I awaken warm and rested and calm.

Safe.

Sunlight streams through the window, illuminating the blues and whites of the bed curtain before me – shielding me from the autumn chill.

I try not to wince at the pain that shoots through my shoulder and leg as I shift. Swaddled in blankets and bandages, I glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. It's almost one in the afternoon.

My jaw hurts as I open my mouth. I don't need a mirror to know that nasty bruises have now bloomed and covered most of the expanse of my skin. I frown, and my face throbs at the movement. Undoubtedly, I look hideous. I try unsuccessfully to sit up. Everything hurts.

I notice some dried blood spots on my bandages, likely having sprouted during the night, and my ankle stings as my legs move under the covers. At least I'm not dead—either by Lord Heisenberg or Miranda's order.

There's movement to my left, and I realize Bela's arms are banded around me, her breathing deep and even. And I knew it was just as rare for her to sleep that soundly, peacefully.

I lean against the pillows . . . and I just stare. Her features are smooth from her deep sleep, the sunlight illuminating her porcelain skin, contrasting her ebony dark lashes, long and still. Her golden hair spills across the edges of the pillow like a golden waterfall, delicately coiling and gathering in the crevices and hollows.

For a heartbeat, I wonder if I'd dreamed up everything that had happened the night before. From the slight, pleasant soreness between my legs, I knew I hadn't, but . . .

What we'd done last night . . .

Carefully, I twist to face her, her arms tightening slightly, as if to keep me from vanishing with the morning mist. I delicately trace my fingers along her arm, noticing she's changed into her own nightgown – one of midnight black with a tasteful scattering of glitter to mimic stars in the night sky.

Her eyes are open when I nestle my head against the pillow. Within the shelter of the bed's curtains, we watch each other.

And I realize I might very well be content to do exactly that forever.

"Hello," I say quietly.

Her golden eyes shimmer. "Hi. How are you feeling?"

"Exactly how I look," I say, my mouth aching at the movement.

Bela let out a low laugh and props herself on her elbow, palm resting against her cheek. As the mattress shifts beneath her, I wince. Recovery isn't going to be easy. "It makes you look like a badass, if it helps."

I try – and fail – to fight the urge to smile. I immediately grunt at the pain that shocks through my face. Up this close, I can make out the details of the tattoo at the center of her forehead. A lavishly designed rose with its stem as sharp as a sword. A halo of light envelops around it, while a smiling crescent moon sits at its zenith. It's quite lovely; almost befitting. "I assume I'll be, out of commission, until I'm healed?"

Bela smiles back. "I've already spoken to my mother. It didn't really take much. She was already such a raging mess that she gave me the authority to make the decision."

I expected as much, since I wasn't dead, and wasn't woken up.

"You've taken so many days off while being here; I'm surprised the other servants haven't complained about it."

"Like any of them would have the gall to complain to you or your family."

"I meant complain to you."

I playfully pondering before saying, "Like any of them would have the gall to complain–"

I'm cut off by Bela chuckles as she rolls out of bed. Her nightgown is an opaque royal blue, the silky material dipping into a low V at her back, revealing the small indents on either side of her spine. The expanse of her back so brilliantly smooth. I smile and stretch with her in unison, but I don't bring up what happened last night.

Given she's not bringing it up herself, I don't see a reason to ruin this brief moment of relaxation and reprieve from either of us.

"What are your plans for the day?" Despite the pain, I sit up. Though my face is peppered with bruises, miraculously, Heisenberg hadn't marred me in any permanent way, though the cuts on my ankle and shoulder will leave yet another scar.

Bela runs her fingers through her hair. "Well, I figured I'd go see what mother might need. I want to make sure she doesn't conveniently forget her promised words to me." She turns towards me. "You don't need intensive help, right?"

"I'm sure I can manage to limp myself to the bathroom should the emergency arise." I smirk. "I just don't know what the hell I'm going to do with myself until I'm healed."

Bela leans against the bedpost at the foot of the bed. "You could try to relax. You should try to relax, lest you make yourself worse."

I shrug, sending a shock of pain up through my skull. She has a point, but I make mine, "Beforehand, if I tried to relax, it meant wasting time I could've used to find food for my family. Or, my sister, more rather."

