Chapter 3

• Peter doesn’t answer the door. After a few more sharp knocks, I resign myself to waiting. He’s probably still cleaning, and there’s nothing for me to do but sit tight.
• The sharp pangs of hunger gnaw at my stomach, relentless after two hours of waiting. My mouth waters at the thought of food. Anything—stale bread, the scraps the queen leaves behind—would be enough to dull the ache. But even as the thought crosses my mind, I shake it away. Digging through the trash is unthinkable. The punishment would be swift, brutal if the queen bumps into me doing it.
• Every few minutes, I pound on the door again, hoping Peter might finally return from the Second’s quarters. Time drags, each second stretching into eternity. Just as I consider banging one last time, the heavy door creaks open.
• Relief floods me—until I see who’s standing there.
• The queen.
• I shift uneasily, the trash bags in my hands suddenly feeling heavier. Before I can speak, I notice movement to the side. My heart sinks as I see her—the Queen—leaning casually against the doorframe.
• Her hand rests lightly on the polished wood, her posture languid, yet her presence commands the space. A mocking smirk plays on her lips as she studies me with eyes sharper than any blade. The air feels dense, as though her very presence has drawn all the oxygen from the corridor.
• I freeze, my earlier impatience evaporating into dread.
• “Took you long enough,” I blurt out instinctively, the words tumbling from my lips in a rush. “I was starting to worry we’d miss—”
• Her smirk deepens, and my voice falters, the rest of the sentence dying in my throat. She raises a delicate hand and waves dismissively toward the guard. He steps aside, his massive frame making way as the Queen straightens.
• “Come in,” she says smoothly, her tone as sharp as the smirk on her face. “I have some matters to discuss with you and that young man you work with.”
• “Come inside,” she commands, her tone calm yet carrying an edge of amusement. “I need to speak with you and that young man you clean with.”
• She steps aside, granting me just enough space to slip through. My heart thunders as I step into the main corridor, still gripping the trash bags tightly.
• As I enter, I spot Peter leaning against the far wall to my left. He doesn’t meet my gaze, his focus trained on his overly polished shoes. His shoulders are stiff, his expression unreadable. I move to stand beside him, dropping the trash bags and clasping my hands behind my back. Lowering my head in a sign of respect, I catch the faint motion of Reuben mimicking the gesture beside me.
• Queen Victoria surveys us both, her expression unreadable but for a slight frown tugging at her lips. When she finally speaks, her voice is steady, each word carrying weight.
• “Following this morning’s announcement, I assume you know what this is about. You’ve both been selected to transfer to Rebar Castle. It was a difficult choice,” she says, her gaze flickering between us, “and you weren’t my top picks. But King of Rebar personally requested our best servants.”
• The words land heavily. Rebar Castle. My mind reels. The corridor falls into an oppressive silence, broken only by the faint sound of Peter shifting uneasily beside me.
• “When do we leave?” I manage to ask, my voice cracking despite my best efforts to steady it.
• Queen Victoria his lips, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “Tomorrow afternoon.”
• Cathrine’s pov
• Later, Sophia’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.
• “What are you going to do?” she asks softly, the door clicking shut behind her.
• I don’t answer, feigning sleep as I lie still on the bed. If I don’t move, if I don’t acknowledge her, maybe the day won’t come. Maybe I won’t have to leave.
• But Sophia knows me too well. Her shoes squeak against the floor, and the mattress dips under her weight as she sits beside me.
• “I don’t know what I’ll do without you and Peter ,” she continues, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s always been the three of us.”
• The pretense is useless now. I open my eyes, catching a glimpse of her tear-streaked face. Her curly brown hair is pulled into a messy bun, and dark circles shadow her eyes. She looks as bad as I feel.
• I sigh, pulling myself upright. “At least one of us gets to stay,” I say, trying to sound optimistic. “Peter and I will be fine.”
• The words feel hollow, but I push through, throwing off the thin sheet and planting my feet on the cold floor.
• “Help me pack?” I ask, my voice quieter now.
• Sophia hesitates, then offers a sad smile. “Of course.”
• The next few hours are spent packing, our movements punctuated by laughter and shared memories. We talk about running wild in the castle gardens as children, the way our carefree youth gave way to teenage gossip, and the slow reality of adulthood that followed. The laughter is bittersweet, a fragile veil over the pain of goodbye.
• “Do you remember when Peter and Lydia started sneaking off?” Sophia asks, her laughter bubbling up despite the sadness.
• I snort. “And we had to cover for him? Telling his mom he was ‘helping in the gardens’? She didn’t believe us for a second.”
• “And when she caught them?” Sophia wheezes, clutching her side. “She made us sleep with the horses!”
• The memory sends us into a fit of hysterical laughter, tears streaming down our faces. But the laughter doesn’t last. It morphs, quietly, into sobs.
• I pull Sophia into a tight hug, burying my face in her curls. Her arms wrap around me with equal desperation.
• “I’m going to miss you so much,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
• “Promise you’ll write?” she sniffles.
• “Of course,” I lie. We both know the truth—sending mail is too costly for someone like me. By the time I can afford it, life will have moved on.
• At the gate, I take one last look at the castle, my home for Twenty years . It looms large, its stone walls as imposing as ever. My gaze drifts to the burlap sack in my hand, containing all I have to show for my life here.
• “Twenty years,” Sophia says beside me, her voice laced with sarcasm. “And all you’ve got is one sad sack.”
• I laugh despite myself, the sound sharp and raw. Seconds later, we’re both doubled over, clutching our sides.
• And when the laughter fades, I hug her one last time, holding on as tightly as I can. The world feels colder as I step away, the weight of goodbye pressing heavily on my chest.
• Tomorrow, everything changes.