Chapter 04

  Be Quiet

  The sun sets as quickly as it had risen. After an arduous day of unending labour, my limbs tremble like jelly. What I would give for a nice bowl of hot broth, a warm bath, and some soft pillows right now.

  “With a daily schedule like yours, how are we ever going to awaken your abilities?” Aca whines.

  “Don’t say we," I whisper, "I did not consent to being involved in this."

  “Dearest host? Are you forgetting your mission already?”

  “Can I say I have? I would like to—yes.”

  I’m in the common cafeteria stuffing down a quick dinner—hard chicken and cold mash—when a young servant boy bursts through the doors. His legs are round and stubby, but his red and flushed cheeks suggest he's taken quite the run.

  So long, peace and quiet.

  The boy pants heavily, hands leaning on his thighs. Then, he jolts upright and whips his head left and right in desperate search. My stomach sinks. Nah… it’s not me. Just cause he's one of the Marbury's lapdogs doesn't mean he's looking for me. He is looking for someone else, right?

  Unfortunately, his shaking eyes stop once they find mine. It's me. But, of course—it's Marbury—she's always looking for me. Gosh, when will I stop being so damn popular all the time?

  I put down my fork and take a quick swig of water before neatly piling my cutlery and plates on a tray.

  “Host, I think that boy is walking towards you,” Aca notes.

  Yeah, no shit.

  The boy glances around and nervously adjusts his bowtie, though he doesn't bother to wipe the sweat dripping from his chin. I’m already cleaning my hands with a napkin when he strides up to me.

  “Belle!” he hisses. “Duke’s room—Miss Marbury needs you now!”

  The young boy probably doesn't know what Marbury needs me for exactly, he's just relaying the message, but I don't intend to tell him either. I toss him my dirty napkin and shoot up.

  "Clean my tray for me, will you?" Wasting no time, I slide out of the cafeteria.

  “Ugh, what a horrid smell!” cries Aca.

  As I sprint up the stairwell, I can almost taste the stench of booze infused in the air. The smell is so thick it could permeate my skin and stain my lungs. The head maid, Marbury, is waiting for me at the top.

  “Finish soon,” she orders, “The Duke needs rest before the young master’s return tomorrow.” Her gaze is fierce, unfeeling. Goodness, Marbury. You could at least be a little sorry for putting me in this position, or maybe you'd rather laugh behind my back.

  "I understand," I simply say.

  She clicks her tongue, irritation crinkling up her long, sharpened nose. To this day, I still have no clue what I did that was so wrong, so deserving of her relentless loathing. It's been however many years and she still won't let up.

  You have it so easy, her eyes seem to say.

  You don't know a thing, do you? I say back, though I doubt Marbury can read my eyes as easily as I can read hers.

  The head maid glares at me one last time before whipping her head around dramatically. With that, she leaves.

  The double door looms over me, gold coats the knob and patterns the door, outlining its arch in a fancy, elegant line. I twist the knob and push it open. Darkness seeps from the gaps, and I am welcomed by the familiar void of the unknown. My feet drag me forward and the door behind me reverts back into place. In the dead of silence, my teeth tightly clench together; I dig my nails into my palm, forcing sensation out of the numbness.

  Will I ever get used to this room?

  Despite the darkness, the swirl of musk and haze is as clear as day. It’s dizzying, my head rocks back and forth as if I were drunk myself. My body feels faint and the urge to completely shut off and crumble to my knees knocks on my door, tempting me to open up and just give in.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  It's a strong drug, this time.

  A musty trail of smoke pinches my nose and I snap out of my daze. My vision clears only a bit, but just enough for a silhouette to reveal itself in the shadows. In the center of the room, a grey-haired man is sprawled out on a couch.

  “Wow, he does not look good,” Aca whispers.

  His bare legs are spread wide apart without a care. Arms are bent and hung around precariously. Head is flung over the back of the couch. A thin robe seems carelessly tossed over his boney body, barely concealing skin that should otherwise be meticulously covered.

  “Krrr…phhhew” he snores.

  His position seems to finally bother him, and he drudgingly flips over on his stomach. The loose cloth falls from his skinny shoulders and reveals a scarred back. Dry, light pink patches bulge from the center of his back. The dead lump of skin sits like an extra layer. I wince, but do not to close my eyes. Once I do that, all I will see is the room with the roaring flames.

  To the side of the unconscious man, a tiny stool-table grabs my attention. Mainly because of the trail of fumes leaking from the lit candle placed upon it. I tiptoe closer, the old man’s face emerging into view.

