Chapter 4

• Pulling away, I hold her shoulders in my hands to take one last look at her. I fear the sight of her red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks will be the image of her that I carry with me for the rest of my life.
• I release her shoulders, grab my burlap sack, and throw it over my shoulder. No words are spoken as we leave my bedroom and walk through the servant’s quarters, heading to the side exit that leads to the front gate.
• Before separating for the last time, I turn and give Sophia a small nod, unable to summon the strength to say goodbye again.
• She gives me a watery smile, then turns and heads back inside. I watch her retreating figure until the door closes behind her. Even then, I don’t look away. My eyes sweep the length of the castle, committing the image to memory.
• It’s hard to believe this is the last time I’ll ever see this place. I’ve spent my entire life here, and with the snap of a finger, it’s all being taken away.
• Not wanting to dwell any longer, I turn and head to the small group gathered by the gate. Queen Victoria wasn’t kidding when she said only a few servants were leaving. Sixteen of us stand outside, Peter among them.
• I can’t help but wonder why King Lucas needed more humans. Usually, slaves are encouraged to reproduce with one another, often having four or five children, who grow up to replace their parents. That should eliminate the need to trade us back and forth.
• Maybe King Lucas is killing his slaves faster than they can populate. My body shivers at the thought. Rumors of his cruelty have always lingered, and as much as I hope they’re false, I can’t bring myself to believe it.
• “Hey,” Peter’s voice breaks my thoughts.
• “Sit next to me on the bus?” he asks.
• I nod, remaining silent. Peter doesn’t try to make conversation either. We stand next to each other quietly, sacks thrown over our shoulders, eyes heavy with exhaustion.
• The bus is heard before it’s seen, the squeal of wheels and the loud pop of exhaust sending a ripple of dread through the group. Most keep their heads down as it approaches, occasionally wiping away stray tears. I notice the girl from the kitchens who looked excited yesterday, but her jumpy eyes now betray fear.
• The large yellow bus trudges around the corner. Peter once told me vehicles like this used to take human children to school. His mother said her great-grandmother rode one to school every day, back when humans had houses, cars, and freedom. Those stories feel like fairy tales now.
• The bus screeches to a halt, its double doors opening with a loud groan. The Beast in the driver’s seat scowls at us, his disgust clear.
• “Get in and sit down,” he commands.
• We obey, scurrying up the steps. I find a seat in the middle of the bus, Peter taking the aisle seat beside me. I drop my sack at my feet and try to get comfortable on the hard cushion.
• “Do you know how long the ride is going to be?” I ask Peter.
• “Not sure,” he mutters, struggling with his seatbelt. I swat his hands aside to help, then buckle my own.
• The bus lurches forward, and the journey begins. Hours pass in silence, broken only by the occasional whisper or cough. Most of the ride is spent staring out the window at empty stretches of land, old human towns, and small Beast villages.
• The quiet is shattered when a sharp slap echoes from the front of the bus. I snap my head up just in time to see the kitchen girl, slumped in her seat, yanked upright by the driver’s clawed hand.
• “Sleeping, are we?” the Beast growls, his voice dripping with venom.
• “I-I’m sorry—” she stammers, but the apology never finishes.
• The driver snarls, dragging her down the aisle as we watch in stunned silence. The bus screeches to a halt, the doors hissing open. Without hesitation, the Beast throws her off the bus and into the dirt.
• “Keep moving!” he barks, slamming the doors shut and restarting the engine.
• I catch a glimpse of her lifeless body through the window before we pull away. My stomach churns, bile rising in my throat.
• The rest of the ride is suffocating. Fear grips us all, every pair of eyes wide and alert. No one dares speak. No one dares close their eyes.
• By the time we reach Rebar, exhaustion weighs heavy, but no one dares sleep. The city looms large and foreboding, its streets eerily empty, the sky has long gone gotten dark. Beasts watch us with a mix of curiosity and disdain, their gazes cold and unfeeling.
• As we approach the castle, I can’t help but fidget, dread coiling in my chest like a serpent.
• Slowly, the buildings become larger and less frequent, with giant plots of land surrounding each home. My body leans to the left as we make a sharp turn to the right and begin heading up a rocky path.
• On my left I can see the main road we just exited from, and the front gates of the castle just ahead.
• We must have turned to go through a small servant's entrance instead of the main one. I can't help but fidget with my hands and adjust my dress every 5 seconds as I watch the castle getting larger and larger.
• If this is the beginning, I can only imagine what the end will look like.
• My mind flashes back to the moment we were approaching the castle. Through the grimy bus window, I had noticed a young Beast, probably no older than three or four , tugging at his mother’s shorts and pointing at us. His wide eyes held a mix of wonder and curiosity, but his mother’s reaction was swift. She grabbed his arm and moved him behind her, shielding him from view. The sight left me with a hollow ache in my chest.
• Do they hate us so much that even their children aren’t allowed to look at us?
• I force the memory aside, shaking my head slightly. I can’t afford to get lost in thoughts like that now. I need to focus on what lies ahead.