~Hey guys! Happy Friday! To hear Erika's song, look for Song of the Sea lullaby on YouTube!

Have a great day everyone!

KeshaRocks~

I'm grateful for the distraction; it allows my mind to wander from the oily tendrils of my dream. If I focus hard enough, perhaps it can be forgotten . . . soon.

Despite the refreshing, hour-long lesson Helga had given me, apparently that was merely for my posture and manners. Readying the Mistress's tea and meals is something that requires even more preparation and knowledge. I stick close to her side as she leads me down into the kitchen. It would be a lie if I said I didn't appreciate her company.

The kitchen is bustling as normal, the smells of many meals mingling together as Helga and I enter. My eyes instantly spot Gretta's fiery curls hovering over the roaring hearth, stirring a deep-red concoction of a broth with greens and bits of fat floating along the top. It smells like beef. Bianca has been put in charge of the oven, pulling forth the sixth loaf of bread. Her perspired skin gives a rather radiant glow, her long black hair braided down her back.

"Welcome ladies," Gretta says with a bright smile. She wipes her forehead with her apron, readjusting her curls that had apparently been pulled into a loose knot.

"Morning, Gretta." I say with a hesitant smile.

Bianca's smile is just as cheerful as she kneads another bundle of dough. "It's odd seeing you in a dress again." The corners of her lips turn down. "Did something happen?"

I look to Helga, who ignores the women's presence to walk over to a counter and begins preparing a tray of tea. Since she's not reprimanding me already, I walk over to Bianca. "Something did happen. I just don't know if it's good or bad." I admit in a low voice.

Bianca matches my tone, "What happened?"

Another glance over the Helga, now readying the cup and saucer. "Cassandra meddled with my business again. And it landed me a spot as the Lady's personal servant."

Dishes clatter to the floor, and all heads turn to find broken pieces of porcelain scattered about Nadine's feet. The young woman's crystal-blue eyes are wide as the saucers she just dropped, her skin flushing red like the bite of a winter's wind.

She stares at me – solid and unphased – her hands still splayed as if still holding the tray of plates.

Her gaze is . . . unnerving.

"You clumsy little fool!" Kathryn suddenly blurts as she hobbles from the slaughtering corner. "Clean that up!"

Kathryn blinks, as if emerging from a trance. Her eyes flick to Kathryn, then me before slowing kneeling down and beginning to gather the larger pieces of tableware onto the tray.

The head chef looks to me. No surprise, her eyes are filled with disdain. "So now you've become Lady Dimitrescu's personal servant as well?"

I shrug my shoulders. And a conspirator's grin stretches across my lips. "I'm just as shocked as you."

"Something must've happened for her to hire you," She says with blatant snobbery. "Helga's the only one I've known to ever serve the Mistress for an extended period of time."

"Then I am glad to have her as a mentor."

"We don't have time for this." Helga sneers, and several of the girls – even Kathryn – flinch at her tone. "Erika, come here."

I waste no time walking over to her, sparing a passing touch on Bianca's shoulder. Nadine finishes cleaning up the broken plates and meanders over towards the sinks where there's already three stacks of dishes. After another long glance, she turns away and begins washing.

When I reach Helga's side, I see the tray has been lined with an entire tea set for one person. Embossed with gold edging, the entire set is decorated on white bone porcelain with a lovely purple pansy and white flower design.

"Despite the Mistress's generational savoring for wine, she enjoys her tea in the morning." She looks over towards Gretta. "Is the Mistress's breakfast ready?"

"Always is." Kathryn says from where she now stands at the table, skinning a large rabbit I remember catching a couple of days ago.

"Erika, prepare two hot plates – medium size." Helga orders as she strides over towards a table set in the corner for completed dishes. There I can see a few silver plates already covered, and Helga picks them up to bring them to the tray.

