I don't know how long I laid there on the stairs, my face buried in my hands, but I ran my fingers through my hair, gripping the roots so tight every follicle screamed in agony. The black eye throbs with every breath, every heartbeat, but that pain is secondary.

Helga doesn't say anything; I don't think she even sits. But I can feel her presence at my back, an immovable force clothed in burnt sienna. She won't let me stay like this for long – I'm honestly surprised she let me stay here for over a minute.

When I feel the initial wave ebb out of me, until my tears are dry and all I have is a congested nose and reddened cheeks, I sit up and lean against the balusters, wiping my hands over my face. As if it would undo the raw cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.

Helga waits with her hands folded in her front, a picture of grace and poise. She looks down at me, her stare almost pitying. She draws a white handkerchief from a pocket in her dress and hands it to me without a word. I take it with a grateful nod, not even trying to be quiet as I blow my nose in the soft fabric.

Dainty, quiet footsteps emerge from the dining room, causing Helga to look over her shoulder. I follow her gaze, but I don't stand. Between the balusters, I can see a glimmer of wild, fire-red hair, and a soft, curvy figure.

Gretta gives an apologetic wince as she approaches Helga and I at the base of the stairs. In her hand, she carries a single cup of steaming tea; the little saucer decorated with intricate flowers of varying colors.

"I thought she might like some tea." She addresses Helga, still standing tall as any sentinel.

When the housekeeper angles her gaze at me again, I give another wipe to my eyes before pulling myself to a stand. I take the three steps down, and accept the cup.

"Thank you," my voice, now hoarse and thickened, quivers.

"Kathryn was way out of line." Gretta says by way of greeting to me. I nearly cringe at the gentleness in her voice.

"You looked like you believed her." I say.

"I admit that the string of events is heavily coincidental. But it's not like you purposely went out of your way to get those women killed."

Even with her words, her eyes are still weary, as if to asking, Right?

I take a long sip, my fingers tightening at the hot wave of the chamomile-flavored tea. "Why would I want to kill anyone? I would never wish that upon anyone, unless I truly, truly hate them."

The corners of her mouth curve upward. "So does that mean you don't hate me?"

My own lips curve in a ghost of a smile as I finish another sip. And another. "I assume she doesn't want me back in the kitchen?"

Gretta bites her lip, looking to Helga. The housekeeper gives a shallow dip of her chin. "I can arrange to have you mop the floors of the two halls in the meantime. If you so desire."

A part of me roars to go back into the kitchen, but since Gretta seems to be the only one who bothered to come out and see me – not that I expected anything from Bianca or Nadine or anyone – it would seem that the battle for the kitchen isn't in my favor.

"I don't think I'm welcome back in there." I utter.

"She'll realize her mistake when things crash and burn." Gretta says with a gentle hand on my arm. "And without intention."

A huff of a laugh escapes me nose, my shoulders bouncing once.

Gretta taps her finger to the tip of my chin. "Cheer up Erika. It'll turn out alright in the end. You'll see."

I have a hard time believing her. How can she expect anything good in a place like this? It makes me wonder if she just, doesn't grasp things, or if she refuses to accept that this castle houses such vile, ruthless killers. That she is working for monsters that will thoroughly enjoy breaking apart someone like her. Still, it's refreshing to have someone . . . bright in this dark castle. I don't say anything as I finish the tea.

Gretta pipes brightly, "Oh, listen to me. Jabbering on while there's a breakfast to get on the table." I hand the cup, which she takes with quiet thanks. She gives another gentle touch on my arm. "I hope things work out for you."

Then she scampers her way back through the doors of the dining room. The doors closing soundlessly behind her.

After a heartbeat of quiet, Helga looks to me with a quick sigh. "Well now, I suppose we should gather your supplies while the rest of the maids prepare breakfast."

Right. Mopping the floors of the castle. That might occupy me well after the morning meal. Or until Helga comes to collect me for whatever meeting Lady Dimitrescu has in store for me.

I've already pre-written my goodbye letters to Lacy and Luiza and Erika. Death seems imminent at this castle. A dark, prowling cloud just waiting to strike. So I've already taken my time to writing out my thoughts and feelings and love for each of them, hoping that Duke will keep to our promise of sending and bringing any letters re exchange.

I suppose such a request wasn't needed to be kept quiet, but I still don't trust anyone at this castle – even if Helga has been more than helpful. Besides, they might pull the charges from my paycheck, and I want to spare whatever I can to Lacy and Luiza. A part of me should be concerned that none have bothered to right back, but it's completely understandable. They probably fear the risk of writing, putting a target on their backs, and mine.

I pocket Helga's handkerchief, since I doubt she'll want it now that it's filled with snot, and follow her down the steps into the Hall of Four. We turn a corner, and she shows me a hidden linen closet tucked into the wall where I find my mop and bucket and other necessities to clean the tiled and wood floors.

