Ingrid followed the nameless servant up the stairwell, every occasionally glancing back at Roul, who still wore the same somber expression on his face, until at last the two of them reached the Head of House's office, where the servant gingerly knocked.

"Good luck, miss," he mumbled under his breath. "You'll need it if you're going to survive here. It's a tough job," he whispered.

"I think I can handle it," Ingrid replied calmly, finding her voice perhaps a little too cold, more so than she would have liked, but it was her way of coping with her fear of the unknown. She sighed and softened her approach. "Thank you," she managed at last, but before she could say more to the boy, who looked to be not much older than fifteen, the door swung open, and she found herself staring at a man who was looking impatient.

"Come in, come in," he muttered irately, ushering her inside and shutting the door, moving to sit back behind his beautiful mahogany desk. "You must be the girl Roul has talked about."

"Uh, y—yes sir," she stammered, feeling perplexed. "He spoke of me? But how is that possible, sir? He—we only just met."

The man called Victor regarded Ingrid over the rim of his spectacles and snorted. "You of all people ought to know, Ingrid Damas. The man has visited your former establishment, The Three Ravens, several times over the last six months and has repeatedly asked for you and only you. He is…quite taken with you, it would seem," he chuckled. "He admires your skill set."

"Oh, I'm sure he does," she muttered darkly, biting her tongue. Ingrid took a moment to study the man sitting across from her, suddenly feeling incredibly small and out of place in a magnificent place such as this. Victor and his life seem to have departed on separate tracks some time ago, but it was hard for her to tell who gave up on who first. The man walked as if his bones were only loosely connected, his shoulders moving like potatoes in a burlap sack with every heavy footfall. His clothes were not badly fitting, but the wrinkles were apparent even from a distance. His eyes never left the stack of papers on his desk and every so often, Ingrid would catch him mumbling under his breath a slew of bitter words spat more than spoken and the strong smell of whisky, similar to the kind she had served in the inn. She tried to imagine Victor as a baby, a toddler, a child, and now…this. His life was just one day at a time, but somehow all of his days lead him to being human surplus: unregarded, unrequired, and unvalued.

"I take it by your sudden arrival here, that your family, parents most likely, are in debt," he muttered, regarding the young hearth keep with some form of minor amusement.

Ingrid froze, suddenly feeling uneasy. How had he known such a thing? Perhaps word travelled around this place, after all. Maybe the other girls in the castle were in similar situations as she…

"Y—yes, sir, you are correct," she stammered.

"Come closer into the light, child," he said to her without looking up, instead rummaging through his drawers of his desk until he procured a large magnifying glass. "Indulge me for a moment and allow me to get a good look at you, girl."

"But—" she spluttered, but wasn't given a chance as the man strode so fast around his desk and shoved her forcefully into the chair, leaving Ingrid to feel uncomfortable and feeling slightly violated as he scrutinized her appearance. Was the Judge really such a vain and horrible man? What did her appearance have anything to do with whether she had adequate skills enough for the job or not? Besides, Roul had promised her that she was never to encounter Claude Frollo, as long as she worked in the kitchens or in the wine cellars. He had promised her, after all…

"Hmm," grumbled Victor, absentmindedly picking up the tail of her French braid and studying it closely. He cupped her chin in his withered hand and tilted her head slightly so he could study the graceful curve of her jawline, the natural curves of her ears with an appreciative eye. "Not stunning, but you'll suffice. Raven hair would have been preferred, but…"

Ingrid bit her tongue and rolled her eyes, wanting to scream. What was it with this judge and his preference for women with black hair?

"I saw that," snapped Victor, causing Ingrid to look up at the Head of House with wide eyes and a horrified expression, but to her relief, he winked at her and threw her a kind, tired smile. Ingrid felt her shoulders relax in relief, which was a surprise. She had not realized she had been so tense. Victor took note of her more relaxed state and took advantage of the silence to continue speaking. "The girl who had this position before you, she was a hearth keep, too. Roul has spoken quite highly of you, my dear," he added thoughtfully. "I would have you work in the kitchens and the wine cellars as needed be, given that is your area of expertise. Should you manage to perform adequately, however, you may be eligible for a promotion, so work hard, and perhaps your parents' and your own futures shall change drastically."

