John's entire body tensed. Adeline watched color flood into his cheeks, turning them a mottled red that spread down to his collar. He gave her a crooked, embarrassed smile and brought his hand up to the back of his neck, fingering the newly trimmed hair there.
"I thought that if I cleaned myself up, I would be less likely to be chosen."
The admission hung between them, heavy as the stone walls surrounding them. John had always worried more than most, but this felt excessive even for him. Adeline swallowed the frown that wanted to surface and forced her expression into something softer, something she hoped might be comforting.
"Well, you look very nice," she said gently. "I'll take the King's suites if you want to work on the Second's? Then we can head down to get dinner after."
John agreed with visible relief, grateful for the change in subject. They parted ways, and Adeline approached the heavy oak doors. Typically a Beast stood guard here, noting the time they entered and exited, recording who cleaned which suite. The guards kept ledgers—thick books bound in dark leather where every servant's movement through the private quarters was documented. But the corridor stretched empty today. Over the years, as Adeline and John proved themselves reliable, the guard had grown more relaxed about his duties. Sometimes he disappeared for hours at a time, leaving only the faint scent of tobacco and leather behind.
Adeline threw her body against the door, pressing her shoulder into the wood for extra leverage. The door was designed for Beast strength, not human hands. It opened just enough for her to squeeze through, the hinges groaning softly in protest. She slipped inside, and the door slammed shut behind her with a sound like thunder, the boom echoing through the entryway.
The entryway looked tidy. The King's shoes stood in neat pairs along the wall—polished leather boots, formal dress shoes, all meticulously maintained. The small table on the left held no clutter. Adeline continued down the hallway until it opened into the living room, her footsteps muffled by the thick runner carpet that covered the stone floor.
"Oh."
The soft sound escaped her before she could stop it. The room was in chaos. Empty bottles lay scattered across every surface, the air still carrying the sharp, sweet smell of aged liquor. Photographs were strewn haphazardly over the couch and low table, their edges catching the light from the tall windows. A children's book lay open on the floor, its pages filled with romanticized illustrations of the Beast invasion two hundred years ago—images of glowing portals and triumphant warriors that bore little resemblance to the reality humans had experienced. Half-eaten plates of food sat balanced on the bookshelves lining the far wall, the remnants already beginning to smell faintly of decay.
Adeline's chest tightened. King Richard only looked at those photographs when something was deeply wrong. After his mate died five years ago, he had spent months staring at them, his amber eyes empty of everything except grief. She had cleaned around him during those dark months, moving silently through rooms where he sat motionless for hours, the photographs clutched in his hands. But in recent years, he had put them away, locked them in albums on the highest shelf. To see them out again meant something had shifted, some old wound had reopened.
She decided to start with the photographs. They were too important, too precious to risk damage from spills as she cleaned. She picked them up carefully, one by one, the glossy paper cool and smooth beneath her fingertips. She studied each image briefly to ensure she placed it in the correct album. A younger King Richard smiled up at her from one photograph, his arm around a beautiful Beast woman with russet-colored skin and long dark hair that cascaded past her shoulders. They stood in a garden, surrounded by flowers that no longer grew in the castle grounds—blooms from the Beast homeworld that had withered in Earth's soil.
Adeline had learned years ago which photographs belonged in which albums. The wedding photos went in the cream-colored album. The casual ones in the brown leather. The formal portraits in the album with gold-embossed edges. She worked slowly, reverently, making sure not to misplace a single image, her hands careful despite their trembling. When the photographs were safely tucked away, she returned the albums to their place on the shelf and turned her attention to the rest of the room.
The work was tedious but familiar. She collected bottles, the glass clinking softly as she gathered them. She cleared plates, scraping congealed food into a waste bag, the smell making her empty stomach clench. She straightened furniture, dusted surfaces, working methodically from left to right. The rhythm of it soothed her, pushing thoughts of Ziad and transfers to the back of her mind. Before she knew it, she was finishing the dusting and carrying a bag of trash toward the front door, the weight of it pulling at her shoulder.
The rest of the suite was in good condition. She finished most of her cleaning within a couple of hours, working efficiently through bedrooms and bathrooms, making everything pristine. The King's bedroom smelled of cedar wood and that distinctive Beast musk. His bathroom fixtures gleamed, barely used—Beasts were fastidiously clean.
