Chapter 14
The morning light, a soft golden haze, spilled through the parted curtains, chasing away the lingering shadows of the night. Aurelia stirred, the usual nightmares that had plagued her since her parents' demise a distant memory. For the first time since arriving at the castle, a night of peaceful sleep had left her feeling strangely refreshed.
However, her tranquility was shattered by the sudden movement of the curtains. She flinched, her eyes flying open, searching the room. As her vision adjusted to the brightness, she spotted a young woman standing by the window, a gentle smile playing on her lips.
The woman was dressed in the usual black and white maid's uniform, but her appearance differed from the other servants Aurelia had encountered, the ones that had tebded to her. Her curly black hair, with a few strands escaping playfully from her forehead, framed a warm brown face that held a genuine kindness absent in the eyes of the other maids.
"Good morning, milady," the young woman greeted, bowing slightly. "I'm Betsy, at your service."
Aurelia pushed herself up against the headboard, her gaze fixed on the newcomer. This maid, Betsy, exuded a warmth and sincerity unlike any other servant in the castle. A spark of curiosity ignited within her.
"You're new," Aurelia finally spoke, her voice husky from sleep. "I haven't seen you around before."
An unsettling feeling prickled at Aurelia's skin. While a new servant wasn't necessarily a cause for alarm, the timing felt… off.
"Oh, not exactly new, milady," Betsy replied, her smile widening a touch. "I've served in other parts of the castle before being assigned to your chambers."
Aurelia nodded curtly, apprehension gnawing at her. The change in Betsy's demeanor, subtle though it was, did not escape her notice. "And what of the previous maids who tended to me?" she inquired, her voice laced with a hint of suspicion.
The smile faltered completely, a flicker of something akin to fear crossing Betsy's warm brown eyes for a fleeting moment. "I, uh… I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea, milady," she stammered, her voice losing its earlier confidence.
Just then, Betsy gestured towards the doorway behind Aurelia. "This is Agnes," she said, her voice regaining a semblance of composure. "She will be assisting you as well."
Aurelia turned her head, following Betsy's hand. A young woman stood in the doorway, her figure cloaked in the familiar black and white maid's uniform. Unlike Betsy's welcoming smile, Agnes' face remained a blank canvas, her expression unreadable. She bowed curtly, her movements stiff and formal.
Betsy bustled around the room, her movements efficient yet strangely comforting. "Now, now, milady," she chirped, her voice a welcome contrast to the oppressive silence previously enforced by the other maids. "Let's get you prepared for the day. Your bath has already been drawn, nice and hot."
Aurelia rose from the bed, her body still pleasantly achy from a night of uninterrupted sleep. The thought of a hot bath was undeniably appealing. Perhaps, for a brief moment, it would also wash away the gnawing fear that had become her constant companion.
After a long soak, the warm water easing the tension from her muscles, Aurelia sat before the vanity. Her reflection stared back at her. Glancing at the table beside the vanity, she saw the familiar glint of metal – the dagger. Which the king had returned it to her after their first tense dinner, the blood that had once stained its surface now meticulously cleaned. A chilling reminder of her failed attempt, a constant weight on her conscience.
A gentle touch on her hair startled her from her thoughts. Betsy stood behind her, a soft brush gliding through her auburn locks. "Beautiful hair you have, milady," Betsy murmured, her voice warm and sincere.
Aurelia offered a tight smile in response. "Thank you, Betsy."
Her gaze drifted to the mirror, where Agnes' reflection came into view. The other maid stood by the wardrobe, her movements stiff and mechanical as she laid out a dress for Aurelia to wear. Agnes' watchful gaze sent a shiver down Aurelia's spine.
Betsy seemed to sense Aurelia's discomfort. Leaning closer, she spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, yet loud enough for Agnes to hear. "Does Agnes creep you out, milady? She always looks like she's about to faint dead away." A hint of amusement danced in her voice.
The unexpected joke brought a genuine smile to Aurelia's face, a rare flicker of light in the constant tension. A quick glance at the mirror revealed Agnes' stoic expression cracking for a moment, replaced by a flicker of annoyance directed at Betsy.
Agnes held up a dress for Aurelia's inspection. It was a simple affair, crafted from a cool, shimmering grey satin that whispered of restraint and formality.
"Grey?" Aurelia questioned, a frown creasing her brow. The color seemed an odd choice for her, particularly considering the vibrant gowns she'd worn since her arrival at the castle.
"Oh, it's lovely, milady," Betsy chirped, her ever-present smile unwavering. "Don't you think? It will look divine on you."
Aurelia nodded hesitantly, unsure of how to feel. While the dress itself wasn't unpleasant, the color choice felt oddly restrictive.
Sensing Aurelia's apprehension, Betsy offered a seemingly casual explanation. "The head butler informed us that the King requested you wear a grey dress today, milady," she said, her voice light and airy.