I knew the table was always there – having glimpsed it when I first started – but never really looked since most of my time in here was spent facing the sinks. I ready the hot plates as commanded and watch Helga bring over a delicious looking dish of eggs, prawns and hard-boiled eggs garnished with parsley.

"I hope your balance proves its worth when taking this to the lady." Helga mutters as she finishes gathering the tray. "The Lady likes to have peppermint tea in the mornings. Two sugars, no cream on the first cup. Save it for the second. While she's enjoying her breakfast, it's wise to use the time to prepare her after-breakfast-dessert. She likes to have something sweet while enjoying her cup of tea with the cream."

I blink. "I shouldn't be surprised, but I still am. I guess I was let off easy when I first started working for Bela."

Helga's movements are smooth and concise, not once faltering or twitching. Of course, everyone moves out of her way first, so she never has to misstep. "Well, the Mistress does have things to do during the day. Her daughters are more . . . rambunctious. Alright, that should do it. Now, carry the tray. I will guide you to her Lady's private chambers."

My heart skips a beat. "Are you sure?"

Helga gives me a scolding look. "She's not going to be anywhere else this early in the morning."

"The last time I had even glimpsed into her chambers – which mind you had been merely yesterday – is how I ended up in this position."

"But you're going there with permission." Helga says, and I'm stunned when her finger taps the tip of my nose. I resist the urge to slap her hand away.

With a heavy breath, I take the tray, and try to hide my surprise with its weight. I also try – try and fail – not to look too cautious and unnerved; though it's hard not to when I know I'm carrying a very, very expensive tea set. Thankfully most of the servants step out of my way and once we're in the dining room, Helga guides me through the courtyard and towards Lady Dimitrescu's chambers.

Thankfully I've worked my body enough that some muscle has started to return to my form. So carrying the tray in my hands isn't as dragging as I had anticipated. It's different carrying a deer across my shoulders, as those muscles along my back – or whatever I managed to retain during the past couple of years – have grown accustomed to the constant use despite starvation hollowing me out. Now that I've managed to gain some of that weight back, as well as maintain my body's stamina, I'm not as ineffectual as I had previously been. And according to Helga, I'm going to need it.

We step into the tower annex, and I mind my balance as advised while following Helga up the stairs. I can't help but think of my father's training – he would have me walk on a narrow two-by-four, squatting low on one foot before switching balance between my feet. I had to hold a pail of water while walking, and just that small distance felt like an eternity if I spilled one drop. I like to credit him for my ability to now balance on thin branches.

At the top of the stairs, I come down the familiar hallway. My heart starts to race as the memories of yesterday begin to resurge. For all I know she'll probably kill me once I'm done serving her just for today. Helga urges me along with a sweep of her hand, and I grit my teeth as she knocks on the door.

She opens it a heartbeat later and peeks her head inside. From behind her, I can see the black of Lady Dimitrescu's hair. "My Lady, we've come with breakfast."

"Well bring her in, woman. Bring her in." Lady Dimitrescu urges, and Helga opens the door wider, stepping aside.

I inhale deeply as I step into the room, now actually gazing about instead of Alcina's overbearing shadow. Surprisingly, there's no bed, but there is a wardrobe and vanity decorated in the same golden filigree as the rest of the castle.

Lady Dimitrescu sits at said vanity brushing through her hair. It strikes me as odd; I had assumed she would have someone else brush her hair, but there she sits.

I'm awestruck as I find her wearing a translucent, peach-colored robe. Against the growing sunlight from the window, the gown halos her frame to reveal the shape of her long legs and curves of her hips. The long, belled sleeves end at cuffed ruffles at her wrists, the front dipping low to reveal the curve of her breasts. I forget how beautiful she can be. Even without effort.

I remember to curtsey, bowing my head. "Good morning, My Lady."

"Good morning, darling. Were you able to sleep well?" She drawls, but her gaze remains on her reflection, brushing the length of her hair.