"Erika, you need to try and stop thinking like that. You're not responsible for anyone but yourself now. You left your sister in capable hands, didn't you?"

I nod.

A sudden vacant look in Bela's eyes increases the tempo of my heart. She says, "And you say you plan on returning home once you've paid your dues, right?"

"Y-Yeah, of a sort."

As quickly as it came, it leaves. "Well, you won't be able to go home to her properly if you push yourself too far. Or if you don't give yourself at least a day's worth of rest."

"I guess. I suppose I just need something to pass the time."

I see Bela stiffen for a moment before pushing off of the bedpost. "I'll send word to Bianca." I go rigid as she says the scullery maid's name. I wasn't even aware she knew who she was. It leaves a sinking feeling in my stomach. "Oh, don't give me that look. I know you summoned her yesterday; I saw her leave the kitchen. And it was some time before she came back."

"Please, please don't punish her for anything; it was all my decision."

Bela blinks at me, her brows furrowing with hurt. She folds her arms, and I can see the wall rising at the hidden accusation. "I wasn't going to. I was merely going to summon her for you. You two seem, close enough that you trust her to take care of you. I'll assign her to look after you until you're able to stand on your feet."

I nod. "Fair enough. Thank you."

"Of course."

Her words are as stiff as her posture, and the regret of my words, of my mistrust is enough to smother me.

"Bela, I . . . I'm sorry. I didn't mean–"

I cut off my words as she crawls back onto the bed, and the front of her nightgown cradles her beautiful, full breasts. She places a kiss on my temple – soft and content, just as she had last night. "Get some rest. If anything, try to get some more sleep. It'll help pass the time."

She climbs off the bed again, and aims for the bathroom. "While I'm here, you want a bath?"

I'm about to naturally object, until a cramp seizes my lower spine. Not to mention the feeling of Bela's lips between my lips is beginning to resurface.

"Um, yes, please. I'll wait until you're done."

Bela smirks. "Do you just want me to carry you again?"

"No. I'll just wait."

Bela rolls her eyes, but her smirk stays. I don't let my confusion and hurt show at her lack of acknowledgment about last night.

Maybe it's easier to pretend that nothing had happened.

The alternative might be more than I can endure.

Bela Dimitrescu wasn't excited about leaving Erika alone, but she had to escape the confines of the room, or she'd surely devour the young woman after what happened last night.

Watching Erika come had been as close to a religious experience as Bela had ever had. It had rocked her to her very core, and only pure will and pride had kept her from ripping that nightgown off. Only pure will and pride had made her regain control of herself when all she'd wanted to do was sit on Erika's face and feel her tongue plunge into her own wetness. To plunge her own tongue into Erika's sweet, tight warmth and devour each other until they were both screaming.

Well, that and the vicious bruises that now cover most of Erika's body.

Bela can't get Erika's perfect taste out of her mouth. Not as she washed for bed last night. Not as she gargled her throat dry, chapping her lips. Not as she awoke today and bathed and left. Can't stop feeling the clamp of her around her fingers, like a burning, silken fist.

She's washed her hands a dozen times by the time she faces her mother in the wine room, and Bela can still smell her there, can still feel her, taste her. And Erika had been so drenched for her that Bela knew she would do deplorable things to be allowed to taste that wetness again.

The Erika that she'd awoken to today . . . it was as though a heavy fog had been briefly lifted from the woman's features, if only for a moment. And Bela was able to see the person beneath those hardened features, beneath the roughened exterior molded and shaped and chiseled by aspects of her life that both encouraged her, and nearly broke her.

And she was the most beautiful person Bela had ever seen.

She banishes the thought from her mind as her mother ducks into the room with a morning breakfast wine. A white rosé. "Looks sweet." Bela says as her mother pours two glasses.

"It goes well with eggs, I think." Her mother says without looking to her.

Bela had barely paid attention to the stiff servants that delivered her breakfast – an admittedly tasty-looking eggs benedict – too focused on the fact that Erika is now alone in her room, with only Bianca as her company.

Erika would enjoy it, no doubt. But Bela would've enjoyed it more to just keep herself entangled with Erika until they were both moist with sweat, trembling and limp with pleasure. Gods, Bela would love to leave the woman unable to walk, and her core heats up at Erika undoubtably equalizing the challenge.

