MADAM GRACE

A dull ache pulsed at the base of Sophia’s skull as she drifted back into consciousness. Her limbs felt like lead, each breath heavy in her chest. Slowly, she pried her eyelids open, the world blurring in shadow and muted shapes.

The room around her was dim, the edges swallowed in shadow. The absence of light made every sound louder — the faint creak of wood, the muffled rush of wind against the walls. The air carried the scent of aged timber and worn leather, thick enough to settle on her tongue.

She pushed herself upright, but the movement sent the world tilting. A wave of dizziness forced her to grip the edge of the bed. It was massive — its four carved posters reached like dark sentinels toward the high ceiling, the sheets beneath her far softer than anything she’d ever slept on.

And then the memories crashed in.

The forest.

The beast.

The stranger.

His voice, low and rough, had clung to her like smoke. His touch — barely there — had been enough to set her skin ablaze. She could still see those eyes, the kind that looked past your defenses and straight into the marrow of you.

Goosebumps prickled along her arms. Yesterday, she’d been sure she wouldn’t live to see another dawn. Now, she was in a place she didn’t recognize, spared from death… but for what?

Her gaze swept the shadowy corners, and an unease coiled tight in her chest. Maybe she’d escaped one danger only to stumble into another.

She was still wondering when a soft knock came at the door.

It opened without waiting for her reply.

A woman stepped in — short, with a lush figure and a presence that filled the space before she spoke. Her hair was pulled tightly back, and her deep crimson gown clung to her generously curved frame, the color almost sinister in the low light.

Sophia felt curiosity stir despite herself. Who was she? And more importantly, what was her connection to the man who had saved her?

The woman’s eyes raked over her in slow assessment, and when she spoke, her tone was laced with cool disdain.

“I see you’ve awoken. Someone will bring you a change of clothes. When you’re done, you’ll join the other servants in the quarters.”

Servants? The word snagged in Sophia’s mind like a thorn.

“I want to speak with the man who brought me here,” Sophia said, surprising even herself with the steel in her voice.

The woman’s gaze hardened. “Prince Azriel doesn’t associate with servants. And that’s what you are now.”

The words landed like a slap.

“Wait, what?”

Her voice sharpened with irritation. “You heard me. Margaret!”

A timid-looking girl hurried in, a neatly folded stack of clothing in her arms.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Make sure she’s dressed and familiar with the rules. We wouldn’t want any… accidents.”

Sophia caught the pause before the last word, and it chilled her.

Margaret’s eyes flicked to her, cautious but not unkind. “Yes, ma’am.”

Without another glance, the woman swept out, her gown whispering over the floorboards. The air seemed easier to breathe once she was gone.

“That’s Madam Grace,” Margaret said in a hushed voice. “She’s head of the servants here. If you want to survive, you keep on her good side.”

Sophia’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t sign up for this. I’m not a servant.”

A sympathetic shadow crossed Margaret’s face. “You’ll want to remember that we’re the lucky ones. Now, the bathroom’s to your right. Change into this.”

Inside, the bathroom was cold and quiet, the walls tiled in a pale stone that made her skin look washed out. She slipped into the gown — plain white, shapeless, without a single embellishment.

When she stepped back out, Margaret gave her a small smile. “Better. Now, let’s go over the rules.”

Her voice dropped lower. “We answer only to Prince Azriel. He’s the master of this place, and his word is final.”

Sophia frowned. “And Madam Grace?”

“She keeps order. You don’t cross her. Ever.” Margaret’s eyes darted toward the door before she went on. “We don’t leave the servant quarters without permission. And we show respect — head bowed — when we pass anyone above our station.”

Sophia’s lips curled faintly. “And if I don’t?”

Margaret’s voice flattened. “Then you’ll find out why the others keep their heads down. Lights out at nine. After dinner, we stay in our quarters until morning.”

Sophia bit back the retort that rose to her tongue. She hated rules she hadn’t agreed to — and she wasn’t planning to stay here long enough to follow them.

They left the room together, the corridors lined with muted paintings and dark wood panels. Sophia caught glimpses of other servants, all in the same plain garments, their gazes fixed firmly on the floor. Conversations died when she passed, replaced by murmurs in a language she didn’t understand.

The kitchen was a flurry of motion — knives chopping, ovens hissing, the air thick with the scent of roasting meat and fresh bread. Pots clanged, footsteps thudded, orders were barked and obeyed without hesitation.

At the far end, Madam Grace stood like a shadow carved into the bustle. For a moment, her gaze met Sophia’s, and it felt like icy fingers closed around her throat. There was no mistaking it — the woman was already measuring her, deciding where she fit in this world.

Margaret’s voice pulled her back. “Sophia — you’re on serving duty.”

Sophia turned to her. “Where should I stand?”

“Over there on the right. Food will be ready soon.”

Sophia moved to the indicated spot, but her mind was already working, mapping exits, memorizing faces. If she was going to survive this place, she needed more than rules. She needed answers — and she needed them fast.