The morning air carried the scent of rain and old stone as Elena made her way through the winding corridors toward the great hall. Her gaze remained fixed on her feet, watching the worn sneakers that had carried her through countless days of service. Once black, they had faded to a murky gray, the soles threatening to abandon her with each step. She should have requested new ones months ago, but the thought of drawing attention to herself, of standing before the quartermaster and admitting she needed something, made her stomach twist. Still, it surprised her that none of her superiors had noticed. Then again, perhaps they simply didn't care enough to look.
"I wonder what this is all about." Vera's voice barely reached Elena's ears above the murmur of anxious servants filling the hall.
Elena lifted her head and sighed. The great hall stretched before them, its vaulted ceiling disappearing into shadow despite the morning light filtering through the high windows. Servants clustered in small groups, their voices hushed but urgent. The castle's entire human staff had been summoned, every cook and cleaner, every gardener and laundry worker. Such gatherings were rare, and never carried good news.
"Me too," Elena replied, keeping her voice low. "It's not often they do this."
The last formal announcement had been etched into her memory like a scar that refused to fade. Wealthy Beasts from a neighboring land had been scheduled to visit, and all the servants were warned that these particular Beasts held no kindness for humans. They were told to keep their eyes down, their voices silent, their movements careful.
Elena had thought she understood what the Beasts were capable of. King Richard had always maintained a certain distance from cruelty. He ensured his servants were fed twice daily, clothed adequately, and given one precious day off each month. It wasn't kindness exactly, but it was survival. She had grown comfortable in that survival.
Then the visiting Beasts arrived, and comfort shattered like dropped glass.
The memory rose unbidden. A kitchen girl, barely sixteen, serving the evening meal. One of the visiting males had been watching her all night, his dark eyes following her movements with an intensity that made Elena's skin crawl. When the girl leaned forward to place a platter on the table, the Beast's mate reached across the polished wood and tore out her throat in one swift motion.
The girl had frozen. For a heartbeat, she simply stood there, her hands still holding the empty serving tray, her eyes wide with confusion. Then she crumpled to the floor, blood pooling beneath her like spilled wine.
The Beasts continued their meal. They passed dishes, poured drinks, laughed at private jokes. The girl's body was removed by trembling servants, and dinner proceeded as if nothing at all had happened. The humans whispered about it for months afterward, their voices shaking in the darkness of their shared quarters.
Elena forced the memory away and scanned the crowded hall. She was looking for John, whose height and shock of pale blond hair usually made him easy to spot. She found him near the front entrance, deep in conversation with a cluster of male servants. She started toward him, weaving between bodies, but the room suddenly fell silent.
Every head turned toward the entrance behind her.
Elena spun around, her heart picking up speed. King Richard entered first, his Second a step behind. Both moved with the fluid grace common to all Beasts, their footfalls nearly silent despite their size. The King stood well over six feet tall, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. His chest, visible in the deep V of his open collar, was covered in the dark hair characteristic of his kind. Not fur exactly, but thick enough to mark him as unmistakably other. His skin held the warm brown tones of sun-baked earth, and his ears rose to subtle points that disappeared into his dark hair.
Elena shuffled backward without thinking. She knew the movement would be noticed, but instinct overrode reason. Distance meant safety. Distance meant time to react if anger flared.
The King's amber eyes flicked to her, noting her retreat, before sweeping across the assembled servants. He took his time, studying each face with deliberate care. Occasionally he nodded to himself, as if confirming some private calculation.
Elena's palms grew damp. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, resisting the urge to wipe them on her plain gray dress. Why was he looking at them like this? What had they done?
King Richard's gaze returned to the center of the room. He cleared his throat, and the sound seemed to echo off the stone walls.
"Hello all." His voice carried no warmth, no inflection. It was the voice of someone reading from a ledger. "I'm sure you are all wondering why you are here. It has been requested that a small number of you transfer to Ziad, the kingdom immediately north of here. We have yet to decide who will be going, but decisions will be made by the end of the day. Continue working as normal, and we will inform you later today should you be chosen to leave."
Relief flooded through Elena so quickly it left her dizzy. Her shoulders sagged forward, tension draining from muscles she hadn't realized were clenched. A transfer. That was all. And only a small number at that.
She was a strong worker. No, more than strong. She was reliable, discreet, and had held the same position for years without incident. She cleaned the King's private quarters, a task reserved for only the most trustworthy servants. There was no reason to send her away. No reason at all.
King Richard turned on his heel and strode from the hall, his Second following like a shadow. The moment they disappeared, voices erupted around Elena.
She turned back to the room and found that Vera had already abandoned her side to join John's group. Elena hurried over, finally giving in to the urge to wipe her sweating palms against her dress.
"Who do you think will be chosen?" John's voice trembled slightly. His blue eyes were wide with worry. "I hope it's not me. I've heard awful things about Ziad."
He noticed Elena approaching and shifted to make room for her. His eyebrows drew together, and he caught his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying at the dry skin there.