  “Drunk on the devil’s drink,” Aca murmurs. “Hey, now’s a good time to discuss business! He’s completely out!”

  I ignore; now is not the time. I cannot afford to make mistakes. Not here.

  His face melts like molten candy, burdened under heavy intoxication. Deep wrinkles carve into his cheekbones. Drool drips down a gaping mouth. His eyelids do not completely shut, making way for the whites of his eyes to peek out.

  “Dearest host~ talk to me.” Aca begs.

  I slide over to the stool-table with the candle, rough bristles of the vintage rug beneath me scratching the surface of my leather flats.

  Aca sighs, “You’re way too diligent.”

  The candle, already melted to a quarter of its original height, bends at the tip of its flame. A glassy puddle of wax pools at the bottom. Next to it sits a glass cylinder, which I pick up and cover the candle, quietly extinguishing the flame. The last sliver of light vanishes, leaving me alone in the still darkness.

  I let muscle memory guide my feet further into the room, stopping only when I feel a cool shift in the air. My hand slowly reaches up and meets the soft fabric of a curtain by the window. Gently, I tug at the thick cloth. At the top, metal rings clink and clatter like soft chimes. The curtain gives way and I peer out the glass, my eyes feasting on an endless stream of blue. Like a quiet, navy sea twinkling under the moonlight, a wondrous wave of starlight stretches over on the opposite side. I breathe in the night sky.

  My palm touches the glass, separating me and the great beyond. The electric chill as the cold surface meets my skin attempts to scare me away, but my hand stays still. With a firm force, I push open the window—fresh air gushes in as filth exits. As I ogle at the vast expanse of the night sky, I cannot help but feel it impossible to ever find rest in it. Like a place of extravagance too luxurious, forbidden for a simpleton like me.

  Much too far away.

  “Host—!” I process Aca’s warning a second too late.

  From behind, a hand sinks into my left shoulder. I can barely even flinch before I’m sent tumbling to the floor.

  “Ah!”

  I'm tossed back like a ragdoll.

  My elbow hits the ground first. It scrapes across wood and burns through my skin. A sharp pain rips through my shoulder and sparks fly, followed by a tingling sensation as warm, wet liquid drips from the open gashes.

  I hear Aca shout, his voice low, deeper and more threatening than I've ever heard him. He's calling out my name—or I think he is—my hearing seems to be blinking in and out, similar to my weakening vision.

  Get up, Belle. This is hardly the time to fall asleep.

  Gripping my throbbing arm, I look up at the perpetrator. The dim light from the window casts a shadow over his entire figure. The embodiment of darkness itself.

  “Y-Your Grace…” I stare up at the eyes glowering at me through the shadows.

  His pupils are a deep, piercing crimson like the blood flowing down my flesh. They sit on me, observing me, analyzing me, taking me apart until I’m nothing, but flesh and blood. Almost as if he sees me for all that I am.

  A weak, dispensable, ordinary servant girl.

  Is it… not working this time? Does he know I’m not—

  “Tess—oh, my Tess!” he exclaims. “What have I done!” The Duke’s wrinkled hands tremble as they reach out to me.

  I hold in the urge to recoil and let him approach. He kneels down in front of me, wrapping my head in his arms. Every hair on my body rises, and goosebumps prick at my skin. His hand pats my back cautiously, as if to calm me down. Unfortunately for the both of us, it has the near opposite effect, and I pray the shaking in my body stops soon.

  The Duke, himself, doesn’t seem too calm.

  Each time I feel the rough of his palm against my back, I notice his trembling. Not the trembling you get from accidentally hurting your loved one. It’s the quick, involuntary quivering a person has from years of devouring any and every numbing drug in sight.

  I sit still, helpless as the Duke buries his head in my shoulder. Hair as dry as burnt rice grazes my cheeks. It takes every fiber of my being not to reel back. Instead, I merely tilt my head up, careful to be as still as possible.

  Don't trigger him. Don't make that mistake again.

  On the wall in front of me, a single painting hangs alone. It looks massive, towering over the both of us. Confined within its golden frame, a beautiful lady sits with a serene grace. Every time I step foot in this room, my eyes have never failed to linger on her.

  There is a sweet, yet sentimental ambience in her wide, grey eyes. Her long, black hair glides off the edge of her shoulders like a flowing river, trickling down to her waist. She has a confident glow in her aura, not boastful, but there is history of discipline and hard work in her perfect posture and sculptured face.

  Truly, I never understood how people thought us similar.

  She was just so elegant, so beautiful, and too kind.

  And I am just…

  If not for our grey eyes and straight black hair, we could not be any more different.