At the front door, Adeline balled her hand into a fist and banged against the heavy wood, the sound dull and absorbed by the thick oak. Usually the guard opened it for her, but with no one standing watch, she had to rely on John hearing her from across the hall.
She had spent two full years convinced she could pry the doors open from the inside if she tried hard enough. She could push them open just wide enough to slip through when entering, using her body weight and the advantage of pushing outward against the hinges. But pulling them toward her to exit required strength she simply didn't possess. The doors were designed to keep threats out, not servants in, but the effect was the same.
John didn't come. Adeline knocked again, louder this time, her knuckles stinging from the impact. Then she waited. Still nothing. He must still be cleaning. She sighed and settled in to wait, sliding down to sit with her back against the wall, the stone cold even through her dress.
Her hunger returned with a vengeance. Her stomach had been rumbling for the past two hours, a constant background noise she'd learned to ignore. But now the sharp pains came back, stabbing at her sides with increasing insistence. Just thinking about food made her mouth water, made her think of the dining room where dinner service would be starting soon.
For one weak moment, she considered digging through the trash bag and eating the King's leftovers. Her hand even moved toward the bag before she stopped herself, her fingers curling into a fist. The punishment if she were caught would be severe. Maybe not death, but certainly a beating—twenty lashes in the courtyard where all the servants could watch. Possibly removal from her position, sent to work in the laundry or the stables. She couldn't risk it.
Every few minutes she pounded on the door again, not knowing when to expect John. The light from beneath the door shifted as time passed, growing longer and more golden as afternoon stretched toward evening. After what felt like an hour, she heard the door groan, that distinctive creak of old hinges bearing weight. Recognizing the sound that preceded its opening, she quickly scrambled to her feet and gathered the trash bags in her hands, ignoring the protest of her stiff legs.
"Took you long enough!" she exclaimed as the door swung open, relief making her voice sharper than intended. "I was starting to get worried that we would miss..."
The words died in her throat.
King Richard stood in the doorway, his hand holding the door open with effortless ease, his fingers barely flexed with the effort. A mocking smirk played across his features as he took in her situation—the trash bags in her hands, the way she'd clearly been waiting by the door—understanding immediately that she had been trapped inside.
"Come on out," he said, his voice carrying dark amusement, a low rumble that seemed to resonate in her chest. "I need to speak to both you and that young man you clean with."
He stepped aside, giving her space to squeeze past him into the corridor. The heat radiating from his body was noticeable as she passed, that elevated Beast temperature that made them comfortable in drafty stone castles. Adeline's heart hammered against her ribs, but relief flooded through her when she realized he wasn't angry about the way she had spoken to him. He had been amused, nothing more. She'd heard stories of servants executed for less.
As she emerged into the hallway, she spotted John against the far wall to her left. He refused to meet her eye, his gaze fixed firmly on his overly polished shoes, his face drained of color. Adeline made her way over to him, dropping the garbage bags to her right with a soft thump. She brought her hands behind her back and bowed her head, showing proper respect to the King before looking up at him again. John mirrored her movements from the corner of her eye, his breathing quick and shallow.
King Richard stood before them, his expression unreadable. The amusement had drained from his face, leaving something harder in its wake. The corridor felt suddenly colder, the shadows deeper.
"Given the announcement this morning, I am sure that you are aware of what I need to speak to you two about." He paused, and Adeline's stomach dropped like a stone into icy water. "You have both been chosen to transfer to the Ziad castle. It was a hard decision, and you two were not among my top choices, but King Heloix specifically requested we send our best servants."
A slight frown creased his face, as if the decision troubled him. As if he actually cared what happened to them once they left his domain.
Adeline couldn't move. Her mind struggled to process the words, to make them make sense. The corridor seemed to tilt slightly, her vision narrowing. Seconds passed in heavy silence while the King watched them both, his amber eyes moving between their faces. She cleared her throat, and the sound reverberated through the long corridor like a gunshot.
"When do we leave?" The words scraped out of her throat, rough as gravel. Her voice cracked slightly, betraying the terror she was trying desperately to hide.
King Richard's lips pressed together in a thin line. His amber eyes darted between Adeline and John. John shuffled his feet in a subtle movement of distress, the sound of his polished shoes against stone unnaturally loud. Behind her back, Adeline's fingers twisted together, trying to find comfort in the familiar gesture, her nails digging into her palms.
"Tomorrow afternoon."