"As best I could." I bring the tray towards a low-lying coffee table, carefully setting it down. Despite it being a stupid question, I don't want to be impolite, so I ask, "How was your sleep?"

"Uneventful." She sighs, tossing the finished section of hair over her shoulder.

As I prepare the tea, I catch her reflection staring at me. Helga already prepared the tea inside the pot, so all I have to do is pour. But even then, I'm afraid of somehow messing it up. Two sugars, no cream – just as Helga advised me.

My hands a quivering a bit, so I try to narrow my focus on the little things: minding my feet, cradling the teacup, taking deep breaths. As I approach, I try not to fidget as I watch the reflection of her golden eyes trace up and down my body – lingering in some places. I keep my focus on the pearl earrings peeking through her hair.

Made even worse when she says, "You've gained some weight, my dear. Your figure is starting to fill."

Even when she's sitting, she still has an inch of height over me as I stand next to her. I hand her the cup – her hands are cold, nails painted a dark color that reflects purple in the light – before looking at my reflection.

I hadn't bothered to look much beyond braiding my hair in the bathroom mirror, but she's right. I have started to fill – my hips are rounder, and my stomach has finally filled to where I can't see the imprint of my ribs anymore. I'm not where I used to be, or where I want to be for that matter. But . . . it's progress. A woman's body.

I run my hands along the front of my thighs, along my hips under the illusion of wiping my hands. "I suppose so, madame. Thank you."

She turns on the ottoman, scrunching a section of the robe until her hip is revealed. The rest of the fabric nestling to cover her front. Though even if it was revealed, I doubt she'd care. Helga stands off in the corner, quiet and observing.

Lady Dimitrescu takes a sip of her tea while I walk back to prepare a small plate of her breakfast. "I must admit it seems, foreign to see you in a dress again. Something I hadn't seen since your first started here a few months ago."

"Has it already been that long?" It had meant to be a private thought, but the shock has my speaking before I can think twice.

"Indeed." She sighs over the delicate clinking of stirring her cup. "Seems like only yesterday."

I'm suddenly struck with an opportunity. I finish readying the plate and turn to her, "My Lady, may I ask you a question?"

She finishes a sip of her tea before placing it on the vanity. "Yes dear."

I hand her the plate and take a step back, folding my hands at my front. "I was wondering if Cassandra had brought you, a-a letter of mine."

After her first spoonful, Lady Dimitrescu pauses, pursing her lips. She ponders as she chews, then swallows. "Would that have anything to do with the piece of paper I found on my desk?"

I don't need to know when. "Y-Yes, My Lady. It was the reason that had led me to your . . . indecency. I had written a letter about the creatures – the lycans – I had seen in the woods, and I –"

"I've read the letter dear, there's no need to explain."

I bite my lip. "It's just, I don't want you to have a misunderstanding. I was planning on asking for your permission to mail the letter to Luiza, so I went to Duke's room assuming you might've had business. That's when Cassandra caught me and led me to . . . you."

She takes a couple more spoonfuls, lazily chewing as she taps the tip of the spoon to her red lips. "You merely wanted to give a warning?"

"Only to the people I care about. Luiza nor my sister have reasons to go into the woods, but her husband does, and her husband is taking care of my sister. I just want them to be safe. Cautious."

Her eyes flick towards the window. "Hmm, I suppose that would be wise." I know she's not just thinking of me. Luiza is more than capable of keeping a secret if I asked her to; but she also cares about the well-being of the rest of the village. It is the reason why we put her in charge, since Mother Miranda nor the Lords could never be bothered. She slips the spoon from her lips and gives a gentle smile, "Well I don't see a reason why it can't be mailed."

I could fall to my knees at the relief. "Thank you, thank you, Lady Dimitrescu –"

"Now, you'll have to deliver it yourself,"

"Oh, I will. I promise."

"And of course, we'll have to confirm with Mother Miranda."

"Yes. Yes, of course, My Lady." I curtsey again. "Thank you, Lady Dimitrescu."

