but to remind females of their place.
“Licia,” Veren hisses a whisper behind me, stealing my thoughts.
I flinch and turn around. The head maid of the Midnight Court glares at me, standing several feet away, hands gripping her wide hips. With dark hair pulled back into a bun, she’s my height at five-foot-six, but scares the hell out of me with that stare. She’s in her early fifties, but never stops running around to ensure everything gets done on time, and that includes whipping me into line.
“Get away from that vase at once,” she snaps, her whisper practically a growl. “You break anything, and the prince will make you pay it off with your life. I’ve told you this before, so act your age.”
My stomach tightens whenever she compares me to a child. I may be the youngest in her staff at twenty, but I’m not a baby. Quickly, I march over to her, kicking myself for letting her catch me. She has the eyes of a hawk and an uncanny ability to track me down every time I take a moment’s rest from cleaning the dishes or delivering meals to the guards.
“Sorry.” I bow my head.
Veren sighs heavily like she might say something caring. That she’s worried about me getting in trouble. But she never does. No one expresses happy sentiments. I live in a glass world where no one else experiences positive emotions, so instead, I swallow those desperate feelings to have someone just say a nice word back as it will never happen.
I can’t be different.
Can’t draw attention.
Can't let anyone know my heart beats with forbidden feelings.
Whispered legends speak of a time when love spilled from everyone's lips, but that was before I was born. Now, we live in a place where death comes for everyone before their time. Where there’s only absolute fear, where affection is a thing of the past. But I push those thoughts away, not wanting to think of such things. They drag me under, trying to drown me in sorrow if I let them into my thoughts.
Veren nudges me down the hall and back toward the kitchen. “The sink’s full and waiting for you. Hurry now.”
I glance over my shoulder and offer her a nod, then I stride down the hall. She may growl like a bear, but she’s always looked out for me since I started working at the castle a year ago. She doesn't show it, but I can tell she cares in her own way.
The castle kitchen is enormous and bustles with maids and cooks. It’s stiflingly hot in here. One side there are the fire-lit ovens and stoves, in the middle are rows of tables, and to the right are stone sinks that drain into a hole in the floor.
"Watch it," Kainee hisses, just another maid in her black, buttoned-up dress and black apron shoving a food trolley past me, inches from knocking into me. She storms out of the room. Other maids like her, with hair styled into a bun, porcelain skin, and scowls rush around without bumping into each other. Every strand of theirs is in place, while my curls get in my way. These maids carry hatred in their eyes. I’ve heard their jealousy when they gossip about each other, and I never want to be like them.
I make my way to the sink where plates are piled high, where maids are stacking more for me to clean. Of course they are. Wasting no time, I start cleaning before I'm screamed at. I place the dirty plates to the side, plug up the sink, and fill it with cold water from the bucket at my feet. Then I grab the rag and soap and start scrubbing.
I don't know how much time passes when the head chef barks at me, “Licia.”
I jerk around, startled at how close he’s standing to me. He's a thin man, my height, but he has large hands. My neighbor always told me that a man with large hands has a big heart. But when I look at Warrick, I only see the frown of someone disappointed in me.
I glance behind him, and the other maids flee out of the kitchen before they catch his stare and get shouted at. Most of them tell lies about me regardless of what they see or hear. All because I sometimes let my happy emotions slip, then I cover them up with stupid excuses. So now they insist I’m broken. How I hate that word. Who would have thought that smiling too much would make you an outcast?
Warrick continues staring at me.
"Did I do something wrong?" I ask.
"No, but I need you to take the meals to the guards in the stables. The other maids are useless and move too slow."
"I'm almost finished with the dishes and..." I glance up at the window where the sun is descending behind the mountains. It’s almost time to go home.
His gaze lifts to the window, then falls back to me. "Deliver the meal and finish the dishes, or don't come back tomorrow." He throws the kitchen towel in his hand over his shoulder, his eyes flashing with fierceness, and walks back to the stove.
Crap! That's the fourth day this week I've worked until night fell, and no one ever paid me extra coins for my time.
"Get a move on," he growls.
I want to toss something at him because this man has no heart, only a piece of coal in his chest.
Drying my hands, I move to the food trolley filled with plates of food on two levels, along with cutlery. Roasted rabbit with gravy, over boiled potato and carrots, fresh bread and lard.
Taking the trolley filled with covered plates of food, I head down the corridor and hurry toward the back door. This part of the castle is where the maids and servants mainly run around and work.
The floors are made of white marble in this part of the castle, the ceiling lofty with decorative cornices, but we don't have rugs or decorations on the walls. At least there’s warmth, which is more than I have at home.
I reach the rear door and drag it open so I can get the trolley through. A gale blows into me, its touch icy, snow crashing into my face, and I shiver against the freezing weather.
Trees cover the grounds, the path dusted in snow, but I duck my head low and push forward. The cold sinks its fangs into my skin and down to my bones, and my teeth chatter. My layered dress and thick stockings do nothing to keep the cold at bay. When another round of wind barrels into me, I stumble and the trolley shakes like it might tip over, the plates and cutlery rattling. The covers over the meals slide about.
Frantically, I grasp the trolley and steady it, because if I drop the meals, the chef will kick me out. And I can't lose this job. There are no jobs in town.
And I don’t want to be whipped for delivering cold food.
But the wind is relentless, never giving up, and frustration chews on my insides.
I glance behind me to the rear of the castle. The door is shut, the blinds drawn. Ahead of me, the curved path to the stables is concealed by trees ladened heavily with snow. No one else is around, so I lower my arms by my side and splay out my hands. Power ripples down my fingers, rolling over me like an ice cube sliding over my flesh.
White icy sparks erupt from my fingertips as I picture myself in a small bubble where the wind can't touch me or the trolley.
Energy pricks down my spine in an instant, and the wind dies while the snow stays away. Not everyone has powers in this world... Some say that those who possess abilities are meant to have been blessed by the Witch Queen who once ruled over all our world.