Helga leaves me with a tentative farewell, saying she'll see me again once breakfast is over. Something warm buds in my chest as I think of Gretta while I place myself at the center of the hall. It wasn't from the kindness in her words.

It was the genuine hope behind them.

I'd have to face the Dimitrescu family as they gathered for breakfast.

It didn't occur to me until I'd finished mopping the entire Hall of Four and moved to the main hall just up the short set of stairs. It is inevitable, I suppose; but I'm prepared to see them them after breakfast, not while they're on their way to it.

Wallowing about it won't help; I've already damned myself by choosing not to hide in the kitchen. I suppose I could lie, saying Helga assigned me another chore as part of my training, or I could be somewhat honest and say something that would excuse Kathryn not wanting me in the kitchen anymore.

Either solution has me subjecting one should Lady Dimitrescu ask. In any case, I'll choose saving Helga over Kathryn.

As I begin mopping the general area – saving the furniture and the dreadful pain of moving it for last – I begin along the divide of the dining room doors and make my way out. I turn over rug corners when needed, and save the bulk of the wet mop for the tiles before carefully tracing around any furniture.

I manage to make it an hour before my back starts to hurt, needing to stand up and stretch it for relief. I hear a few satisfying pops before I head back over to the bucket. The only other servants to come through the hall are the kitchen maids. Two notably lovely young women who could pass as sisters – twins in fact with their deep black hair and blue eyes. But where one looks like a churning sea, the other is like a cloudless sky. I don't know their names, and don't bother to ask. It's pointless, and apparently dangerous for me. But they spare me a kind if shy smile, and a dip of their chins in greeting. I return each gesture.

For now, it would seem that Kathryn's suspicion is her own, even if the entire kitchen staff is now contaminated by it – at least, if they believe it. I'm almost eager to see how those two will react to me once breakfast is over. I don't think Kathryn would waste her time or spare the effort to warn the girls to stay away from me. But rumors can spread quickly.

Despite the growing soreness wrapping around my lower spine, the quiet of the hall, and sense of being truly alone for the first time since I came to this castle, is enough to almost make me feel, content.

I'm actually about to start humming when I hear footsteps coming down the stairs. Immediately too light to be Lady Dimitrescu's. I wonder if it's Helga, and peer up – only to see the shimmer of a flourishing skirt.

A feminine voice is quick to follow. "I'm surprised to see you outside that stuffy, cramped kitchen. Did Helga demote you?"

The knee-wobbling relief of hearing Bela's voice is enough that I have to prop myself against the mop handle. I quickly scan behind her, and see no sign of her sisters or of Lady Dimitrescu. But I doubt they're far behind.

"In comparison, it's almost a promotion." I say as I force myself to finish mopping the space just beneath the little balcony at the middle of the stair's ascent. "Time for myself, some clean air, and no onions to sting my eyes."

As I turn around, I nearly yelp when I find her right behind me. God, these women are so quiet! I barely heard her finish coming down the steps, let alone across tile. This is also the first time I'm noticing how she stands a few inches taller than me.

Her gown is different this time: a beautiful silk piece of deep navy that dips low in the front to show a little cleavage, and a fitted bodice shows off the elegant hourglass shape of her torso. Her hair rests upon her shoulders, bringing emphasis to the pigeon-blood ruby about her neck. The tattoo on her forehead stark against her pale skin. Her mouth is clean, her lips their usual deep crimson.

She stares at me for a moment, nothing but pure assessment. I resist the urge to cover the relatively-healed bite on my neck. But I notice how her gaze pauses on the blackened eye I've been sporting since yesterday. I hadn't dared glimpse myself in the mirror, and my neck was such a primary concern, I had nearly forgotten about it. It must be in full bloom by now, and from my sobbing it's still throbbing in pain. I'll have to see if Helga can spare some pain medicine.

Bela blinks, as if catching herself staring. "How are you feeling?"

The question is so random, even if that's to be expected with these daughters. "I'm . . . better." I scuttle over to the bucket to dunk and wring the mop.

"Your posture says otherwise." She says, and this time I can hear her shoes click across the floor.

I don't bother asking why she would care to remember my bruised back. "Your question seemed to imply about my neck. Of which my statement still stands."

She doesn't answer. Merely angling her head to one side. Observing, but still a predator with those golden eyes. Her mother's eyes.

I seize the opportunity. "If I may, Lady Bela –" I begin, and curtsey, since I didn't upon her arrival.

"I thought I told you to spare me the dramatics."

I narrow my brows at her as I lean the mop in the bucket. "I'm just trying to be respectful. Your family might have my head otherwise." Bela rolls her eyes and folds her arm, but I continue. "Look, I just wanted to apologize, for the things I said back in the dining room."