Ingrid could only nod numbly. Did that mean she had the job?

The man called Victor smiled at her, fiddling with his knuckles. "Yes, mademoiselle," he answered kindly, as if he had been able to read her thoughts. "That will be all for now. Should you need anything, you come to Roul first, and if, for any reason, the sentry is unavailable, you will report to me, child. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," she whispered, her voice merely a breathy squeak.

Ingrid stood quickly and wasted no time in heading for the door, flinging it open and almost barreling over Roul in her haste to flee, who had been standing outside waiting for her.

"Well done, milady," said Roul as he offered her his arm as they made their way downstairs to the servants' quarters, giving Ingrid what she recognized to be a genuine, beautiful smile. "You have done well so far and have managed to exceed my expectations. I hope that you will not have to remain in the kitchens for too terribly long, and I can move you somewhere more comfortable."

The man was getting a strange look in his eyes that she did not know what to think of, but she brushed aside such thoughts for now. "Here's your…room," he said at last, with some amount of difficulty as they stopped next to a room that was little bigger than a closet. She peeked inside to see a single cot and a chest at the foot of her bed. "You'll find everything you need in the chest, the—the squire you met earlier brought up your things."

Ingrid nodded, turning away from Roul. "Goodnight, Roul," she whispered, her voice cracking. She didn't want to talk anymore.

Roul looked as though he wanted to say something else, but fought against the urge and decided to leave the girl be. "Good luck, Ingrid Damas," he said suddenly. "I will be by at five in the morning sharp to wake you, but something tells me you'll wake up before then, given all the noise that goes on in this place."

He closed the door, engulfing the young hearth keep in pitch-blackness. She hoped that wherever his men were, they had released her parents from their debts. It was the only thing she could be certain of. At least having Uncle Marcus here would be a comfort to her, however minor. But in order to get out of here and completely pay off her parents' debts, she had to help Roul find this missing will. "I'll do it," she whispered to herself as she collapsed on her meager cot, intertwining her fingers on her stomach. "I have to do this, to get out of here," she said.

As she closed her eyes, she felt tears well in her eyes, burning and stinging her vision, and before she could get a grip on her emotions, her walls, the walls that held her up, made her strong, made her a true Damas, they just…collapsed. Moment by moment, her tears fell. She felt herself growing hollow as her life crumbled in her fingertips and she cried herself to sleep, completely unaware that the sentry was listening outside her door.

The next morning, the estate was especially frigid as October crept towards Paris. Before too long, old man winter's harsh temperatures and blizzards would be upon them.

Roul and Helen Damas, Ingrid's aunt and Sophia's mother, stood in the kitchens, conversing with the head sentry in low tones, all the while pensively watching her niece.

"I have to hand it to you, Roul; this new girl is very, very pretty. It helps that she is my niece, doesn't it? Damas women have a reputation for being beautiful girls," she chuckled. "Easily one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, and that's includes the…hearth maids Jehan's had upstairs in the past. You do know how to choose these women, don't you?" Marcus's wife teased. Lady Helen Damas watched her niece and the estate's newest hearth maid work, busying herself as she diligently wiped down the tankards and decanters after a thorough cleaning. A stray wisp of light brown hair had come loose from the girl's braid, but she either did not notice or did not seem to care. Ser Marcus's wife glanced sideways at the head sentry, chuckling at the look of bewilderment in the young man's eyes.

Roul said nothing, merely scowled in response and folding his arms across his chest. "She is," he admitted at last, sounding thoroughly disgruntled. The sentry never tore his gaze away from the young hearth keep. Marcus's wife knew that look.

