Zephrine followed Azriel down the corridor, trying very hard to look innocent.
Behind them, Lady Avene was still occupied with her own storm of complaints. Her voice echoed through the mansion as she scolded the maids over the stained dress, demanding explanations from everyone within hearing distance.
Zephrine kept her eyes lowered.
Perfect. Everyone is distracted.
Azriel said nothing as he walked.
That silence was somehow worse than anger.
When they reached his study, he opened the door and stepped inside. Zephrine followed.
The moment the heavy door closed behind them, the noise from the corridor disappeared.
Zephrine slowly looked up.
Azriel was standing in front of her.
His expression was unreadable.
Before she could take a step backward, he caught her by the waist and stopped her retreat.
"So," he said quietly, his voice dangerously calm, "tell me, princess."
Zephrine swallowed.
Azriel brushed a loose strand of her red hair away from her face, his gaze never leaving hers.
"Yes, Master?"
His face remained completely serious.
"You spilled that tea knowingly, didn't you?"
Zephrine blinked.
"What, Master?"
"Drop the innocence."
His voice lowered.
"You forgot that I punish disobedience too."
Zephrine's confidence vanished almost immediately.
"No, Master, I…"
She searched desperately for an excuse.
Azriel waited.
The silence stretched.
Finally, he asked, "How should I punish you for disturbing our guest?"
Zephrine stared at him.
Her mind raced through possibilities.
Please don't say something horrible.
Then Azriel said, perfectly calmly,
"You will wash all the clothes in this palace."
Zephrine's eyes widened.
"What?"
"You heard me, princess."
He released her and stepped back.
"You are the most spoiled maid I have ever had."
Zephrine's mouth fell open.
"That's not fair!"
One eyebrow lifted.
"Not fair?"
"I mean—" She immediately lowered her voice. "I mean, yes, Master."
"Better."
He walked toward his desk and picked up a document as though the conversation were already finished.
Zephrine remained where she was.
"But, Master…"
He glanced at her.
"What?"
"That is an enormous amount of clothing."
"I know."
"And there are hundreds of people here."
"I know."
"And you expect me to wash all of it?"
Azriel calmly returned his attention to the document.
"Yes."
Zephrine stared at him in disbelief.
This man is impossible.
Azriel's eyes flicked toward her.
"I heard that."
Zephrine froze.
She had forgotten.
His ability to hear her thoughts.
"I—I didn't say anything."
"You didn't need to."
She immediately shut her mouth.
Azriel turned another page.
"You will begin after dinner."
Zephrine frowned.
"After dinner?"
"Yes."
"And when am I supposed to sleep?"
"When you finish."
Her jaw dropped.
"That could take days!"
"Then I suggest you work quickly."
Zephrine folded her arms.
For several seconds she said nothing.
Then, very quietly, she muttered, "Tyrant."
Azriel's pen stopped.
Zephrine's eyes widened.
Slowly, he looked up.
"What did you call me?"
"Nothing."
"I heard something."
"I said… tired."
"You called me a tyrant."
"No."
"Princess."
She looked up eyes lightening just a fraction maybe he will show mercy for the punishment
"Yes, Master?"
"Go."
Zephrine hurried toward the door.
Just before she reached it, his voice stopped her.
"And Zephrine?"
She turned around cautiously.
"Yes?"
"Do not interfere with Lady Avene again."
Her expression became innocent.
"I wasn't interfering."
Azriel stared at her.
And there she was standing far from him smiled nervously.
"Accidentally?" slowly she added
His expression didn't change.
"Out."
Zephrine quickly slipped through the door.
The moment it closed behind her, she leaned against it and let out a long breath.
Then she whispered to herself,
"Fine. Laundry."
She looked down the corridor.
"But I'm still getting revenge somehow."
From inside the study came Azriel's calm voice.
"I heard that too."
Zephrine's eyes widened.
She immediately covered her mouth.
This is going to be a very long evening.
Morning arrived quietly at Dorentis Estate.
The laundry room had never looked so terrifying.
Zephrine stood in the doorway and stared at the enormous baskets piled along the walls.
Shirts.
Trousers.
Cloaks.
Sheets.
Towels.
And, somehow, even more clothes waiting in another room.Her expression slowly collapsed.
"You have got to be kidding me."
Diora, who was standing nearby with a sympathetic look, tried not to smile.
"I warned you that the estate was large."
"This isn't a house," Zephrine whispered. "It's a kingdom made entirely of dirty laundry."
Diora covered her mouth to hide a laugh.
"Come on, zephrine. I'll show you how to sort everything."
Zephrine sighed dramatically.
"I used to have people who did this for me."
"I know."
"I've never washed this many clothes in my life."
"I know."
"I think my arms are going to fall off."
Diora smiled.
"That one I don't know."
Zephrine gave her an offended look before reluctantly rolling up her sleeves.