As her mother sits down, Bela tries to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. She can only focus back on Erika and the scullery maid (now briefly promoted to personal servant) in her room.

Bianca had been the same as the other women of the kitchen staff: when Bela had walked in, she'd been met with low bows and cowering fear. The girl's head nearly snapped off her shoulders when Bela called her name and asked her to approach.

She's a pretty young thing, seemingly a year younger than Erika. Despite the conditions left to most of the servants, Bianca's hair was smooth and shiny, like liquid midnight and usually kept in a braid down her back. Her skin was exquisitely tan as well, despite the majority of time spent inside the castle. Those onyx eyes ostensibly all-seeing, noting everything and everyone in a room.

If Bela were to be honest, she would trust her with Erika too.

She knew Erika was attempting to joke, but no doubt the servants have complained and ostracized her behind her back because of the promotions she's gained, and the days she's spent in bed. But hopefully the bruises and scarring are enough evidence of what she's endured to earn those days, and – for their sake – they'd better not say shit to Erika.

She's earned it, whether through her own means, or because it had been placed upon her at an unfortunate time.

At least Bianca looked relieved to be caring for Erika, if only because it meant her head wasn't about to roll to the floor.

Bels picks up her fork and pokes around at a slice of cherry tomato. "So, is something the matter, Mother? Or did you just want to have dinner with your favorite daughter?"

Joke she might, Bela knew something was wrong if her mother wanted to have dinner with her in private.

"Well, I of course wanted to discuss what had happened yesterday," her mother takes a long sip of the wine, "as well as hear your, proposal."

Bela's brows narrow. So what happened with Heisenberg really did rattle her mother. Enough so that she's now willing to hear Bela's 'conspiracy theory' about Mother Miranda. She crosses her legs beneath the table, the skirt of her apricot orange dress whispers against the rug. Its long, fitted sleeves come to a point at her wrist, the square neckline exposing only her collarbone. Modest for her, but she liked the color. And Erika seemed to like it too.

Bela blushes at the blazing stare Erika had given her when the two swapped out for the bathroom.

She tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her hear. Today, she braided and pinned it just like Erika does. Or tried to, at least, and ended with wrapping it into a knot at the base of her skull, set in place with two combs shaped like butterfly wings.

"What proposal, are you talking about, Mother?"

"First, I need to hear your thoughts about last night, about Miranda." Her mother says smoothly. The brim of her wide hat shields her eyes.

Bela scoops a piece of the breakfast into her mouth. Takes her time chewing and sips from her wine before speaking. "I think it was all a set up." She swirls the wine around in her glass. "The timing of that unfamiliar servant arriving to deliver that oil the day you're hosting a dinner for Mother Miranda is, disturbingly convenient. Then Heisenberg is not only uninvited, but he goes and seeks her out with the intent to bring her to the dinner?" Bela clicks her tongue in disproval. "She wants Erika; is interested in her. For what purpose, I don't know. And that's most concerning of all."

"And what do you propose I do?"

Bela's fingers tighten on her fork. "I don't know. But I'm trying figure it out."

If she's able to focus on something other than Erika's scent in her nose and taste on her tongue.

"Well, after yesterday's disastrous dinner," Bela tries not to look to mother's undoubtably burning eyes. But at least the sharpness of her words isn't just focused on her. "I've pondered over your, accusations and conspiracies, and I believe you might be trailing . . . something."

Bela tries not to let the word 'conspiracy' sting too much, especially after that. She looks to her mother, and indeed her face is lined with shadows of thought and disturbance, her features etched with an anger and calculation.

The eldest daughter folds in her lips. She takes another bite of the benedict. "I know it's hard to believe that the priestess might be working behind your back, after everything she's given you, but she is still a human, and humans have a tendency to look out for themselves."

"She is not human," her mother replies with a chilling quiet. "You should know that by now. No human can do what she does."

"I haven't seen what she can do."

"And for that my dear, you should be eternally grateful."

Bela controls her breathing as her mother begins eating her own dinner. She tries to think of how she's heard her mother gloss over the second form she bears, and how Mother Miranda is the only other person to see it. Bela shivers at what possible beast form the priestess might be harboring.

After a moment of silence, save for the clicking and tinkling of their silverware, Bela asks, "So, what is this, plan of yours, mother?"

