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“Thank you!” Neera said with a mock bow of her head. “And please have Freya handle all of my duties today. I won’t be leaving these chambers.”

Zavian could only watch her as she moved under the covers of the bed, a long yawn stretching out from her mouth. She spared Zavian no more looks as she closed her eyes, so Zavian took his leave.

He headed down to his stables. He could use a ride to dispel the worry and panic that had penetrated deep into his bones. As he reached the last of the stairs that connected to the foyer, he saw his sister ascending. Freya backed the rest of the stairs on seeing him, thinking she was fast enough to avoid him.

“Freya!” Zavian called her.

She held on to the banister, and her bored eyes rose to meet his.

When Zavian reached her, the first question out of his mouth was, “What’s going on between you and Azriel?”

“What do you think?”

“You know better than to fraternize with him.”

.....

“It’s been centuries since I know him, and you sent me to him,” Freya folded her arms in nonchalance. “And I became curious.”

“Or you just don’t have enough on your plates to keep you busy enough. Do you know how bad of a gossip it must be for me to have heard it through the walls in the entire castle?”

“Now I am the popular one for a change. Neera seems to be the only one getting all the attention here.”

“She is your Queen, and you will refer to her as such,” Zavian warned.

“Brother, is there a reason why you stopped me? I haven’t had breakfast and I don’t intend to fill my stomach with arguments.”

“You are to see to all of Neera’s duties today as well,” Zavian instructed.

Freya’s hands dropped to her side. “Again? You want me to refer to her as Queen when I am the one doing all the duties? I cannot.”

Zavian narrowed his eyes. “You refuse my orders?”

“Yes, have your Queen handle what she is supposed to.” Freya fumed.

There was a silent staring contest that ensued between the siblings. Some guards came down the stairs and retreated quietly at the sight of the two of them.

“I want you to stop going over to Azriel’s...”

“...you dare not...”

“...and if you want to, you will have to marry him. You are the sister of the King, you aren’t the same as other women Azriel has bedded.” Zavian said.

“That estate gives me sanity from this hellhole!” Freya shot at him, balling her hands into fists to stop herself from giving her brother a good beating. Her veins stretched like thick ropes on her neck, restraining her like a horse’s reins.

“You are the one choosing not to be at peace here, by fighting how things will be from now on,” Zavian said simply.

“How? Marrying a maid? Giving me her duties as if I am some servant to do her royal beck and call? What would you do next? Have me in maid’s frock? Because if you wake up one day and decide how things are to be, there shouldn’t be anyone to question it, or else you’d lock them up in the dungeon and forget them?” She seethed, her words tumbling out like there was hot coal under her tongue. “You know what? Take me back to the dungeon if you must. At least there I don’t have to do anything.”

Zavian grew very still. Freya knew her brother’s mood like the back of her palm, and even though there was the unpredictability of the outcome to be considered, she always had a fair idea of the intensity of what would follow next. But with his hard-set eyes, his pursed lips, and his stiff posture, she could not deny the fear that snaked its way through her body, taking the paths through her veins and sending her heart racing.

“Handle today’s affairs, Freya, and one more word from you, the dungeon would be a Paradise to what I will do next,” Zavian said.

He moved, and Freya stepped out of the way. She watched his retreating back, and no one would have to tell her that her days in the castle were numbered. She knew Zavian would have something in store for her as punishment for the tongue she had no control over, and she didn’t want to find out anytime soon.

....

Gathered in the kitchen, the maids sang a folklore tune as they worked, their voices joining together in different pitches, the somber tale of two lovers who couldn’t be together told in the lyrics of the music as old as time. Penelope listened in but didn’t join them, scraping the leftovers off the plates as one of the younger maids took over and sang at a crescendo that sent goose bumps all over Penelope’s skin.

Penelope loved evenings like these when they sang together, which wasn’t quite often. And they were usually happy songs that sent them laughing, but somehow, someone had started this sad one and everyone had joined in.

The younger maid halted the crescendo, and silence fell upon the bunch of maids.

“You know, some of us are so lucky to join caravans and sing from Kingdom to Kingdom if we want,” one of the maids said.

“Humph!” Came the boisterous snort of Phoebe. “There’s nothing to look forward to out there. We’d either get robbed, assaulted, or even killed.”

“I sometimes wonder what my life would be like if I wasn’t a maid,” the maid with the sonorous voice said. “I like the idea of traveling.”

“Get to your chores and stop with the wishful talk!” Phoebe hushed her.

“I liked the idea of a family,” Penelope put in all of a sudden. She hadn’t thought to package the truth, give it out as something simple, like wanting royal clothes or earning coins from a trade. But she had everyone’s attention, and Phoebe’s facial features pinched into the middle of her face, like a grunting pig.