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"If a girl could be made completely of thorn and needles then she might thank her benefactor."
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"And the Good Queen Imani resisted the call of her nature to bring forth justice and understanding into the world. But none of you are the blessed Queen Imani. Straining against your nature would not make her proud."
The words made me wonder aloud in class, something I was swiftly punished for--speaking out of turn--and I never did it again. It was the same thing, said over and over again. The Good Queen Imani was blessed by Selene, the moon goddess. The rejection of the natural order would probably kill us if we tried it as she did. Not everyone was made to survive such extreme stubbornness.
But I wondered, waking up in the dark, shoddily lit servant room, if the Good Queen Imani would be proud of what's become of the Kingdom. I wondered if I had any place to judge this kingdom, wondered especially hard as I wrestled with the zipper of my uniform.
I was a maid, serving in the court of Aeneas Augustus, of the line of Evans, descendant of the Good Queen and the First King. And currently, I was shaking my roommate, trying to get her to rise from her deadman slumber before we both were disciplined.
"I finished your work so you could sleep longer, how in the world are you still tired."
One hand rose, a sign of life in most, probably all people except from Hilla. Hilla could sleep through an earthquake. Or worse, she'd get up, sleepwalk to safety and immediately curl up on the floor as the world burned. "Five more minutes."
"No, we're late." I popped the back of her head. "You only have ten minutes to dress."
That woke her up sure and proper. Hilla scrambled out of bed, shoving back her long brown hair and reaching for one of my hair ties. I smacked the hand away. My hair ties ate up a fat chunk of my little salary. They were made for my thick, kinky hair, most usually kept in miniature twists. The longer it grew, the more sentimental I became. And also, the harder my hair became to maintain.
I shoved a pin into my hair, trapping the last unruly twist and looking at myself in the mirror. Should I have powder my face to make myself look more ashen and dead? I would've wiped away the oil on my lips, but I'll be the one suffering if they crack in this winter. "What can I do to make myself look dreadful?" I asked as Hilla did a worm hop around the room, shoving herself into her work dress and looking like the headless horseman in the process.
"Not much. Sorry."
"It's your job to say that as my best friend, but I'm not joking." I reached for my bottle of scent-blocker, high contraband, but something that Hilla goes out to procure for us with our combined money. I can't confirm, but I'd bet the maids who've been working here longest have all been using it. Hilla was here before me, she's been here almost three years. I've been here about two. It's an elderly career in comparison to the country bumpkin girls who come without scent blockers and quickly find themselves snatched up. It happened too often.
"Put that away," Hilla hissed, having freed her head from the folds of her dress. I opened the cap and tipped back the rest. It's not a full dosage. Hilla would have to sneak out and get more.
"I don't have enough. Which is exactly why I need to look dreadful."
"It's been building in your system awhile. I don't think the situation is dire."
"Do you want to take that chance?"
Hilla sighed, crossed the room and squeezed my shoulders from behind. "I think you'll be alright." She grabs her makeup kit, a sad little thing, mostly used for this purpose. "But, a little shadow under the eyes won't hurt. You'll look like a consumptive."
"That's what I like to hear." When she was finished, I did hers, not filling in her under eyes, but shadowing her cheeks. The werewolf ladies did this, sweeping up that adding creamy shades of blush to make themselves more vibrant. Not that they needed to, everything about a werewolf screamed power, screamed superiority, screamed I could and will break your neck if you try me. Instead, I pushed down, making her look like she had some wasting disease. Or some wasting addiction.
"How do I look."
"Absolutely ghastly."
She squeezed me tight. "Aww, thanks babe. You're hideous too."
We left the room, walking fast up the servant's stairs to make it to the morning briefing. I remember coming down these stairs the first time, my little cloth bag in hand, trembling in an overlarge uniform. I didn't know that you should use scent blockers. I didn't know that you should transform yourself into a broken-backed, hobbled elfen creature. Hilla had nearly shirked when a wolf boy had complimented my scent. She pulled me aside and practically shoved the potion down my throat. I've been under her wing ever since. I owe my life to her.