She sets down the plate and hands me the teacup. I control myself to grab it as smoothly as I can and begin to make her second cup. I add the cream this time.

"This does remind me: I'm afraid that a punishment must be made for your intrusion on my indecency." Lady Dimitrescu hums.

I stop pouring just short of the cup overflowing. I give it a quick stir, trying to ignore my spiking heartbeat. "My Lady?"

"While I understand your unfortunate circumstance – and I promise Cassandra has been punished accordingly – you still glimpsed into something that no one has seen before. Other than Mother Miranda."

I hand her the refilled cup and bow my head. "My Lady, I swore I wouldn't tell a soul."

"Hold your tongue." She suddenly snaps, and I flinch. "I think it's time we test just how much durability you really have. Now let me see . . ." She takes a couple of sips. "There's a few large carpets in the Opera Hall. Clean them. And the windows – upstairs and down – wash them."

Her voice switches between gentle and soothing, to quickly sharpening like any blade. Any interruption of mine is quickly cut off and met with a slicing stare of those golden eyes.

"Oh yes, and the tapestries and the draperies."

"Madame, I don't know how to –"

"Learn how to do it!" I lower my head, folding my lips in. "And don't forget the garden; then scrub the terrace, sweep the halls and the stairs, clean the chimneys. And of course there's the mending and the sewing and the laundry." – I can feel myself getting heavier and heavier, gripping my hands until my knuckles are white. There's a brief pause, long enough that I look up to find Lady Dimitrescu finishing her second cup of tea. She slowly blinks and gives a vulpine smile. "Oh yes, and one more thing. I'll need your assistance with my bath."

The response was so unexpected that I don't know how to react. I blink several times before looking up to her as she sets down the cup and saucer. I flick my eyes over to Helga who gives an inconspicuous dip of her chin. Looking back to Lady Dimitrescu gives a long stretch of her arms before rising to her feet. I waste no time gathering the teacup and finished dinner plate.

As she walks over towards the door, an extra sway in her hips, I ask, "Do you want your dessert before your bath, Madame?"

Placing the I avert my eyes as she runs her hands along her chest, lifting her breasts as if it will help stretch them too. "I can nibble on some sweets anytime. Today I am hosting a small dinner, so I must freshen myself up."

Were it not for the annoyance in her tone – as if hosting a small dinner is such an annoyance for her – I might've asked who was visiting. Without a word, Helga goes over to the double doors towards the lefthand side of the room while I finish stacking everything on the tray.

Lady Dimitrescu stops her just as she opens the doors. "That won't be necessary Helga, I'll take my bath in the hall."

Hall?

"Yes, My Lady. I'll see to it immediately."

"Not you. Erika. Take the dishes back down to the kitchen, then get on with your duties."

My back is to them, so I can't see Helga's reaction, nor can they see the color drain from my face. I'm sure there's very little ways I can mess up preparing a bath – but with my luck, she'll sever my head if the temperature is just a bit too off; or I used the wrong combination of bath salts and oils.

"As you wish, My Lady."

My heart drops as she approaches me, overlapping her hands on mine. I look her in the eyes, and just over her shoulder I can see Lady Dimitrescu watching us with a hand on her hip. Still that vulpine smile crawls down my spine.

I look into Helga's eyes and try to read her mind: I am on my own. But she trusts me to make the right choices. Just keep calm, focus, and keep my composure. I give a slight dip of my chin, and I feel her hands give mine a reassuring squeeze.

"I will show her to the hall, Helga. Thank you." Lady Dimitrescu says. Her first and only dismissal.

Helga takes the tray and curtseys before leaving the room. Her echoing footsteps are the loudest thing in my ears. Lady Dimitrescu followed after her, stopping before the door. "This way, dear."

She ducks through and I quickly follow, wiping my sweaty palms on my apron. She leads me only a few paces down the hall towards another door, though this one is less ornate than that of her private chambers. She opens the door and steps aside, allowing me to enter first.

