Novels by Kammelu Christian

They put me back in the guest suite.Someone wrapped a clean blanket around me. Don't remember who. Stairs. A hand under my elbow that dropped the second I flinched. The hallway light was too bright.Sat on the edge of the bed, hands pressed between my knees. Shaking stopped only because I held them still.One of Lindsay's men inside the door. Dark coat. Hands folded. Didn't look at me. Stared at the wall like that was the whole job.Nobody from the house was in the room. I noticed that. The same way you notice a door left open.The doctor came ten minutes later.Fifties. Gray in her hair. Leather bag dumped on the chair without asking. No uniform. Plain gray jacket. Moved slowly so the room felt less full."I'm Dr. Hale. The King asked me to look at you. You can say no to any of it."Said nothing."I'll tell you before I touch anything. All right?"Nodded once.Washed her hands at the basin. Water ran forever. I think she did it on purpose."Arms first?"Pushed the sleeves up. Left w

Still carrying towels when he found me again. Hated this moment.Late morning. Back stairs. Service corridor. Basket in my arms. Towels cooled off but still smelled like soap. Shoulders ached. Bruises pulled under the sleeves every time the basket shifted.He stepped in front of me. Blocked the path.“Put that down.”Set the basket on the floor. Straightened slowly. The stone under my shoes felt cold.Same look on his face as earlier. Sharp. Sure.“I’ve had enough of this act. The quiet. The servant works. Looking at everyone like you’re the one who got hurt. You’re going to tell the truth. Now.”Didn’t speak.“Admit what you did. Apologize to Maria. To Anderson. To Mrs. Elizabeth. Stop pretending you’re innocent.”Hallway empty. Just us. Kitchen noises are far off. Pans. Someone calling for plates. Steam is still in the air. Soap and wet cloth.“I didn’t do it.”The voice came out flat. No extra words. No begging. No convincing.He stared. Waited for more. When nothing else came, his

Morning light came through the guest room window.I got up early. My body was still sore. Bruises under the sleeves ached when I moved. I washed my face with cold water from the basin. The water smelled clean. Almost sharp. Put on the plain clothes someone left folded on the chair. Loose shirt. Dark pants. Nothing that stood out.The house was already awake. Footsteps in the halls. Voices from the kitchen. Smell of coffee and toast and something frying. I stood by the window for a minute and listened. The wolf stayed quiet. Same empty space. No push. No comment on the familiar smells.I knew Mrs. Elizabeth’s routine by heart. Medication at eight. Light breakfast after. Check her temperature if she looks pale. Make sure she drank enough water. Sit with her if the joint pain is bad. I had done it for years before the prison. Better than anyone. That used to be my place in the mornings.I walked toward her rooms on the first floor. The carpet is soft under my feet. Same as yesterday. The

I waited till the house got quieter.Dinner is still going downstairs. Music. Voices. Glasses. Chairs. Stayed in the guest room till most of it faded. Then I left.The hallway felt longer. Same carpet. Soft. Worn down the middle. Soft lights on the walls. Steps almost silent. Knew where I was headed.The old greenhouse.Back of the east wing. Glass walls. Stone floor. Mrs. Elizabeth and I used to spend hours there. She taught me the plant names. Ones for fever. Ones that calmed a restless wolf. Shelves are always neat. Jars with handwritten labels. A small table by the window. She sat there when her health was bad. Some days she could barely stand. I’d carry the trays. Sit with her while she sorted leaves. She hummed. Soft. Off-key. Sound of scissors cutting stems. Cool cloth on my forehead when I was sick. Said the air in here was better than medicine. That room was the one place that felt like it belonged to both of us.Used to shift here. Back when the wolf still answered. Moonligh

The car turned through the main gates just after noon.Gravel under the tires. Same crunch. Long curve up the drive. The estate looked the same from outside. Tall stone. Dark windows. Old oak by the east wing. Everything is still in its place.Anderson parked near the front steps. Got out first. Came around like he meant to open my door. I got out on my own. The blanket is still around my shoulders. Held onto it. The air smelled like cut grass and kitchen smoke and the faint wet of the fountain out front.Two servants stood by the entrance. Young ones. Faces I didn’t know. They looked at me. Then at Anderson. Then back at me. Waiting for someone to say who I was.“Guest suite on the second floor,” Anderson said. “Make sure it’s ready.”One nodded and went inside. The other stared a second longer before following.No one said my name.We walked in. The front hall smelled of polish and fresh flowers and something sweet baking. Boxes stacked along one wall. White clothes over tables. Peo

Forty-three days.That’s what the escort said when they pulled me out. I quit counting long ago. Days stopped meaning anything once the dark stayed the same.The cell was small. Stone on every side. The floor is always wet. Not deep puddles, just that constant damp that soaked through the thin clothes and never left. Air smelled like wet rock, old piss, rust, and blood that stayed in the cracks no matter how many times they hosed the place. My blood. Other people too. The smell sat thick in the back of your throat.Water dripped behind the left wall. Slow. Keeps its own time. Cold lived on the floor. Climb your legs even when you pull them in tight. Fingers stayed stiff. Lips cracked and bled if you forgot and tried to talk.The sound moved strangely there. Boots on corridor stone. Keys. Guys laughing too loud over cards or arguing about nothing. Every noise locked my shoulders. I got good at telling when a guard was just walking past and when he stopped. Stopping meant trouble.My wo