"He said that only a small number are going," Elena offered, trying to inject confidence into her words that she didn't quite feel. "The odds are we should be fine."
Vera frowned, her hand reaching up to grab one of the dark curls resting against her collarbone. She pulled it straight, then let it spring back, her fingers playing with the ends in an absent, anxious gesture.
"What have you heard about them?" Vera asked John, her dark eyes fixed on his face as if she could read truth there. She ignored Elena's reassurance completely.
John glanced at Elena, then back to Vera. "That they're cruel. That humans are treated like trash, like animals. That their servants are maimed and punished for the smallest of mistakes." His gaze dropped to Elena's feet. "They would probably whip you for wearing such raggedy shoes around."
Elena looked down at her worn sneakers. Would they really? A whipping for something so minor? She heard John let out a dry, humorless laugh, and cold worry began to seep through her chest like water through cracked stone. She had never left King Richard's kingdom. She had been born within these walls, raised in the servants' quarters, and knew nothing of how other kingdoms operated.
It was no secret that humans occupied the bottom rung of this new world order. They had for two hundred years, ever since the Beasts arrived through the portals and claimed the earth as their own. But King Richard, for all his emotional distance, treated his humans with a form of benign neglect. They were fed twice daily. Given basic clothing. Allowed one day of rest each month. It wasn't freedom, but it was stability.
"I've heard that the royals in Ziad are even worse than the Beasts that came to visit last summer," John continued, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper.
Vera and Elena exchanged glances. Vera shuddered, her entire body giving an involuntary shiver. Her fingers kept pulling at her curls, twisting and releasing, twisting and releasing.
"We should get back to work." Vera's voice came out higher than normal, tight with strain. "I don't want to think about this anymore."
Elena nodded her agreement. "I'll see you both later."
She turned toward the kitchen, mentally cataloging her day. Tuesday meant helping with breakfast preparation, then rushing to the King's quarters to clean with John. The routine was familiar, comforting in its predictability.
The kitchen buzzed with speculation by the time she arrived. Everyone had theories about who would be chosen. They traded rumors about Ziad like currency, each story more horrifying than the last. Elena kept her head down and her mouth shut. She didn't want to engage with the gossip. Besides, she still believed she would be safe. She had to believe it.
Her task of cleaning the King's private quarters marked her as trustworthy. She had done it for years without incident, without complaint, without ever speaking of the things she sometimes overheard through open doors. In a castle full of servants who loved to gossip, discretion was a rare and valuable trait.
Breakfast preparation passed quickly. Elena wasn't asked to serve, which meant she remained in the kitchen plating food. Eggs, bacon, sausage, toast. She had been told once that this was a traditional human breakfast, from before the Beasts came. Apparently, the conquerors had adopted some human customs, particularly regarding food.
The smell made her mouth water and her stomach cramp with hunger. She had missed her second meal yesterday, having run late on cleaning duties, and was paying for it now. Sharp pains stabbed at her sides, and her stomach wouldn't stop rumbling. But she pushed through, knowing she would eat soon enough.
After finishing the plating, she moved to the sink to wash her hands and gather cleaning supplies. She disinfected the counters, moved the dirty dishes into the wash basin, kept herself busy.
"You're free to go eat your breakfast now," the head chef said, waving her toward the servants' dining room.
Elena thanked her and hurried out. She needed to eat quickly if she wanted to finish the King's quarters with enough time left for dinner.
The dining room was already full, the conversation still centered on Ziad and the transfers. Elena found an empty seat between one of the gardeners and a laundry woman named Emma. She dropped into the chair with relief.
"You know, I wouldn't mind being transferred," Emma laughed, spooning porridge into her mouth. "The rules may be harsh, but have you seen their King? Talk about gorgeous."
Elena reached for a bowl and served herself several large scoops of porridge. She smiled when she noticed they had added brown sugar today. Small mercies.
An elderly woman across the table scoffed. "Watch what you're saying." She pointed her spoon at Emma like a weapon. "You don't want them hearing and putting you on that list. Besides, do you really think the King would be interested in some human? Wishful thinking."
"I heard that a boy was killed once simply for sneezing," the gardener piped up.
Emma laughed again. "Yeah, but to be fair, I heard that he actually sneezed on the King."
The three continued bickering back and forth. Elena tuned them out and focused on eating. She shoveled the food into her mouth mechanically, barely tasting it. She finished in just a few minutes and pushed back from the table.
John would be waiting.
She hurried through the halls, her worn shoes slapping softly against stone. She rounded the corner into the long corridor that led to the King's and Second's private suites. Sure enough, John stood outside the massive oak doors, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
"Sorry I'm late," Elena called as she approached. "I grabbed some breakfast."
John smiled, his shoulders rising in a quick shrug. "No worries. Just got here a minute ago myself."
As Elena drew closer, she noticed something odd. John's typically wild blond hair had been combed back neatly. Even the ends looked freshly trimmed. Her gaze traveled down his body. He wore his finest shirt, and his black shoes gleamed with fresh polish.
"Why are you so..." Elena stammered, searching for the right word. "Cleaned up?"