Who knows? If I'd stayed without blockers longer, they might've sat me down and went through my genetic compatibility charts.
Hilla and I stood side by side in the morning briefing room, along with other servants, all human, in front of our werewolf headmistress, the highest 'servant' if you could call her that. She's dressed fine and she must be some kind of lower nobility.
"As always, let us begin with the tenets of this great nation."
Hilla knew better, but she sent me a sidelong glare, twisting her cracked and chapped lips. I scowled to tell her to look away and faced the werewolf madame. "One, know your place in this world. Human, witch or were. It's a blessing to have a call, servants, doctors, there's need of all. You are born the way you are, never set your sights too far. Two, bow to your Alphas, bow to your mates, thank the moon goddess for your fate. Three, goddess bless the tradition come back to us after so long, let us stand in its grace everlong. Four, your life is a gift you owe to the King, and what the iron hand giveth, let he taketh away."
We ended the tents with a sad hush. It always served in ruining the mood of everyone in the room, save for the Were Madame who must've reveled in our downturned faces. "Good. Come read the assignments, they're-"
The door slammed open and a very angry looking and very well-dressed man stormed through the door. The Were Madame looked around, her gaze sweeping and accusing. "Where is she?"
"Where is who?"
He turned around the room before setting his sights on a trembling girl, probably my age, but much newer to this palace. Hilla and I shared a glance. "You."
The Were Madame sighed. "You know you're immediately to report these things, Anna. You will have to be punished for it."
"Don't speak to her that way." The Madame shrugged her shoulders and sat back into her seat, legs crossed. By this point, all of us long time servants were strongly desensitized to what was about to happen. But the new servants--this was a taste of what might happen to them if they didn't join the winning team, cast out their past teachings and go on scent blockers. It usually took one example to scare them onto the medication. It truly was a shame when they were the example for others.
The girl, Anna, shrunk back and this clearly irritated the man, who wasn't much older than her, maybe twenty, because he snatched her forward. He didn't hesitate. One second, the elongated, knifepoint canines flashed across our visions and they were sheathed in Anna's neck. Would it make me a horrible person to say I didn't flinch at the scream? A terrible, mortifying scream, yes, but I'd heard this same incessant shrieking more than a fifty times in two years. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as the door swung open, bringing in the werewolf's kinsman. Among them, there was a general sense of happiness. They slapped the man on the back, though his teeth were still planted firmly in Anna's neck--lapping at the mark and blood to heal the wounds--and they were nothing but smiles. They congratulated him on finding his true mate. Not everyone did. Now that the royal researchers knew more, they found that the mateless weren't really mateless, just the match wasn't true. They could have a match with another 'mateless' like themselves and find someone with a high caliber of genetic compatibility. Someone willing. And consenting.
"There's nothing like the real thing," one man praised.
I noticed a girl cowering in the corner, and I admit, my heart sunk a little. She looked exactly like Anna. She was younger too, maybe fourteen at oldest. And she was here to hear her sister beg for her life and entirely powerless all the while.
"This shit sours my spirit," Hilla whispered. I reached forward to squeeze her hand. The man swept up Anna and his arms, finally pulling out those terrifying, bloodstained teeth. She blinked, but she didn't wake up. As fast as they came, they were gone, leaving the Madame and us.
"Was anyone so shaken by the scene that they were unable to work?" This question again. No one ever raised their hand to say yes, but Madame cast a glare over all of us. She can tell by the shaking who's been here long and who hasn't. She lifted her clipboard and furiously scribbled down names. "Here," she said, slapping it down on the table. "Everyone listed will work upstairs in their designated spots. Everyone else will do laundry, polish brass, and work the kitchens."
The Madame left and I knew that technically, this was breakfast. But it's not nearly enough time to eat anything and being a little thinner and sickly looking never hurt working in this place. Unappealing means unattractive means untouchable. I said to myself like it ever mean anything, saved anyone.
A girl crossed the room, a small pink rock in hand. She kneeled by the fireplace and I followed her. Against a brick, she wrote A.M 2m. "She was here two months and she wasn't on blockers?"