She stiffens.

"You saved my life, arguably, from your own sister. I'd likely be dead were it not for you, and you didn't deserve the things I'd said out of anger, and spite. And I'd like to also formally thank you for your help."

I wipe my hands on my apron and take a deeper curtsey with my head bowed low.

Bela doesn't say anything for a few heartbeats as I rise to stand. Her eyes are still on me, her face seemingly indifferent as they scan me from head to toe.

"Daniela can be ignorant. Sometimes she needs to know her place." She finally says. "But . . . I accept your apology."

I bow my head again. "Thank you, My Lady. I am most gracious."

"Oh stop. Hearing you speak so formal to me is, odd."

I fight back the smile tugging my lips.

"Well, if that is all," she sighs, "then I'll take my leave."

She's about to head into the dining room when I remember –

"Bela." She turns to me, her skirt snapping to her legs before blooming around her. I bite my lip for a second before grabbing the mop. "Did you – how did you know about what happened between the laundress and I?"

I immediately start mopping as means to distract my nerves. It fails when she doesn't answer right away. I wait a few seconds before looking towards her, still mopping.

Her stillness is unnerving, those golden eyes swimming with restrained power. "That woman could never keep her mouth shut. I could hear you halfway down the halls."

A lie. There is only one entrance to the laundry room, and that's through the servants' passageway. The other door leads to the fenced yard where the lines hang. It may be her castle, but I doubt Bela would waste her time meandering through such heavily trafficked tunnels.

Nevertheless, I pause my mopping and say, "I appreciate, whatever it is you were trying to do, I suppose, but I don't need you to fight for me. If anything, their insults have become worn."

Bela straightens as she faces me fully. "And who said I was defending you? Perhaps I was just waiting for the right moment to beat the old bitch."

I flinch at her words. "It's just . . . the timing was just coincidental."

"Then that's all it is."

I clench my jaw and continue mopping. "Well, that coincidence has alienated me from the rest of the staff."

"What?"

I don't look to her. "They think I'm the reason that the laundress was taken to the dungeons."

Bela says nothing.

"Even if it wasn't because of me, I've been caught in the crossfire of whatever reason you chose to bring her down there. And oh so shortly after I met her that morning."

"I thought you didn't care what people think of you."

I pause and heave a sigh. "That had to do with my mother being a useless whore. I was never a direct cause for anything."

"Well, what does it matter to you now? It was a coincidence, and if that old hag wants to believe it was something else than fine. Let her."

"And what about that young maid Camelia? Should I let them believe I got her killed too?"

She stiffens.

"Yeah, before you came in, so did another young maid. She was serving Daniela dinner. She tripped and fell and spilled some fucking soup. Daniela was about to kill her, and I stopped her. I saved her. But afterwards, it would seem your sister went on a little hunt." I point a finger towards the dining room doors. Towards the courtyard. "Her head is now spiked on one of the statues in the courtyard."

I carefully watch Bela take a slow, steady inhale. It says enough.

She didn't know.

"My mother was different. People were judging me on things she did. And I knew who I was, or perhaps I was so focused on keeping my family alive that I didn't have the time for any contemplation. Now that I'm here, by myself . . . it's different. I still don't care what people think of me, but won't be the reason that people die."

Bela just stares at me, and after a moment, I decide to start mopping again. Might as well look like I'm doing something.

"You know she stole from you," she says.

My grip on the mop falters, but I keep working. I make a little circle around myself, taking all but one step away. "How would you know?"

"Compared to everything else she had, it was brand new. And none of the girls here have the guts to try and trade with Duke."

A pause. "A bonnet?"

"Yes."

"That's still not a good reason to kill her. I didn't want them anyway. They were a gift for when I started here. But I don't usually wear hats anyway."

"Just don't think that everyone around here is as innocent as you. Regardless, I cannot control the things my sister does, and that maid's death was inevitable. If Daniela didn't kill her, then Mother would have. She was granted a mercy." A moment of silence, safe for the squeak of my mop. "But that still doesn't give the others the right to assume. If you would like us to –"

"No." I blurt as I whirl to her. I fold my lips in. "Please, no. Just, don't do me any favors. I don't want to owe you anything, and I don't want to add more suspicion. I only ask that you please leave me alone. I just want to work."

Bela's fingers – I just notice she's not wearing gloves – fiddle with each other, as if itching to have her sickle in her hands. "What are you afraid of, Erika?"

"What?"

"What are you afraid of?"

I ponder. She doesn't rush me. "I'm afraid of being eaten alive." She frowns, pursing her lips. I continue, "I'm afraid of losing this job, of not making enough money. I'm afraid of having my family starve. I'm afraid of losing them." I shrug. "I'm afraid of being alone, I guess."

"I see." Bela replies softly. She takes two steps towards me, her hips swaying. "Remember how I said there was something else you could do? For your situation?"

