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Five days later, and Lizzie somehow familiarized herself with the castle, at least the tiny part of the huge grey structure that would probably take days or weeks to snoop around.
They placed her in a room with too much of everything—a big window facing a garden of grass, dried fountain, and moss, a humongous bed she could roll endlessly and would probably never fall, a high ceiling with patterns too fancy for her taste, endless supply of food, clothes that looked like it would cost fifty of her heart in the black market and carpet that she thought could swallow her feet. Like the carriage, pinks, yellows, and pastels exploded that it could blind someone.
Back on the first morning in the castle, they called the family magician. She bit her lips as he poked a needle on her finger, and blood dropped on the silver chalice. There were explosions of colorful yet comfortable light and then symbols of light seal floated, it was a crest almost everyone recognized—a sharp petaled flower with two twisting horns of the devil.
"She is a Norvillon, Young Lords."
"I confirmed it myself at the inn, but double-checking wouldn't hurt," Erdan replied and dismissed the magician. Then they all just left her alone since then.
She was well-fed and clothed but Erdan never sought her out. One of the maids said he's occupied with documents as the Grand Duke was out. The territory was huge that inspections take weeks to months.
He's not on inspection, he's chasing people to decorate the castle walls with their heads. Lizzie swallowed her words, smiled, and nodded like a good girl. Garth was rounding Nordis, the duchy capital, for protection and also training with the knights. He would sometimes barge into her room with the same question: "Oi Silver, still alive?"
And sees her with a surprised expression either eating or drooling over the things she could steal.
Then he'd mutter "Still alive huh." Then he'd leave just like that. It happened twice and on tiny slips, she forgot to at least look like she's sleeping or anything not surprised.
By the tender ages of fifteen and thirteen, the two controlled the territory in the Duke's absence, Devanti Norvillon.
After she was answered by maids with a short and cautious 'He's your father.' when she inquired about him, Lizzie didn't dwell further. Children don't ask for some things they have never experienced. Children are curious about something they can touch and see.
So, with the freedom she was granted 'until the Duke arrives,' as Erdan stated, Lizzie roamed the castle freely and alone, ignoring glances of the guards and servants, even the stiff and unsmiling butler Hewitt. Yet, every time she passed him in hallways, he would hand her candied fruits from his pocket.
She familiarized her bedroom, the library, the dining while she eats alone, and most importantly, the kitchen. But before she could enter paradise, one of the horrified maids begged her to stay out just because she was a 'noble.'
Lizzie discreetly clicked her tongue. Well at least, she's somehow prepared. She hid a few jewels from her clothes in a pouch and a few hard pieces of bread she snuck in her pockets, all intricately stashed under her bed. She also kept a fork as her weapon, and the fork itself would sell at a steep price.
One night, after a nightmare, Lizzie woke up thirsty and with a tight chest. She already drank the glass of milk long before she slept.
So, as an opportunity presented itself, she decided to raid the kitchen. As always, she ignored the rope connecting the bell to the maid quarters to ask for assistance. She never depended on the luxuries. If one day, this will be all taken away, Lizzie was more than unbothered but prepared.
Aside from neighing horses at a distance, the castle was relatively quiet. From the big windows of the halls, the moons ruled the cloudless sky, and the lights of the houses farther away dotted the horizon.
With her bare footsteps, she crept down the stairs, twisted, and turns to the kitchen, her sleeved nightgown and silver hair fluttered in her movement.
At last, she reached the door to heaven. If she could find a jar of honey, she could take one too and keep it in her supply. Lizzie pushed the door but barely moved, and yet she was already tired.
A young child's body, just barely recovering from malnutrition had lost to the heavy kitchen door a few times. Her thirst and hunger as motivation have been pushed to second. Firstly, she must conquer the door, even in her small stature. She must prove the arrogant and lifeless door, that surprises come from small silver packages.
Once more, Lizzie looked around in the lamp-lit hallway to check, and then, she placed her small palms against the door. With last strength her short arms could muster, Lizzie pushed the door as if her veins would pop out anytime soon until it opened barely for her to enter.
Once inside, she raised her clenched fist as a ceremony of victory.
Like the other parts of the castle, the kitchen was wide with all the things all food-related, organized, and shiny against the moonlight. On the left side of the room were doors that led to smaller paradises she checked one after another. Paradise of flours, wheat, and others. The heaven of fruits, crops, and things grown. Even preserved meat and poultry.
What amazed her was the varied temperature in each room, with the different magic seal in each door. The bluer the light the cooler. On the last door, Lizzie found her favorite paradise: milk, cheese, and honey.
She took a slice of cheese. A small jar of honey was scooped in her arms and a stick of bread in her mouth. Now the problem was how to get out. So, with all her strength, she pushed the door with her back, the loot in her hands. To Lizzie's surprise, it was the kind of door that was difficult to enter but easy to exit. It swung open so easily as if there was no door. And so, she was flung out of the kitchen, her back on the floor and her stolen goods scattered. The jar of honey was already broken, its content spilling out a meter away from her.
At least she must save the bread and cheese. But just after she picked up her half-eaten bread, bloody boots entered her line of sight.
"Here I thought we killed all the foxes. There's one left."
Slowly, with her deafening heartbeat, Lizzie looked up at the black robe and the face smeared with blood and the same blue eyes as hers, Erdan and Garth's. But these eyes were much sharper and colder. His hair was black as if absorbing any light and sucking away her life.
Little Lizzie opened her mouth then closed it.
Oh gods.
She's going to die.
She's definitely going to die.
She was now facing the Devil of the North, as the empire dubbed. Devanti Norvillon.
She stood frozen as he picked her up by the back collar of her sleepwear, which was surprisingly durable. Her small body dangled in front of him, like a newborn puppy, hanging by the mouth of the dragon, her hair swayed by the chill.
"You—" he could not finish.
With her instinct to survive, Lizzie pushed the bread to his mouth.
Now she has done it.
If only they could hear the screams of horror in her head, it would definitely reach the next continent.
The winter of the north was probably stored in his eyes only to rule until the autumn bids farewell. But it seems, winter has come for her too soon. She swallowed the freezing air in her throat.
Lizzie forced a smile, that she wished could melt the coldest hearts and even the heartless.
Just be adorable. She desperately clung to her newfound motto.
She shoved the bread more into his mouth and asked the Duke of Norvillon, "Yummy, yes?"
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