Helen chuckled, taking a moment to secure her brown hair flecked with the beginnings of gray back into a loose bun, allowing a few tendrils to escape and frame her face. At fifty-four, Helen Damas was still a beautiful woman, a few more lines on her face as the years passed, but she was trim and lean, her figure curvaceous underneath her dress. She sighed in exasperation, brushed her hands on the skirts of her green velvet gown, and watched her niece work in silence for a few minutes.

Ingrid's aunt frowned, her brow furrowed as she watched the young hearth keep aggressively attack the tankards with her rag, never once looking up from her perch on the floor. She highly doubted Ingrid even noticed the two of them standing in the doorway, silently watching her and quietly conversing amongst themselves. "My niece would look prettier if she were less…"

"Less what?" snapped Roul, sounding annoyed.

"Oh, you know, Roul," Helen teased. "Thoughtful. My niece has always had this look about her, like…like she's thinking about something, perhaps a bit too hard. Ingrid frowns too much, have you noticed?" she asked coyly, noticing the catch in the sentry's breath and stifled her smile as she watched the man's eyes widen. "She needs to smile more," she said, sighing sadly. "She's always keeping herself occupied. I have said it for years, she spends too much of her time alone. The love of a good man that is what she needs. If she were more feminine, perhaps, then she would—"

It did not escape Helen's attention how the younger man's face paled in shock to the point of it was almost white, as if he had seen a ghost. She was teasing the man, she knew, but it was just too easy. It was no secret to her and Marcus the head sentry had frequented that shithole of a tavern, The Three Ravens, for the last few weeks simply to catch glimpses of her. The man was smitten.

"I'm glad your niece isn't!" he retorted hotly, feeling the beginnings of his temper swell at the turn their conversation was taking. "If she were, she wouldn't last even two days here!"

Helen chuckled. "I know," she said quietly, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "That's why she's going to do well here, Roul. After all," she added, unable to resist throwing in one last quip as she sauntered towards her niece to check on her progress, "she has you here to keep tabs on her, doesn't she?"

Her last comment had rendered the sentry speechless and red in the face. Roul frowned and watched, the slightest tinges of jealousy welling in his heart as he watched Ingrid's aunt approach the girl. The hearth keep was not the traditional sort of French beauty, but the girl had a rather striking, intelligent look about her that he loved, that he found strangely attractive. Perhaps there was something foreign about such behavior, even improper perhaps for the aristocratic society that he lived in. Ingrid Damas had a kind of understated beauty, perhaps it was because she was disarmingly aware of how pretty she really was.

Her pale skin was completely flawless, save for the one little freckle on her neck that the sentry found endearing. The hearth keep was all about simplicity, making things easy, helping those around her to relax and be content with what they had. Perhaps that is why her skin glowed so, it was the girl's inner beauty that lit her hazel eyes and softened her features. Whenever she smiled and laughed, like he had seen her do many times in the tavern, you couldn't help but smile along too, even if it was just on the inside, though Roul always found himself returning her smiles. That is just the kind of effect the girl had on him. To be in Ingrid's company was to feel that he too was someone, that he had been warmed in summer rays regardless of the season.

Roul stifled his urge to go over towards Helen and Ingrid, to offer words of comfort to the poor girl, who he was certain, must be missing home and the ease of the Three Ravens. See how crestfallen her face is, the haunted look in her eyes. The sentry was barely aware of the deep breath he inhaled and he held as he strained to listen in to Ingrid's conversation with her aunt. Gods, he was becoming just like her, wasn't he?

Ingrid's aunt sighed sadly, as she stared at her niece, never once looking up from her perch on the immaculate kitchen floor as she continued to wipe down the piles of tankards placed in front of her. Helen had seen this sort of repeated behavior frequently, with each new girl that came to work for Jehan Frollo. So very often, they busied themselves the first few weeks, given the first month was always the hardest in terms of adjusting, until the point where the poor things practically cracked under the pressure of such a high demand position. Ingrid's aunt did not want that to happen to her niece, and she knew just by the vigorous way the young hearth keep was wiping down the tankards, that the girl would be heading that way if she didn't do something to help her soon, but for now, she needed to let it be.

