The car hummed beneath me as I leaned forward. "Pull over at the front," I told the driver. "Then take the car to the garage."
He nodded. The car slowed and then stopped. Two guards appeared, opening the door with reverence.
"Welcome home, Princess Riya."
I stepped out, handing one of them a basket of fruit. "Thank you. Kindly hold this for me."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Inside the royal mansion, servants and maids greeted me as I passed down the glittering hall.
"Where is everyone? I'm home!" I called, my voice echoing.
"Oh, my lovely Riya!" My father descended the stairs, widening his arms. "Had a nice time?"
I didn't wait. I ran straight into his embrace. "Good afternoon, Dada. Yes, I had a great time." My voice softened. "Why does it feel so exciting to see you, even when I just stepped out?"
"Because," my mother's voice chimed from behind, "you're your father's best friend." She entered, graceful as always. "Since you left, he's been calling your name like a prayer. This morning, he wanted to ask me something and…" she chuckled, "he called me Riya mid-sentence."
I burst out laughing. "Oh, Mum!"
Father flushed. "It was a mistake! Could happen to anyone."
"Sure, Dada. But you called your wife your daughter… old age catching up?"
They laughed with me, and the sound wrapped around us like music.
"I love you both," I whispered, pulling them into a hug so tight I could feel their hearts beating against mine.
"Come," Mother said, brushing my hair back. "Let's have lunch. Specially made by me!"
"Sure!" Dada and I chorused.
The dining table gleamed with silverware. Steam curled up from the dishes like little ghosts of flavor. Mother served with her usual grace, placing a plate before Father.
He lifted his fork, smiling. "This smells divine. The aroma alone…"
"Dada, don't! Don't, please!" The scream ripped out of me.
"Don't?" Mother blinked.
"Don't, Dada… it's a trap!" I shot to my feet. "Someone wants you dead!"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The knocking crashed through the dream. My eyes flew open to my dim room, the folded blanket, the pale light pressing at the window. My heart hammered. Sweat clung to my neck.
The knock came again. "Riya."
My heart was still racing from the dream, father's face, his laugh, the poisoning I couldn't stop. It haunted me, looping endlessly in my mind.
I glanced at the clock on the wall: 11:00 a.m. My palms grew damp. I pressed them to my chest, as if I could calm the frantic drumming beneath.
Then came a harder knock. "Riya, open up… please!"
I froze. That wasn't Dorian's voice. Yet a part of me still feared it might be. My fingers trembled on the handle as I opened the door.
One of the kitchen staff stood there. He didn't smile. His apron smelled of spice and smoke. "Mr. Steele wants you."
I swallowed. "Oh… okay."
His frown lingered. He took a few steps forward, then turned back to me. "Now!"
The air left me in a rush. I nodded quickly. "Yes… yes, of course."
I closed the door, leaning against it. My chest heaved. Do I wash first? Do I dare make him wait?
I stared at the room. Dorian's voice rang in my head: "I won't always come to wake you or walk you. There are punishments for lateness, Miss Riya."
I shivered and pulled on the uniform. The buttons slipped beneath my fingers, slick with sweat. "Steady, Riya. Steady. You've got this," I whispered.
I tied the apron tight, the knot trembling against my spine, and ran hurriedly and breathless toward the kitchen.
As I arrived in the kitchen, my heart did not stop pounding. The staff stood in a line, stiff as boards. Mr. Dorian Steele towered in front of them, his arms folded and eyes sharp.
"Goo… good morning, sir," I whispered.
He didn't reply. Instead, he strode toward me, his boots heavy on the tiled floor. Before I could blink, his hand gripped my collar and dragged me forward. "Look," he growled, pointing at the clock in a low and furious tone. "What time is it?"
"It's… fifteen minutes past eleven a.m., sir."
"Good." His eyes narrowed. "What did I say to you yesterday?"
"Not to come late, sir."
"Good." He turned to the staff, raising his voice. "Sometimes I try to show love to all of you. You saw the way I gave her a grand welcome, right?"
"Yes, sir," they chorused.
"But what did I get in return?" He paced slowly. "Disobedience, disrespect. Showing up minutes before lunch guests arrive."
"I'm sorry, sir," I said quickly, my voice trembling.
"Sorry?" He spun around. "Are you really sorry?"
"Y… yes…"
The slap came fast. My cheek burned, and I screamed.
"You're a very disrespectful little brat," he spat. "Oh, you think someone will come here to wake you up and tuck you into bed?"
"No, sir," I whispered.
"You better wake up, girl. This is not Night Fang."
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."
"You'll work till tomorrow," he barked. "Only break? A few minutes before brunch."
"Aaah!" someone gasped behind me.
"Yes, before brunch," he repeated. "You'll go now to the classroom for your culinary class. After that, duty begins at 3 p.m. until tomorrow. No breaks."
My knees wobbled.
"You'll also be given one meal today. Am I clear?"
"Yes, sir," I said, loud and clear, in a very audible tone.
"Good. Good!" He clapped once. "Now all of you, return to work!"
The line scattered. Pans clanged, knives chopped, feet shuffled. I stood frozen as tears spilled down my cheeks.
A soft hand touched my arm. It was the lady from last night, the one who called me to the circle.
"Sister," she whispered, pulling me into a hug. "You'll be fine. It's just your first week. I'm sure you'll get the hang of everything soon."
"I… I hope so," I murmured.
Another woman approached, pressing a notebook and pen into my hands. "Here. You'll need this for class."
"Thank you," I said, clutching them tightly.
"Come," she said gently. "I'll walk you to the classroom."
We moved through the hallway, past the pantry and the cold room. My cheek still throbbed. My stomach growled. I tried to breathe slowly.
"You're not the first to get slapped," she said quietly. "Just… don't talk back. Don't be late. And never cry in front of him."
"I didn't mean to be late," I said. "I had a dream about my parents. I couldn't wake."
"Dreams don't matter here," she replied. "Only obedience."
We reached a small room with metal chairs and a whiteboard. A man in a chef's coat stood at the front, flipping through a recipe book.
"Enjoy your first class, Riya," she smiled at me and left.