"She thought they were unholy and unnatural. I didn't press. She might've reported me for it."
I glanced back at her shaking younger sister. "I think this will be a good push for the younger."
"Thank goodness, someone with sense. I'll take her aside as soon as possible." As the girl leaves, I looked at the chimney back and the initials and dates scrawled across the brick in different colors. N.K 1w. C.L 2d. The short-term stays were just bad luck. They say the first week is the most nerve-wracking. You don't have the relationships that might get you access to the lifesaving blockers, but you're working after your first day of training so you're exposed to the wolves. There were more though, longer stays that I can only shake my head at. O.S 4m. That girl was too lucky, lucky in ways she didn't deserve. Four months without blockers I heard. But they get you in the end. I curled my nose at the bloodstain on the floor, smelling like iron and meat. They always get you in the end.
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My job upstairs consisted of donning a thick, grey woolen apron--very itchy--and replacing the coals in any empty room I could find. It was a thankless job, a useless job in my opinion. But electric heating didn't cut in the large, drafty palace and therefore, the old ways had to be reverted to. Although, the wolves liked their old ways. It was the reason every low-level servant in the house was a woman. It was the reason we were wearing shapeless work dresses better suited to the Victorians. It was the reason I had to lower my head when a Were came into the room.
To say the least, I didn't like my job. But I didn't complain out loud, often and at that, only to Hilla. The job was indeed a blessing. I could've been in a work camp somewhere. Or worse. I can think of many, many worse places for a human girl who's parents succumbed early to disease on a farm. With the metal poker I taunted the fire, daring, then begging it to accept the coals I left and offer some warmth in exchange. When I was satisfied, I put down my bucket and picked up my towel, brushing away the coal dust left on the outer hearth. The door opened and I froze up, instinctually--it was drilled into many times--lowering my head. I'd be able to move again when the person in the room dismissed me.
"At ease." It was hard to obey the command, though I could feel it in my bones. A cold sweat developed under my arms and I grabbed my bucket, eyes still down. I bowed low.
"Your Majesty," I murmured, suppressing a scowl because it might've been too faint.
"Wait." I released an internal cry and stopped. "You left this."
The sight of the coal stained cloth in his hand nearly brought me to tears. I took it from him and bowed. "Many apologies. Many apologies your Majesty, it's a great mistake, I-"
"I thought apologies required some eye contact."
"If you request it, your Majesty."
"Look up."
I did. He had dark brown hair, tannish skin and light brown eyes, closer to hazel actually. Objectively, he was handsome. We all knew that--the Were noblewomen, the younger servant girls, the Were Madame who praised his looks often--but in the flesh, he was oppressive. His presence, his aura, it crushed my lungs. I struggled to breathe. "My greatest apologies, your Majesty." I dipped my head. "Should you desire my immediate resignation from my status at this palace-"
His laugh was entirely shocking. And it wasn't welcome either. It was that kind of laugh that made you feel he was laughing at you, and only you and not inviting you to laugh with him. It was the kind of laugh that reminded you of your place. "What's your name, girl?"
"I...I'm a..." I'd forgotten how to speak. But my name was demanded and maybe my life was on the line. "My name is Valerie."
"Do you have a last name, Valerie?"
"Cardith."
"Valerie Cardith." He rolled it over in his mouth. "That's a perfectly pretty name." Maybe he doesn't understand how this works, although he should as he was socialized from birth to understand these class practices, but he was not to interact with the help. I remembered working under his father's court, in my first few months of being here. It was true, our King was young, not even twenty if my memory served me well, but the Were Madame would have my neck if she saw this.
"Thank you, your Majesty."
"Do you like working here, Valerie?"
I took no more than a second to consider. It was a clear trap. "Yes, your Majesty." He stared at me and I continued to suffer under the weight of his aura. They didn't call him an Iron-King for nothing. "Very much," I added, for job insurance. His gaze burned into my own with a fearsome intensity. Would it have been related to the incident in the morning? Maybe...it was one of the more gruesome claimings.
"Good, you may go."
It was against the rules to run, but once I crossed the threshold of the door, I ran and I didn't stop.