"I know you," she said quietly, kneeling down to look Ingrid square in the eyes. She kept her voice low so that Roul could not hear it. Her aunt reached out a tender hand and placed it steadily on Ingrid's shoulder. Ingrid kept her gaze fixated on the steel mug in her hands, still refusing to meet Helen's knowing stare. "You need to let yourself feel it," she sighed, pulling Ingrid close and pressing her lips against her niece's forehead for a gentle kiss. "Things will get better," she encouraged quietly.

At last, Ingrid finally looked up, startled. "Hmm?" she asked, tucking a wisp of brown hair behind her ear and taking a moment to redo her braid. She huffed in frustration at the interruption. "Did you say something, Aunt Helen?" she asked.

"Nothing, dearie," she sighed, rising to her feet and brushing her hands on the skirts of her dress. "The first few weeks here are the toughest, love, so if there is anything I can do to help you, just let me know and I'll—" but Helen didn't get to finish.

"She'll come to me," interjected Roul firmly, stepping forward, his green eyes flashing dangerously as he shot Helen Damas a dark glare. "Won't you, Ingrid?" he questioned, glancing down at her. At a loss for words, the girl could only nod shyly. "Good."

Rudeness, brazenness, impoliteness, all of these were things Ingrid could easily deal with and had dealt with several times before working in the tavern. However, given her current state of unease and vulnerability, acts of kindness felt like a stab in the heart. She could feel the beginnings of tears well in her eyes and she turned away sharply so Roul and Aunt Helen wouldn't see.

"Thank you both for your kind words and your concern," she said, her tone cold, and she cringed, knowing how it probably sounded. She was grateful her back was turned so she didn't have to see Roul's look of surprise and Helen's hurt expression. "I will take them into consideration, but this is my choice. I am certain that I will be fine, you two," she managed to gasp out. Her tone had been far too curt, more than she would have liked, before dipping her head and continuing to wipe the steel and leather tankards with her dishrag. "Please, just go and leave me alone." Ingrid's voice was clipped and hard, and on the verge of tears.

"Of course, dear," muttered Helen softly, seeing how Roul was opening his mouth to violently protest, she snorted and didn't give the man a chance to respond, seizing his arm and dragging him out into the hallway. She took one last look at her niece, whose back was turned to them, still vigorously scrubbing the tankards. "Best to let it out," she whispered Ingrid's way, turning away at last, not noticing the pained look Roul was giving the girl. Helen sighed, wishing she could do more to help her niece.

She was fully aware that the poor girl was probably now crying into the tankard she had been desperately using to wipe away her feelings of sorrow. Chuckling at the stunned and sheer determination on the man's face, Helen knew that her niece was safe with a man like Roul. If, judging by that look in the sentry's eyes were anything for her to go off, Ingrid would most likely have a new suitor before the year was out.

Oh, how she could not wait to tell Marcus.

"I'm worried about the master," spoke up Roul as they climbed the spiral staircase to the upper level of the estate. "He's becoming more and more unstable as the days pass, Helen."

"What does Jehan Frollo's mental state have to do with my niece?" she inquired, her hands on her hips as she turned to face Roul at the top of the landing. "It does not explain why you are so concerned about Ingrid's well-being. It's not like you're going to bed her, are you?" she challenged, a teasing sheen in her eyes.

Roul blushed and ignored the jab. He frowned, his expression growing dark and his green eyes losing any semblance of warmth that he tended to get the more time he spent in the young Damas girl's company. "You know Jehan has had…dalliances with some of the other hearth keep girls in the past. I still have not forgotten the last one, milady. Most of the girls claimed to have enjoyed the man's attentions, but I digress," he growled through gritted teeth.