"I'll first start by saying it's not fully thought out, there are some, holes in it. But it is something, and I figured we could try and work on it together."

"Which is?"

Her mother's lips purse, and she watches her tongue licks over them from behind those lips. "I propose that Erika stays with Donna for a week of every month. At random."

Bela's fist slams against the table, rattling its contents. "What?!"

"If Mother Miranda is after Erika, and she knows she's here, she may try to come and . . . visit, more often to see her. I believe sending her to Donna's at an unpredictable period of time will perhaps, throw Miranda off."

Okay, she can accept that, settle her rage enough to see that reasoning, "But Donna is one of the weakest out of the four of you. Next to Moreau because I have no idea what the hell he can even do, if anything. If Miranda finds out she's there, Erika will be practically defenseless."

Her mother sighs as she lifts her head, giving full view of her face. "As I said, it has it's gaps, but overall I do think that getting Erika out of the castle might be beneficial."

"Send her on a wild goose chase? With what excuse? She's off in the market? Tell a semi-truth about her visiting Donna?"

"Something to throw Miranda off until she loses interest."

"If you think she will." Bela leans back in her chair. "I mean, it is a plan. But you think Donna can be trusted?"

"Enough that she'll go along and keep the secret."

"You think she won't try to make Erika one of her own servants?"

Her mother chuckles. "If there's one thing I know about Donna, it's that she likes her privacy. So, what do you think?"

Bela takes another sip of her wine, swirling the pale, pale green liquid around her glass. It is a plan, and the fact that her mother is so, willing to become invested in this is a near miracle in of itself. Last night when she had tried to talk to her mother, after settling Erika down, she'd barely gotten a few words in before her mother ordered her out with a hollow promise of talking tomorrow.

"Surprisingly, I'm not too comfortable with the idea of you lying to Miranda."

Her mother lifts a brow. "Suddenly things have changed?"

A pause. "A little bit."

As special as Erika is to her, their anonymity between each other leaves a gap; one that leaves her mother and sisters above her. In her hollow heart, is she really willing to let her mother put her reputation and possibly her life on the line for this one servant? Others may come along, others might make things better for her, in her mind and in her bed.

It feels as though she's being pulled in two separate directions – here her mother is willing to make a plan, willing to deceive the one powerful woman who has given everything. Fueled by her own curiosity it may be, but in the end, it is worth the risk of losing her mother? Her family?

"Do you love her, Bela?"

The question is so sudden that Bela can't control her widening eyes, can't control her gaping mouth as she stares into her mother's golden eyes. No mockery, just honesty.

Her sisters had asked her the same thing yesterday, and Bela had told them no. Even after what happened between her and Erika last night . . . Bela still doesn't have a valid answer.

"I don't know. I love what she does to me."

"How do you mean, darling?"

I want to feel alive again

Erika had said it last night. Bela didn't think a person with a functioning heartbeat could feel . . . dead.

Bela's hands fist in her lap, gathering the skirt of her dress. "I love how she makes me feel, alive."

The stillness that follows is palpable, and quickly Bela's appetite is gone. Still, her mother tries to appear occupied by pushing her food around her plate.

"I must admit," she finally says, her voice hushed, "I've seen a difference in you since you assigned her to you."

Her mother's face is downcast, the brim of her hat once again shielding her eyes.

But when she lifts her head, Bela is shocked to find her mother's eyes lined with tears.

"You've been noticeably, happier, lately. You're eyes just shine with such, life." Her mother's shoulders quiver. "I-I don't really know how else to describe it."

She takes a steadying breath and pulls out a small handkerchief, patting her eyes and sighing. Her mother adjusts her dress as she tucks it away, picking up her fork once more.

"But, if Mother Miranda is willing to connive behind my back, then it's clear that this, family isn't what it's supposed to be."

Bela forces a sad smile, "I'm glad you think Erika is worth all this trouble."

"For her . . . she has this, charm about her. I'm not quite sure; perhaps she reminds me of you, or of myself. I'd be lying if I said she wasn't interesting. And it is nice to know I have something Miranda wants. Perhaps I could even use it in my favor."

Her mother's devilish eases the tension coiling in Bela's chest. She lifts her glass and gestures to her mother.

She chuckles, lifting her own and they meet at the center of the table. The droning ring echoes within the room like a pealing bell.