However, a flicker of something akin to nervousness crossed Betsy's features for a brief moment, a subtle twitch of her lips that Aurelia couldn't help but notice. Did it hold any significance, or was she simply imagining things?
Aurelia's gaze darted towards Agnes, who stood impassively beside the dress. The other maid's expression remained unreadable, offering no clues. The grey dress hung limply in her hands.
"I see," Aurelia replied finally.
The final touches were complete. Betsy, with a final flourish, secured Aurelia's high ponytail, the grey dress hanging elegantly on her frame.
The stoic butler, Malcolm, materialized in the doorway, his customary bow preceding his instruction.
"Milady," he rumbled, his voice devoid of warmth. "The King awaits. Please follow me."
Aurelia straightened her shoulders. As they walked down the hallway, she couldn't help but steal a glance at the grand staircase. The marble tiles, once stained crimson, seemed to gleam innocently in the morning light. She returned her gaze to the butler's back, his words echoing in her ears.
But something was different this time. Malcolm wasn't leading her to the dining hall. He continued past the familiar corridors, heading towards the massive oak doors that marked the castle's main entrance.
A surge of curiosity, laced with a sliver of trepidation, coursed through Aurelia. Were they leaving the castle? Was this unexpected summons a prelude to some unknown fate?
Pushing open the heavy doors, they emerged into the crisp morning air. And there, beside a sleek, jet-black carriage emblazoned with the royal crest, stood the King. He was clad in his usual dark attire, his black hair styled with an air of effortless perfection. The morning sun cast a golden glow, highlighting the sharp angles of his face and the glint of something dangerous in his mesmerizing eyes.
For a fleeting moment, Aurelia found herself captivated – his imposing presence, the undeniable power that radiated from him. But then, shame washed over her. How could she find him attractive? He was the man who orchestrated her parents' deaths, who held her captive in his gilded cage.
Aurelia dipped into a curtsey, her gaze flitting between the imposing black carriage and the King. "Are we going out, Your Majesty?" she inquired, her voice laced with a hint of suspicion.
Samael's reply was a cryptic one. "Let's just say," he drawled,"we have a little business to attend to. One that requires a… change of scenery."
The coachman, a weathered man with a neatly trimmed beard, bowed low from his perch before pulling open the carriage door. Samael offered his hand, a black glove stretched towards Aurelia. A subtle smile played on his lips.
Aurelia's eyes narrowed. Ignoring the offered hand, she muttered under her breath, "I'm quite capable of entering the carriage myself, Your Majesty." With a determined glint in her eyes, she gathered the skirts of her grey dress and stepped into the carriage without further assistance, leaving the Samael's hand hanging in the air.
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The carriage rolled down the winding path, the rhythmic clopping of the horses the only sound that dared to break the oppressive silence. Inside, a tension thicker than the plush velvet lining the carriage hung heavy in the air. A bouquet of pristine white lilies, an unsettling contrast to the dark interior, sat on a small pedestal a few feet away from Aurelia. Their immaculate beauty felt out of place, a jarring note amidst the growing unease.
The white lilies on the pedestal mocked her with their silent innocence. Were they a condolence offering, or a symbolic message meant for her alone?
Aurelia stole a glance at King Samael. He sat opposite her, his gaze fixed out the window. The morning sun cast his profile in a stark light, highlighting the sharp angles of his jawline and the cool indifference in his golden eyes. A morbid curiosity warred with her anger. What was going through his mind? Did he feel any remorse? Any flicker of humanity for the lives he had taken, for the one he now held captive?
Suddenly, their eyes met. Aurelia felt a jolt as if struck by lightning. His gaze held hers, a silent challenge. He raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. Was he daring her? Did he sense the violent thoughts swirling in her mind, the desperate desire to lash out, to end his life and avenge her parents' deaths?
Aurelia's breath hitched in her throat. The fantasy of plunging the jeweled dagger into his heart, the one he'd so graciously returned, which nestled in the vanity back in the castle, danced in her mind. But logic held her back. This wasn't the time, not yet. She was far too vulnerable, trapped in this steel cage hurtling towards an unknown destination.
With a forced smile that didn't reach her eyes, Aurelia looked away, her gaze flitting back to the passing scenery. Trees blurred into a green haze, a monotonous rhythm that mirrored the pounding of her heart. Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, she broke the tense atmosphere.
"Your Majesty," Aurelia began, her voice tight with barely suppressed emotion, "where exactly are we going?"
The amusement that had previously lingered there vanished, replaced by an emotion Aurelia couldn't quite decipher. Was it annoyance? Boredom?
For a moment, a tense silence stretched between them, thick enough to choke on. Then, with a sigh that seemed to hold the weight of the world, he spoke.
"A funeral," he finally answered. The single word hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.
Aurelia's breath hitched. A funeral? Whose?