Lady Helen gave a curt nod and waved her hand impatiently, wishing for the head sentry to get to the point. "Yes, yes, get on with it!" she encouraged, growing agitated. "What does that—"

"My point is that the young man is dangerous. I do not trust the young master to be able to…control his urges," muttered Roul sardonically, noticing the light igniting in Marcus's wife's eyes. "He grows more violent and volatile as the days pass. Just the other day, he was ranting and raving about a woman in his study, claiming one of the guards had let her slip past the gates, but the only new woman in this entire place is Ingrid," the sentry said, his gaze growing worried. "I fear that his dangerous state of mind will only grow worse, and if we cannot find Geoffroi's will soon, there's no telling what kind of new rules the man will invoke. I'm afraid that he might…take advantage of those around him."

Helen understood immediately where the sentry was going. "Oh, God," she whispered, her eyes widening in shock. "You truly don't think he would…force himself on her like that, do you?" she asked, truly horrified. "She cannot be allowed to—"

"I KNOW!" bellowed Roul, the last of his patience snapping at last. He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair and turned away for a second to compose himself. When he turned back to face Helen again, he had pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, like he were fighting a splitting migraine. "That being said, I think it best to keep young Ingrid working in the kitchens for the time being, even if she—if she can progress higher in rank the harder she works, I don't want your niece in his line of sight, ever," he growled through gritted teeth, the thought of sweet Ingrid ever coming face-to-face with Jehan made his blood boil and caused him to want to shout at the top of his lungs. "She's a beautiful intelligent young woman and I don't want to see Ingrid fall prey to Frollo's attentions. She must stay out of the man's sight; it's for her own good, Helen."

Helen Damas quickly nodded her agreement. Anything she could do to help her niece, she would. She sighed, looping her arm with Roul's as they continued their bleak stroll through the upstairs level of the estate. "She will remain downstairs."

"At all times," emphasized Roul moodily. "I wish that…"

However, his voice trailed off as the arrival of a dark figure behind them covered them both in shadow and he immediately fell silent. "So," came Jehan's smooth silky voice. "I understand we have a pretty little new hearth maid in our ranks, don't we?" he mocked, his tone cold and devoid of any feeling whatsoever.

Roul froze, the color in his face draining in mere seconds. Oh, God. Shit, he thought wildly. Now what do we do?

Helen was the first to recover. "Yes, m'lord," she said, her voice calm and confident as she stepped forward to address the judge. "She is my niece, Jehan, she's brand new here."

"Your niece, Helen? I was not aware that you and Marcus had any other family than your daughter and her husband," Jehan Frollo replied, his tone almost thoughtful and musing.

Helen bit back a snarky retort and it took all of her resolve to remain civil to the monster in front of her. "Yes, my lord. My husband has a brother named Liam. Your new hearth keep is his daughter, my niece, Your Honor," she said, hoping she was calm. Marcus's wife could feel her limbs begin stiffen and tense.

The young lord's ice-cold stare was fixed on Roul, who had perfected a look of perfect impassiveness, but Helen knew him. He was panicking. His eyes betrayed him. "Perhaps I should like to meet your niece, milady," he said, speaking to Helen, though never breaking his steel gaze from his head sentry. "Lord knows I could use a new girl to tend to the fireplace in my study. What is the girl's name?" he asked civilly, as though what he were discussing were the most normal thing in the world.

"Ingrid Damas, Your Honor," spoke up Roul through clenched teeth. Helen closed her eyes warily, desperately wishing the sentry would be able to control his flaring temper.

"Beautiful name for no doubt a beautiful woman," the judge mocked, entwining his fingers together and clasping his hands behind his back as he walked, his cloak billowing behind him as he strode over to the estate's library. "I know what you and the lady Helen have been up to, Roul. You have been keeping the girl from me since she arrived here. But you have forgotten that the walls have eyes and ears here. Did you seriously think I would not know when a new maid comes to work for me?" He scoffed and rolled his eyes, looking disappointed "But it matters not. That ends tonight. You will inform the girl working in the kitchens that she is to join me tonight. I want to talk to her, to meet her, and…become acquainted with my members of staff that are working for me."