My hesitation must've shown, because she says, "I have a quick matter to take care of, first. Prepare my bath for me. I won't be long."

I nod and step inside without question, and am met with a grand bathing room. Lady Dimitrescu shuts the door behind me, and I flinch from roping in my fear. I stand as still as the four statues bordering the large, in-ground tub rimmed in black. When I hear her steps fade off, I sink to the tiled floor.

I take deep, deep breaths, trying to calm my mind as thoughts race – did she figure out Helga helped me; was she not supposed to help; is she going after her. Will I be a failure in simply preparing a bath?

I place my palms on the tile, breathing in through my nose, and out through my mouth – over and over and over. I can do this. It's a simple bath; and if I fail . . . then I can try running. She may be large, but she'll have to catch me first.

I ball up a corner of my apron and just rub it between my hands like I'd seen Lacy and Luiza do while baking cookies. My head is starting to settle back on my shoulders and my heartbeat is slowing, my body growing warm again. After a couple of minutes, I rise to my feet.

The bathroom is rotund with four vanities set in each rounded corner, concealed by red velvet draperies; a small fireplace set at the center of the back wall. A single chandelier hangs overhead, only accompanied by two sconces flanking the fireplace. A couple of paintings hang on either wall, a few nooks crafted to hold extra towels and bottles and soaps.

Most unsettling are the four statues – a noble woman in a detailed gown, three pleading peasants, a general on a rearing horse, and a man cloaked with the hood over his head. A wine pourer – fitting.

I spot the knobs on the tub and quickly walk over to them, turning them both on full blast. I need to make up for lost time. After some quick adjusting, and near burning my fingers with how hot the water runs, I manage to get it to a comfortable temperature. I walk over to one of the cabinets tucked under the vanity and find a variety of oils and salts. I'm drawn to a gathering of floral scents at the front. Watery honeydew, wild honeysuckle, rain-kissed jasmine, orange flower. Hopefully these will do.

I pour them close to the running water, immediately granted with suds foaming along the surface. Their scents are rather, robust. More so than I ever imagined, but thankfully their combinations are riveting. An alluring blend of bright flowers dancing in spring rain.

It takes nearly seven minutes to fill up the tub. And I hear the footsteps before she even opens the door. I stiffen and wish there was some way to make the water flow faster, but I am at its mercy as the footsteps get closer. Thankfully, the layer of bubbles makes the water level seem higher than it is, but it's also why I keep the water flowing. Besides, maybe it'll feel fresher to her than if I were to let the water sit.

The door opens and I hurry towards it as Lady Dimitrescu ducks through. There's no sign of blood splattered on her skin or robe, yet I can't help but shrink in her presence. It will never stop being intimidating.

The sniffs the air, "Hmm, interesting combination, Erika. Quite lovely."

"T-Thank you, My Lady. And forgive me, as I was never informed on any scents you would prefer."

"As long as it doesn't burn my nose or give me a headache, I think you'll be fine. I'm the one who has to deal with it anyway."

She saunters towards the bath, her hands unraveling the strong of her robe. My breath hitches as it puddles at her feet, revealing the generous curve of her ass. She's rather, liberal considering what I had seen yesterday. I know of the monster that prowls beneath her skin, making this deception all the more frightening.

Truthfully, she holds no flame to Mother Miranda – at least not from what my consciousness had conjured. Still, I would be lying if I said her figure wasn't tempting. A smooth hourglass shape that blends into long legs; very few freckles dotting along her back, the ends of her waving hair tickling the dimples of her lower back. As she steps into the water, she turns until the profile of her breasts are visible; nipples peaked against the sudden temperature change.

She sighs as she nestles deeper into the tub. While it's supposed to be big enough to house twelve people, her legs take up half of its diameter.

"There's a pitcher over in the left-hand vanity, Erika. Retrieve it."