"Barely," I answer without thinking. It's a little kernel of a memory, blanketed by my rage and utter emptiness of the event. "Why?"

"Would you care to know what it is?"

I do, actually. If a bit nervous, but –

"There you are, darling." A woman's voice croons across the hall.

I whirl, clutching the mop to my chest, to find Lady Dimitrescu mounting the steps into the hall. She wears her gown of white from before, her black, wide-brimmed hat askew, just like the day I met her.

I dip into a low curtsey.

Cassandra is behind her skipping her way up before hopping into the room with splayed arms. She wears a different black dress this time; one with no hood, and lose sleeves that fall at her elbow. Her smile is nothing short of vulpine.

"Mother." Bela says with a smile. It's a perfect combination of strained and genuine.

"Taunting the help, are we?" Cassandra croons as she skips past her mother. Bela's snarl is purely animalistic as her sister approaches. The middle daughter smiles at me, and I force another curtsey. She leans in close to my ear and says, "Daniela said she wants to play with you, again."

My entire body grows cold. Immediately I start trembling, enough so I grip the top of the mop handle, so it's not seen through my hands.

"Not on her life." Bela sneers.

"A little jealous, Bela? Because Dani got the first bite?"

"Not like you weren't just as upset." The eldest daughter crosses her arms.

Cassandra giggles as she asks me, "Allying yourself with the eldest? How ruthless of you."

I lower my eyes to the ground. "There is nothing to ally against, My Lady."

"Perhaps you've been too sheltered, if you believe that's so."

Bela cocks her head. "Say your piece and be gone."

"Careful, sister dear," Cassandra says. "You know precisely where your power ends."

Bela shrugs. "I also know precisely where to bite."

"You've been hovering around her like a bee to honey. What makes her so special?"

"That is none of your god damned business, and you can –"

"Girls, girls, girls. That's quite enough." Lady Dimitrescu says as she approaches, her steps heavy, but unhurried. I shrink as her shadow stretches over me. "I won't have you upsetting yourselves right before breakfast. Let the poor child work in peace."

"Yes Mother." They both say in unison.

"Daniela will be down shortly, in the meantime let's get ourselves situated."

God, if I have to deal with her alone –

Bela looks to me, her eyes claiming the same thoughts. But what Cassandra said, about her watching me . . .

"Don't forget to see me after breakfast, Erika."

"Y-Yes, My Lady. Should I just enter the dining room once finished?"

"No. Helga will come to collect you; you'll need to change your clothes before you see me." She says as she passes me.

"M-My – change my clothes, My Lady?"

But she's already ducking to enter the dining room.

Cassandra giggles again, turning on her heels and following her mother. "I look forward to seeing you." she purrs.

As she passes her eldest sister, she gives a foul look with a taunting grin. Bela snarls again, crossing her arms. Once her sister is inside, she hisses in Cassandra's direction.

I wait until the dining room doors are closed before I ask, keeping my voice as quiet as Cassandra had in the kitchen yesterday. "So, what was that offer again?"

The eldest daughter stares at me for a long moment, and then says, "You can choose, Erika. Me or them."

"What?"

"Do you want to be with me, or one of them? You decide. If you pick me, then I have jurisdiction over you. Little shits like Cassandra can't do as they will to what is mine — not without my permission. If you choose to decline . . . Well, I don't particularly care about humans, and seeing what Cassandra or Daniela does with you might be entertaining."

"Why would you offer this?"

Bela gives me a half smile, all bright white, and no remorse. "Because I can."

"If I were to choose. . . you, won't it confirm what Cassandra suspects? Won't she act?"

"A risk you'll have to take. She can try to act on it—and learn where it gets her."

A trap. And I'm the bait. Give myself over to Bela, and if either of her sisters try to take me down to the dungeons – or perhaps even just drag me to another room – Bela could have the grounds to kill them. Or whatever punishment comes close.

I have a feeling Bela might hope for that. It is not just a risk; it is a suicidal, stupid risk. It could either confirm what Kathryn had suspected of me, or, it might somehow clear my name. If Bela had been making a fuss over me as her personal servant, then it would make sense why the other daughters had been so interested. On the other hand, it doesn't necessarily clear the air of my being responsible for the death of those maids.

But, still better than nothing. And better than having the other sisters constantly circling me like vultures to carrion.

The eldest daughter, who lowers their eyes for no one . . . Perhaps I might learn a thing or two about what it's like to have fangs and claws. And how to use them.

"You," I whisper. "I choose you."

"Good choice, little kitten," Bela says, and the name is a challenge and an order. She turns away, but glances over her shoulder. "See you after the meeting."

I stare after her. I might've just made the biggest mistake of my life, but . . . it is strange.

Strange, that feeling of belonging.