"Yes, m 'lord," murmured Roul, his entire body shaking with the effort to restrain himself.

With a sneer that curled Jehan Frollo's lips, he smirked and slammed the doors to his library, leaving the poor sentry and the distraught Helen Damas to ponder Ingrid's predicament in silence.

"What I have done? Oh, God, she is in danger here, I never should have suggested this to her. This is all my fault, Helen," whispered Roul, anguished, and would have almost fallen had Helen not already been supporting him. "What do I do?"

"She has to go," said Helen steadily. "Or else the young lord will suspect something is amiss. He cannot know that we are looking. We had better go and warn her, Roul. There's no other way."

Defeated, the sentry nodded, silently fuming in his anger. He had sworn to protect the young Damas girl, and he had failed Ingrid. Because of him, her life was about to be much more difficult…

If Ingrid's shouts were visible, they would be reaching over the air, strangling the life from Roul as he informed the girl of Jehan's demands to see her in his study. As her words got more bitter and wrathful, it would be possible to see why she gasped for breath. Every breath she drew in to shout at Roul felt like her last, every breath made her ache for it to be her last, especially if she had to spend an evening in Jehan Frollo's company, especially after Roul had sworn to her—promised her!

"I swear, Ingrid, that I won't let anything happen to you!" he yelled as he ducked to avoid a decanter being thrown at his head. "I'll be right outside the doors in the event anything happens!"

She let out a primal desperate scream that Roul knew would haunt him for the rest of his life. His heart broke as he watched the young hearth keep's cries for help go unnoticed, contained by the walls of her body. He felt powerless to be able to help her. "You promised me, Roul!" she shouted, her face red.

"I know I did," he muttered, feeling utterly helpless, as he could not bear to look into her eyes and see the betrayal there, her heartbreak. "And I aim to still keep that promise, milady. Yes, young master specifically requested your presence, but I swear on my own life that I will let no harm come to you," Roul swore thickly, anger and pain laced in his voice as he grabbed the young hearth keep by the shoulders to steady her. He tilted her chin upwards, forcing her to meet his gaze. As he looked at her, his expression softened slightly. "I swear it, Ingrid. I promise."

Roul's calm expression only seemed to further incur her wrath. Fuming, she jerked away from his touch as though his hands had burned her. "You are absolutely out of your goddamn mind and insane if you think I'm going up there alone with Jehan Frollo!" she bellowed. "I won't do it, Roul! He can dine alone for all I care!"

The sentry didn't even bother to chastise her for her language. Roul sighed, turning away, just as a light knock on the door sounded. He let out a sigh of relief as Helen opened the door and poked her head through. "Helen, thank God," he growled.

"I could hear the shouting from down the hall," she chirped cheerily, taking note of Ingrid's flushed expression and noticing how Roul was looking dazed and completely lost. The tension hung in the room. If it had been a color, it would have been scarlet red. Roul glanced over at Helen, who had a red and gold garment draped over her arm as she surveyed her niece's appearance, clucking her tongue in mock disapproval. She forcefully sat her niece down on the edge of her bed in her quarters. She steadied her niece by her shoulders and commanded her to look at her. "Look at me, Ingrid," she ordered. Reluctantly and begrudgingly, she looked, scowling.

"What?" she snapped, not wanting to meet Roul's apologetic gaze. "Just leave me alone, Aunt Helen! I already told Roul I'm not going!" she retorted hotly, biting back the worst of her temper. She folded her arms and tapped her foot restlessly.

"Oh, yes you are," she replied firmly, her maternal instinct taking on the tone of her husband's, commanding and hard. "This is your chance, Ingrid, don't you see?" she urged desperately. "Like it or not, the young lord of this castle has…taken a shine to you, and you can—"

"I won't sleep with the man, Aunt!" she bellowed. "I will not!"

"You won't have to," interjected Roul angrily, looking outraged and beside himself at the very thought. He dared to sit on the edge of the cot next to Ingrid and placed a hand on her shoulder, cringing as she flinched away from his gentle touch. "Helen and I will be standing right outside if he should try it."