I clear my throat. "Yes, My Lady."

I keep my distance from the bath while Lady Dimitrescu leans back to dip her head into the water. Searching through the cabinet, not only do I find the pitcher, but I find several loofahs and washcloths and more soaps. I grab an extra one smelling of dark berries and rich amber, placing it atop a saucer.

Returning to the edge of the tub with controlled steps, Lady Dimitrescu has sprawled her arms, her one hand fiddling with the bubbles.

Pathetically, I mumble, "Here you are, My Lady."

In response, she merely gives a wave of her hand. At first, I believe her to be dismissing me.

But then she glances over her shoulder at me, and I see her eyebrow lift.

My throat tightens. Rather than be intimidated . . . I'm curious. Is this some kind of test? And what might she be trying to figure out? She seemed rather, chipper this morning. At least for her safe for when she listed all of my chores as punishment. I didn't smell any opium in her room –

"Don't be shy, darling." Lady Dimitrescu purrs.

"Y-Yes, My Lady."

I kneel at the tub's edge and carefully reach over her arm to dip the loofa into the water. I can already feel the oils clinging to my skin, the loofa instantly feeling softer after a few squeezes. Already the tiles are biting into my knees, so I adjust my seat and trace the sponge up Lady Dimitrescu's arm.

When I reach her shoulder, I squeeze the water and slowly trace back down. A part of me worries about even spilling a drop of water outside of the tub's edge, but as Lady Dimitrescu adjusts herself once more, I can assume it's not much of a concern.

I dip it back into the water again and begin gently scrubbing in circles back up her arm. I shouldn't be surprised that this is part of my duties, but something about it seems . . . off. I had presumed Lady Dimitrescu to be a woman of certain, privacies. Especially after what I had seen of her, I didn't think she'd want me in a room with her ever again.

I continue her right arm for a couple more times before switching to her left. As I'm scrubbing her shoulder, is when I say, "If I may, My Lady, I wish to apologize."

She stiffens ever so slightly, and it oddly reminds me of the stillness of a predator ready to pounce, not of fearful prey. "For what, dear?" she asks quietly.

I work my way up from her left wrist. "For causing problems, among your family."

"What problems, darling?"

"Well, it just seems like there's such, tension between your daughters. And it would seem it is, caused by me. I don't want to be the reason for that, but I don't know what I could do to fix it."

"There's nothing for you to fix, Erika. I can promise you that." She shakes her head and mutters under her breath, "Those daughters, I swear it. They've always had their quirks, but I can assure you – from their mother's perspective – that this is no different than how they are normally."

I don't know why her words hurt more than comfort. Am I truly special to Bela? Or am I just another songbird for her? Another toy she's trying to keep from breaking at the hands of her sisters.

I rub along the back of Lady Dimitrescu's neck, and she aids me in angling her head, allowing me better access. "Well, I appreciate your words. I'd had to be the cause of problems among a family." Beneath my breath, I mutter, "That's something my mother would do."

"You don't seem all that fond of your mother. But isn't she one of the people you're trying to protect? One of the reasons you took a position here?"

"Yes," I say with quick recovery, "but that doesn't mean she hasn't had her problems."

"Indeed. I do recall you mentioning such things during your interview. I assume it had to do with your father's passing."

"Yes, My Lady. She . . ." I bite my lip, "she didn't handle it well. And in turn she settled on certain, outlets that weren't healthy for my little sister to see."

Lady Dimitrescu angles her head back so I may scrub along her collarbones. I still keep a respectful distance from her peaked breasts. "Mm, death can be a devastating thing, my dear. I must admit I understand her grief."

"You do?"

A slow nod, and I watch as her eyes grow distant for a moment. A shadow passing over that wholly gold stare. But as quickly as it appears, it vanishes in a few quick blinks. "Well, don't we all. No one is safe from death."

"I suppose not," I utter quietly.