For the next hour, she worked.
At first, she was terribly slow.
She used far too much soap.
She tangled two shirts together.
She nearly dropped an entire basket into the water.
And when she tried to wring out a heavy cloak, she lost her balance and stumbled backward.
Diora caught her before she fell.
"Careful!"
Zephrine stared at the cloak.
"I hate this thing."
"It belongs to Master Azriel."
Zephrine immediately dropped it.
Diora blinked.
Zephrine cleared her throat.
"I mean… I suddenly respect it very much."
Diora laughed softly.
"You really are something, zephrine."
As the hours passed, Zephrine gradually became faster.
The mansion grew quieter around them.
Servants disappeared into their rooms.
Candles burned lower in the corridors.
The distant voices of the guests faded.
But Zephrine remained in the laundry room.
She scrubbed.
Rinsed.
Wrung.
Folded.
Repeated.
By nine o'clock, her hands were sore.
By ten, her shoulders ached.
By eleven, she was convinced that Azriel had invented laundry personally just to torment her.
At midnight, Zephrine dropped the final folded shirt onto the table.
She stared at it.
Then at the enormous pile of neatly folded clothes.
Then at her exhausted hands.
Her hair was a mess but her looks were still cute.
"Finished."
Her voice was barely audible.
Diora checked the last basket and nodded.
"Finished."
Zephrine let herself collapse into a chair.
"I have never been so happy to see clean clothes."
A quiet voice came from the doorway.
"Good."
Zephrine's head snapped up.
Azriel stood there.
He had changed out of his formal clothes and wore a simple dark coat. His expression was as unreadable as ever.
Zephrine narrowed her eyes.
"You came to check whether I actually did it."
"I did."
"Of course you did."
His voice was calm as his gaze moved over the perfectly folded clothes.
Then to her.
"You finished everything?"
"Yes."
"At midnight?"
She gave him a tired glare.
"You told me to."
There was a pause.
Something in his expression shifted—not quite a smile, but the faintest hint that he found her answer amusing.
"You could have stopped halfway... princess"
Zephrine frowned.
"You would have punished me again."
"Probably."
"Then why would I stop?"
For once, Azriel didn't immediately answer.
He stepped into the room and looked at her hands.
Zephrine noticed his gaze.
"What?"
He took her hands slowly his thumb brushing her knuckles caressing her palm.
"Your hands."
She looked down.
Her fingers were red from the repeated washing.
She quickly hid them behind her.
"They're fine."
Azriel's expression hardened slightly but he placed his hands behind him.
"You should have asked Diora for gloves."
Zephrine blinked.
"I didn't know there were gloves."
"Because you didn't ask."
She stared at him.
For someone who had spent the entire evening punishing her, his sudden concern confused her.
You're strange, she thought
Azriel raised an eyebrow.
"You're in no position to judge anyone's personality tonight."
Zephrine almost smiled.
Almost.
Then she remembered something.
"You called me your most spoiled maid."
He raised an eyebrow clearly amused.
"You are."
"I finished an entire palace's laundry!"
"And complained every ten minutes..."
"I was suffering."
"You survived."
"That isn't the point." She was annoyed.
Azriel turned toward the door.
"Go to bed."
Zephrine stared after him.
"What?"
"You've done enough."
She stood slowly.
"You're not giving me another task?"
"No."
"Really?"
He looked back at her.
"Don't make me change my mind."
Zephrine immediately walked past him.
At the doorway, she stopped.
"Master?"
"What?"
She hesitated.
"Thank you."
Azriel said nothing for a moment.
Then, quietly:
"Good night, Princess."
Zephrine left.
The corridor was silent.
For the first time that night, she wasn't thinking about punishment, escape, or Lady Avene.
She was simply exhausted.
Behind her, Azriel remained in the laundry room for another moment, looking at the neatly folded clothes.
Then his eyes moved toward the doorway where Zephrine had disappeared.
A faint, almost imperceptible amusement crossed his face.
"She actually finished it."
And somewhere down the corridor, Zephrine sneezed.
Azriel closed his eyes.
"She'll probably blame me for that too."
Thin gray light slipped through the tall windows, painting pale streaks across the dark corridors. The mansion was already awake. Servants moved silently between rooms, carrying trays and preparing breakfast, while the distant sound of doors opening and closing echoed through the halls.
But one person was missing.
Azriel sat at the head of the long dining table, a cup of untouched coffee beside him.
His eyes moved toward the doorway.
Nothing.
He checked the time.
Still nothing.
His expression gradually hardened.
"Where is she?"
Diora, who had been arranging the breakfast table, paused.
"Who, Master?"
Azriel gave her a look.
Diora immediately understood.
"Oh Zephrine?"
"She hasn't appeared this morning."
"No, Master."
"Why?"
Diora hesitated.
"She caught a cold."
The room seemed to become quieter.