"Besides," muttered her Aunt Helen thoughtfully, lost in thought. "If you were to, shall we say, get closer to Jehan Frollo, which might allow you ample time to search his study for the will. No one is forcing you to do this, love, but it might help."

Understanding lit in young Ingrid's eyes, and just for a moment, the briefest flickers of excitement flitted through her hazel orbs, but it was quickly replaced by fear. "Oh, Aunt, no, no, I can't."

But what her aunt said next surprised her. "It's what Sophia would do," and that immediately silenced the hearth keep.

Ingrid sighed, nodding wordlessly. She had always held her older cousin, Sophia, in immense regard and respect, and had always striven to be more like her cousin, fearless and brave. Seductive when the time came for it, and funny. "Fine," she growled, snatching the dress from her aunt with perhaps more force than was necessary and turning to glower at Roul. "But get out."

"Why?" he asked, looking offended.

"I have to change," she snapped, annoyed as she glared at the sentry. When Roul didn't budge, she grew even angrier. "OUT!"

Stifling a grin, Roul scrambled to his feet and hurried outside.

"We'll have to fix your hair, of course," he could hear Helen mutter disapprovingly. Ingrid was mumbling something, but he could not make it out. "Oh, hush yourself, girl. He'll be fine."

"But I'm going to be late for the dinner, Aunt Helen!" she protested, and had been about to say something further, but a piercing; thunderous roar seemed to shake the hallway outside her quarters. "Oh, damn!" she swore under her breath, scrambling to put the dress on as her aunt quickly helped her, running a brush through her hair. "Stay here, Aunt Helen."

"WHERE IS SHE?" Jehan's baritone voice bellowed.

"I will deal with him. Leave the young man to me, Aunt Helen. I won't let you take the fall for this when this was all my fault," Ingrid whispered fiercely, the beginnings of determination seeping into her quiet, shy voice as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, wishing with all her might that she had even just an ounce of the bravery her cousin Sophia had. Before her aunt or Roul could protest, she flung the door open and hurried out into the hallway, ignoring Roul's gaping stare at the dress she wore. She exchanged a quick glance with the sentry and blushed. The dress her aunt had forced her to don was a beautiful red gown flecked with bits of gold. The Frollo family house colors. Her aunt had removed Ingrid's hair from its usual French braid, and had allowed her light brown hair to tumble in natural waves to her shoulders in gentle layers, framing her face. She had applied a light, natural salve to Ingrid's lip, emphasizing their fullness. The red gown was made of velvet, with long flared tow sleeves and an etched brass design of a dragon on the bodice. Ingrid flushed and tried to ignore Roul's piercing stare.

"Where were you?" The young lord demanded. She could see his towering form heading towards her, his muscular, lithe form evident underneath his black doublet and black leather breeches and boots that shone and gleamed in the light. Even Ingrid had to admit the man was handsome, in a refined, intimidating way.

"My deepest apologies, m 'lord," she mumbled, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks as she sank into a deep curtsy. "It was—"

"It was my fault, Your Grace!" squeaked Helen, bolting through the doors of Ingrid's quarters and curtsying deeply in front of Jehan, not wanting to meet the lord's eyes, her face flushed a bright crimson red. "My niece had been on her way up to your study, but I insisted that she change into more appropriate garb," she stammered, tripping over her words. "I could not let her go to your study and trek mud all over the floor, Your Honor. Blame me if you must, but it is not my niece's fault."

Helen Damas fell silent and held her breath. Jehan Frollo frowned and took a moment to look over the newest hearth keep's slender figure in the red dress appreciatively. She had a good physique, and a pretty face. "Your intentions, Milady Helen, were noble, and for that, I will allow you and Marcus to stay. You are correct in the fact the dress is quite pleasing to the eye, and it does flatter her figure exceptionally," he murmured thoughtfully, picking up a lock of her light brown hair and toying with the end of it. Ingrid shuddered at the intimacy of the gesture, but she did not dare shirk away or show her disgust. Her parents were counting on her.