Lady Dimitrescu stirs in the water, turning to face me and fold her arms along the edge. The ends of her hair float along the surface, some clinging to her shoulders. "How about you sing me one of those songs Bela's talked about?"

I blink, my hands frozen where they had been cleaning her shoulder. "Bela talks about me?"

"Talking is a very generous term," Lady Dimitrescu chuckles. "She's not very forthcoming with information. I'd be lucky if I got more than one syllable out of her. But ever since that night of the party, I've been interested in what other talents you possess." She turns her back to me again, but not before reaching over to my left and plucking a comb from the saucer. She hands it to me. "Brush my hair while I take care of myself. Should be mind-numbing enough."

She settles into the bubbles again, taking the sponge and starting to scrub her chest and stomach. My mouth is slightly agape, hands still lingering in the air, but I regain my sense quickly and clap my lips together.

I grab a towel and wring the excess water out before dipping the comb into the water and slowly begin detangling her hair. It's much shinier than I anticipated and nearly as soft as silk. Its length is as long as my arm.

I try to think of the other lullabies that are suitable for bath time. An odd thought, now that it's formed in my head. There are plenty of songs for bedtime, even some whose chipper tune helps with chores. But what about a bath – a time of relaxation, yes, but still with an anticipation of a day's work, depending on the circumstance.

The comb catches a knot and I freeze for a moment before carefully detangling it. "I have a tune, I suppose. But it's not very appropriate for the setting."

"Just let me hear something, dear." Her tone is laced with a growing annoyance that has me settling on a lullaby I've heard mothers sing to the children of sailors.

"Hush now – my story. Close your eyes and sleep. Waltzing the waves, diving the deep. Stars are shining bright. The wind is on the rise. Whispering words, of long-lost lullabies. Oh, won't you come with me, where the moon is made of gold. And in the morning sun, we'll be sailing. Oh, won't you come with me, where the ocean meets the sky, and as the clouds roll by, we'll sing the song of the sea."

It's an effortless tune; the tempo slow but swaying just like the waves it represents. It makes one want to waltz in slow, even silly circles because it's nothing formal or grand. I remember my father holding me in one arm while the other held mine in that childlike waltz I'm convinced every daughter has with her father. Slow and swaying steps, and if the song is accompanied by a flute and simple percussion it's enough to want to spin and twirl.

Singing it does help me relax a little bit while I continue to brush Lady Dimitrescu's hair.

And she seems to relax a bit. Her movements of washing become slower, lazy.

"Where would you say you qualify in class, Erika?"

"My Lady?"

"You came to me a rather poor and malnourished young woman, yet you can sing and play piano like most noblewomen do."

"Oh, that. Well, before my father's passing, we were . . . lower middle class, I would say. We had enough money to keep us comfortable, but lived in a home nowhere near like Luiza's. I never knew if that was a choice, or just because of status."

"Did you ever take lessons?" she asks, her head angling ever so slightly towards me.

"I did. Piano and singing and dancing. I enjoyed them all, despite the insistence of my mother."

"What do you mean, dear?"

Perhaps it is foolish to be laying myself so bare to this woman, but on the other hand, I don't have much to lose. "Well, we weren't a part of the high society, and it felt like my mother was trying to . . . train me, to join them. Grant me skills that would help marry me off to a rich man, gain an inheritance, secure her future."

"Your mother took what you loved, and made it into a social weapon?"

"Basically. She said it was the only redeeming qualities I had, might as well make use of them." Another pause, lowering my hands to my lap. "Everything was always a ploy for her. I would've married for money and power were it not for her. I'm surprised she didn't train me on how to kill a man in his sleep. The only time I can ever recall her being, normal, what around my father. She truly did love him, I don't doubt that for one second – it just seemed like she wanted me out of the house as quickly as she could."

"And your sister never received any of this attention?"

"She wasn't even born yet at the height of everything. It's also why I enjoyed spending time with him more. The things he taught me actually felt useful. And then when he passed, he was right. And my mother fell into a pit of despair she could never climb herself out of."

