Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Solene's POV

The old servant's room under the hallway staircase. 

That was to be my new room.

I stood at the narrow door, holding the rotting wood open as I let out a sneeze.

“Manage the room first. There’s too much to do with the preparations.” Adrian had said calmly. “After the ceremony, we’ll figure you out.”

“This is unfair."

Anya cried as I took another step into the minuscule room and saw a rat dash behind the bedstand.

“It’s perfect.” I murmured back. I was done owing favors. The last three years had taught me to take every good thing with a grain of salt.

This, at least— a servant’s room. I wouldn’t need to pay back. Besides, it was only until Elise’s ceremony was done. 

After that, I’d leave the family estate and never return.

My wolf kept whining softly. But I blocked her out as I waded the thick dust and mothballs with another sneeze.  

The bed had no sheets. Just a thin blanket at the foot of the stained mattress.

There was no change of clothes or towels but I sat down gratefully.

I’d been through worse. Back at the camp, we didn’t even have a mattress. Everyone slept on the cold cement floors.

Yes. I patted the mattress calmly. I could make this work.

Some minutes later and my lids were heavy. My eyes begging for some relief as the bed called to me. But I was full of sweat and blood and grim. I needed at least one shower before crashing.

Cursing myself for it, I dragged my injured leg up and hobbled to the bathroom.

Nothing. No pail of hot water or bath soap or towels.

“This is wrong.’

Anya continued to cry but I ignored her and strategized.

Bedsheets and a thicker blanket I could do without— hold water was non negotiable. Nothing else would be able to dispel the sinking chill in my bones or thoroughly melt off the grime that coated me.

With a sigh, I braided my hair into a single ponytail then began the harrowing journey of limping to the kitchen for hot water.

I’d barely stepped out of my room when the noise of people moving drew my attention to the end of the hallway.

Elise’s bathroom.

Like a moth to a flame, I couldn’t resist as I hobbled closer. The sharp sound of my brother’s commands getting sharper as I closed the distance. 

“Not enough.” “Yes, bring it here.” 

I paused, looking through the door crack as Adrian knelt beside Elise’s bathtub.

Was he…

His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he was testing the temperature of the water with his hand!

"More hot water," he instructed a servant standing nearby. "She likes it almost scalding."

The servant nodded and hurried off, while I was frozen. Unable to tear my eyes away or stop the burning that came.

Elise sat nearby on a cushioned stool, wrapped in a silk robe. Her hair was pinned up and she nibbled from a tray of pastries, frowning.

"These have almonds," she sighed and pushed the tray away. "You know I hate almonds."

Adrian didn't hesitate. 

“I said it before.” He called a servant, taking the tray from Elise himself. “She doesn’t want nuts. Bring something else. And more of those honey cakes she likes."

"Yes, sir." The servant curtsied with the tray and hurried away.

I was still standing outside, my stomach ironically choosing that moment to growl as she rushed past me.

My throat burned and I hated that I was about to cry.

Elise had done horrible things, and Adrian had… He'd done even more. But I was crying over nuts?

I chuckled, sniffling at how ridiculous it sounded.

But my brother was gone. 

In the past, I’d been the most precious thing to him. Just like how he fawned over Elise now. He’d know my favorite snacks and the right water temperature and even which color of dress I’d favor. 

“Do you need anything else?” His worried voice cut through my haze and I blinked, turning away.

The Adrian I’d known and loved was gone.

This one now— the same man wearing my big brother’s face was a stranger.

The hallway blurred, but still I pressed my hand to the wall and forced my feet to keep walking until the voices faded. 

---

The supply room was at the end of the corridor, past the kitchens. I pushed the door open and stepped inside, scanning the shelves for a basin or a kettle. Anything.

"What do you think you're doing?"

A sharp voice cut through the silence.

I turned. A stout woman stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her gray hair pulled back so tightly it stretched her face. The housekeeper, judging by the ring of keys at her waist.

"I'm looking for hot water," I said. "My room doesn't have any."

The woman's eyes swept over me—my threadbare shirt, my borrowed trousers, the bandage visible beneath my torn hem. Her lip curled.

"Hot water?" She scoffed. "And what makes you think you're entitled to hot water?"

"I just—"

"You're one of the new girls, aren't you?" She stepped closer, and I caught the sour smell of her breath. "Think you can waltz in here and help yourself to whatever you want? This isn't a charity house."

"I'm not—"

"Elise's bath has clogged the drain again." The housekeeper gestured toward a bucket and brush in the corner. "Flower petals. Hair. All those expensive products she uses. The water's backed up something awful. You'll clean it."

I stared at her. "I'm not a servant."

"Oh?" She laughed, short and mean. "Then what are you? Because you look like a beggar to me."

"I'm—"

I stopped. What was I? Adrian's sister? The girl who'd been erased from this house? The prisoner who'd walked twelve miles on a broken leg because no one came to pick her up?

The housekeeper didn't wait for an answer. She grabbed my wrist and shoved the bucket into my hands, then pushed me toward the door.

"The drain's in the bathing chamber off the main hall. You'll know it when you see it. And don't come back until it's clean."

She shoved me again, and I stumbled. My injured knee hit the doorframe, and white-hot pain shot up my leg. I gasped, gripping the wall to keep from falling.

"Don't dawdle," the housekeeper snapped. "You won't get any dinner until it's done."

I wanted to fight. I wanted to tell her who I was—what I was. I wanted to see her face when she realized she'd just pushed Adrian Olsen's sister into cleaning a drain.

But what would that change?

Adrian would take the housekeeper's side. Elise would cry. And I'd be left with nothing but more pain and more humiliation.

I'd learned to pick my battles.

So I took the bucket and limped toward the main hall, my knee screaming with every step.

---

The drain was worse than I'd imagined.

A thick, clotted mess of flower petals, long strands of hair, and something pink and oily that smelled like perfume. The water had backed up and turned murky, and the whole chamber reeked of roses and rot.

I knelt beside it, ignoring the stab of pain from my knee, and dipped the brush into the water.

At least no one here will inject you for moving too slowly.

The thought was bitter, but it steadied me. I'd survived worse. I'd survived guards who whipped us for sport, matrons who starved us for fun, a camp that was designed to break us. A clogged drain was nothing.

I scrubbed. The brush scraped against the metal, and the water turned darker. My hands shook, but I didn't stop.

I didn't hear the footsteps behind me until a voice spoke.

"Solene?"

I froze.

The brush slipped from my fingers and clattered against the floor. The pain in my chest—dull, constant, the ache I'd learned to live with—twisted sharply, like a knife turning in an old wound.

That voice.

I knew that voice.

I turned slowly, and there he was.