She needed this job.

Her Aunt Helen breathed an audible sigh of relief and straightened her posture.

Ingrid took a deep breath and dared to meet the Judge's gaze. "I will attend the dinner per your request, Your Grace," she said quietly, feeling her voice rise slightly. She noticed out of the corner of her eye Roul's face drain of color and her aunt exchange a look of bewilderment with the sentry. "However, I have my own conditions. You will hear me out, Your Honor."

"Ingrid!" hissed Roul through clenched teeth, shaking his head.

"Don't do this," advised her aunt, but she ignored them both.

"Oh, really?" smirked Jehan as he glanced down at the young hearth keep. He towered over the young girl at well over six feet, and outweighed her.

Still, Ingrid Damas did not back down. "Yes," she continued, actively ignoring Roul's and her aunt's horrified stares. "I am only here because I saw no other viable future for myself, Your Grace. Also, my parents are indebted to the king. Working here is the only way I can free them. In any case, I am only here for that reason and that reason alone. And you should know that before this goes any further, that all forms of physical contact up to and including sex are off the table."

Ingrid did not break eye contact from the lord of the estate as a stunned silence fell over the hallway. Roul looked like he wanted to pass out, his face was white. Her Aunt Helen, on the other hand, was staring at Ingrid in a new light, looking impressed.

She briefly glanced back to her aunt, who gave a curt nod. Ingrid turned back to Jehan, who was regarding his young hearth keep with an introspective gaze, his look thoughtful. Clearly, he admired her brazenness and her ability to speak her mind. "I do not think you are any in place to make demands, wench," he replied coldly, though there was something in his eyes. He was amused. "You have forgotten your place here in this house."

"Sire," urged Roul gingerly. "I would advise you to call her by her proper title. She is a Damas, Your Grace, and every bit a lady as Helen." He flinched and fell silent at the dark look Claude shot him. "My apologies, Your Grace, forgive me," he mumbled.

Jehan shot the sentry a withering look and turned back to Ingrid, offering her his arm. She hesitated, but relented under the withering stare he was giving her. The Judge sighed. "I am not a monster, sweetheart," he said stonily. "Despite what some might tell you," he growled, shooting another look at Helen and Roul. "I merely seek someone to keep me companies in the evenings while I eat. Much as my father did with my sister prior to his passing."

Ingrid nodded her head slowly as she took in all the information. She sighed and shot one last desperate, pleading look to Roul, who was looking beside himself at not knowing what to do, and were it not for Helen restraining the man, she had no doubt in her mind that he would probably gone to such extreme lengths as attacking his superior in order to protect her, but why, she didn't know. She was nothing, just a simple kitchen girl. The sentry was getting a look in his eyes that almost made her gasp as she dared to glance back behind her one more time as she followed the Judge to his study up the grand stairwell. He was eyeing her figure in the red dress and his gaze drifted upwards where it landed on her hair, loose and flowing freely around her shoulders. Lust and desire for her, most certainly, but…perhaps even the beginnings of something stronger. Love.

In her life so far, Ingrid had only fallen in love twice. Once with an opposite who did not return her affections and once with a mirror as soon as she matured and grew into her quiet beauty. It would have been so neat for one to follow the other, but like so many things in life, they came close together. She could only ever be with one, give the other one heart, one body, and one soul. So though both were precious gifts, one had brought Ingrid joy and the other brought pain. Ingrid knew as she looked at Roul, that if he were ever to be the one she would be fortunate enough to give herself to, she would place her all in his hands.

She would give him the power to save her or destroy her. With perfect love came perfect trust and the knowledge that should her love ever wish her gone, she would raise no hand in defense. The look of heartbreak in Roul's eyes was almost too much to bear. Ingrid quickly swiveled her head around, facing front and tried to focus on something Jehan Frollo was saying to her.

I have to do this, she repeated to herself as a mantra. For Roul.