Lady Dimitrescu's hair slips out of my lap like a black snake, and then her forearms come into my view. I look to her as she rests her chin on her arms. "I assume she was no better when you joined the castle."

A slow, slow inhale of breath. "No. I actually had legal guardianship signed over to Luiza for my little sister, as well as a restraining order to keep my mother from going anywhere near her. I don't trust her." I set the comb aside, gathering the loofa and spare soap that she never touched. "And some small, gnarled place inside me hates her for her weakness, for her neglect, for the months she had put us through. Lacy forgave her, but I had taken a step back from my mother, put up a wall to protect myself from needing her, and nothing was ever the same between us again. If there was even anything to begin with."

Pushing the try aside, I rest on my hip, letting my legs stretch just a little bit beneath the skirt of my gown. I can't help but feel heavy.

"It is also what I admire about you and your daughters."

"What is that, my dear?" Lady Dimitrescu asks as she begins to slowly push herself towards the center of the tub.

"You've raised them as high society ladies – taught them what needs to be taught – but you don't push them into the life. You let them walk into it. They have to behave themselves at parties and in front of company, but once everyone leaves you, let them let their hair down, for lack of better wording. You never force them to do anything they don't want, or make them unhappy."

Lady Dimitrescu blinks, seemingly surprised at the compliment. Her face quickly smooths, and slowly starts to rise from the water. "I won't pretend like they're perfect, but no one ever is. I can think of a few times I've had to correct them, as well as wonder where I went wrong in raising them."

I swallow thickly as she ascends from the water, her hair plastering to her front, covering her nipples in thin strands of black. The water slowly dribbles off of her skin, puddling as her feet. I quickly grab a towel – which is about the size of a tapestry – handing it to her as well as collecting her robe.

I neatly fold it before walking back over to Lady Dimitrescu, patting and rubbing herself dry. I stand there with her robe in my hands while she sensually dries herself, her hands following the voluptuous curves of her hips and breasts.

She holds the towel to her front as she approaches me with a lover's smile. "Well, thank you for your assistance, darling." I nod, but I'm stopped short as her hand takes my chin, lifting my gaze to those golden eyes. "You're off to a great start."

I blink, taking steading breaths while praying my eyes don't betray me to look at the shadows that curve along her breasts. I can feel my cheeks getting warm, but hopefully that'll be more amusing to her than insulting.

"But don't forget you're still under punishment," she muses, releasing my chin. "I suggest you get started."

I'm snapped back to reality at the remembrance of all the chores she assigned me, and I might as well had thrown a bucket of cold water onto myself.

I bow my head. "Yes, My Lady. Right away."

She finally wraps the towel around herself. "Report back to me when you're finished. I'll likely be in the dining room. Then you'll be free to carry on whatever duties you promised Bela."

"Yes, My Lady." I bow my head. And then, "By the way, thank you. For saving my life."

I turn and head for the door, my hand upon the knob when I feel her presence behind me – and I could also hear the padding of her wet feet.

I turn around in time to see her towel-covered breasts a foot from my face. I bite back a yelp, just as her the tips of her fingers touch under my chin.

My head is tilted up and I stiffen when I feel her lips brush my cheek. It's quick and soft – light as a butterfly's wings. But it's enough to make me stiffen like stone.

Lady Dimitrescu doesn't say anything. Only offering the kindest smile I've seen upon her face. Something brews beneath it, which still has me one edge. But there is also something, genuine in her stare.

She gives me another smile before stepping past me into the hallway, wet towel and all.

I can only feel the pulsing in my core, and I fall back against the wall, stunned.

Whatever test that had been – if it even was one – I apparently had passed. I place a hand over my core, feeling the warmth through my skirt and apron.

I shake my head and pat my cheeks, snapping myself out of . . . wherever the hell I was going. I have work to do.