Azriel's fingers stopped against the armrest.
"A cold?"
"Yes."
"How?"
Diora lowered her eyes.
"Because of the laundry, I believe."
Azriel's expression changed almost imperceptibly.
"The laundry?"
"It was her first time doing such work," Diora explained carefully. "She stayed until midnight. She kept washing even after her hands started hurting."
Azriel said nothing.
Diora continued.
"She didn't complain to you because she was afraid you'd think she was making excuses."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"And now?"
"She has a fever, a cough, and she's exhausted."
Azriel stood.
Diora blinked.
"Master?"
"Where is she?"
"Her room."
Azriel walked away without another word.
---
Zephrine was curled beneath the blankets when he entered.
Her usually bright red hair was spread messily across the pillow, and her face looked unusually pale. A small bowl of warm water sat beside the bed, along with a cup of herbal tea Diora had prepared.
Zephrine was half asleep.
She heard the door.
Without opening her eyes, she mumbled,
"Diora, I'm not getting up."
Silence.
Zephrine frowned.
Something about the silence felt wrong.
She slowly opened one eye.
Azriel stood beside the bed.
Her eyes widened.
"Master?"
He looked down at her.
"You're ill."
Zephrine pulled the blanket slightly higher.
"Apparently."
"You didn't come to breakfast...
You were supposed to bring my coffee."
She stared at him.
Then she coughed.
"I'm sick, Master."
"I can see that."
His gaze remained fixed on her.
He leaned in a little, she could feel his cold breath on her lips
A new fact for her dictionary.
vampires have cold breath...
And then he spoke,
"I came here ,To find out why my maid decided to collapse after one night of work."
Zephrine frowned.
"I didn't collapse."
"You're lying in bed at noon."
"I am resting strategically."
For a moment, Azriel simply stared at her.
Then the faintest hint of amusement touched his expression.
"Strategically?"
"Yes."
She sniffed.
"It is a very advanced technique."
Azriel pulled a chair toward the bed and sat down, his movements were precise and eventually cold, just like he owned every inch of this place and well he did.
Zephrine immediately became more alert.
Why is he sitting there?
He glanced at her.
"Stop thinking so loudly."
Her eyes widened.
"I forgot."
"Clearly."
He reached toward the cup beside her.
"Have you taken anything?"
"Diora gave me tea."
"And?"
"I drank it."
"All of it?"
His voice was calm no one could tell if he was asking out of care or just inspections.
Zephrine hesitated.
"Most of it."
"Why not all?"
"It tasted horrible."
Azriel sighed quietly.
"You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
He picked up the cup and examined it.
Then he looked back at her.
"You're not doing any work today."
Zephrine blinked.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Not even laundry?"
"No."
She stared at him suspiciously.
"Are you sure master?"
His eyes narrowed.
"Would you like me to change my mind?"
"No."
She immediately pulled the blanket closer.
Azriel noticed her hands.
The redness from the previous night was still visible.
His expression became serious.
"You should have told me when your hands started hurting."
Zephrine looked away.
"You would have called me weak."
He leaned in again too close to her.
"You are already weak my princess...."
She looked back at him.
His answer had come too quickly to sound uncertain.
"I would have told you to stop."
Zephrine studied his face.
For once, there was no teasing amusement in his eyes.
Only irritation.
And something else she couldn't quite identify.
She quietly said,
"I wanted to finish."
"I know."
The room fell silent.
Then Azriel spoke
"Get well princess i can't drink an ill person's blood i have standards....."
"Huh?"
"You heard me right?"
Rain began tapping softly against the window.
Zephrine shifted beneath the blanket.
"Master?"
"What?"
"Are you angry?"
Azriel looked at her.
"No."
She blinked.
"Not even a little?"
"I am angry that you worked until midnight while you were exhausted."
Zephrine lowered her eyes.
"That sounds like anger."
"It is my princess...the anger you shouldn't have stirred up"
She looked surprised.
Azriel stood.
"I'll have Diora bring you something warm to eat."
"You're leaving?"
He paused.
"Yes."
"Finally"
she let it out with a sigh...just a whisper but audible for him.
He looked back.
"Hold up your thoughts a little princess if i revealed my real side you won't be able to think one day....just wait till you stopped amusing me."
Zephrine immediately shook her head in guilt and disbelief.
Azriel stared at her for a moment.
Then he said quietly,
"Rest, Princess."
He walked toward the door.
Zephrine watched him leave.
Just before the door closed, he added,
"And don't even think about sneaking out of bed."
She frowned.
"I wasn't."
"I know."
The door shut.
Zephrine stared at it.
Then she pulled the blanket over her face.
"He's so annoying."
A pause.
She smiled faintly despite herself.
"…But maybe not completely terrible."
Outside the room, Azriel stopped in the corridor.
He had heard every word.
For once, he didn't comment.
He simply continued walking, his expression unreadable.