by Rene Folsom
“What’s behind that door?” I ask. She’s speaking to me, so it must mean it’s okay for me answer her.
“It’s where you go to relieve yourself.” And even though she answers my question, it’s like she’s ignoring my most basic needs when she starts to speak again. “Follow me. I’m going to take you to Lady Greann’s room. She’s been waiting for you.”
Lady Greann. I want to laugh, but the situation is far from funny.
I stifle a sigh as we exit out of my room and into the hallway. While I might not be happy that my plan of escape was foiled, I still try to keep myself alert. If nothing more, I need to make sure I know every inch of this house.
I am also glad I will have my own bed. It’s like the padded surface is calling to my body—the same body that has been sharing a hard floor with dozens of other women back at the colony.
We make the journey back through the corridor before turning down a well-lit hall I hadn’t noticed yet. I can smell food, which causes my stomach to rumble loudly. Talia turns to look at me, but doesn’t say anything about the audible noise.
As we pass by an open doorway, I see a group of women in green clothing and white aprons scurrying around in what I assume is the area where food is made. They are pulling out impressively sized birds cooked to perfection, roasted vegetables, and fluffy loaves of golden bread from a huge oven. Large drums of wine are on the counters. I see it all, and I almost faint with unsatiated hunger as the smell gets stronger.
Talia ignores my gawking eyes, impatiently beckoning me up a grand staircase.
It’s like something out of one of the stories my mom used to tell. An ornate metal railing on each side of the entry stairs winds its way up like the tail of a serpent. At mid-level, there are a row of windows with silk drapes pulled back to let in what’s left of the sun. The stairs themselves are white, veined with red and black throughout.
The various patterns are captivating.
The next level appears to be the same, but the circular dome above has pictures of epic battles between man and dragon. The scene itself is overwhelming and so very important to see all on its own. I can’t seem to rip my gaze away from the detail and grandeur that coats every inch of the Kincaid’s palatial home
I feel more and more out of place with every step I take up the staircase, the center of each stone platform delicately coated in red velvet that is fit for kings. My fingers itch to touch the smooth banister as we make it to the next level of this expansive home. Yet I know for a fact I’d get in trouble for even thinking such an act, despite the fact banisters are meant to be held.
Workers aren’t assigned to the Prime homes to touch things. We are here to work.
Just when I think the scene couldn’t get any more beautiful, I peek down at the lower grand foyer. I have to stifle my gasp at how regal it all feels. We are so far up, and I have to remind myself not to be taken in by all this wealth and power. This place is not my home. It’s a prison. A gilded one, but a prison nonetheless. I can’t allow the opulence of this place to cloud my judgment or my intent.
“Stop dragging behind, Zhavia. I have more important things to do than to wait for your sightseeing adventure,” Talia orders. She’s such an impatient person, and I wonder just what she did wrong to be assigned to showing me around. I don’t respond to her words. She doesn’t need to know I’m getting the lay of the land. My mind is cataloging all it can hold. It’s information I’ll need later.
I follow Talia. A weaker mind would be enthralled by a place like this. There are some people back at the colony who will never get the chance to see something like this in their lifetime. I don’t consider this as an adventure, or even care this is my temporary residence until I gain freedom. The house is an insult. It’s boastful and a way to subliminally remind people like me that we aren’t good enough.
But I’m enough.
More than.
I won’t be swayed into thinking I should be grateful I was chosen to serve House Kincaid. I wasn’t built to serve. I wasn’t meant to take orders. And others like me should be free to feel and do whatever we choose.
If I thought the staircase leading to the second floor was the most magnificent area of the house, I was wrong. Talia is directing me down a grand hallway with statues of warriors adorned in gold. It takes some getting used to as we walk through. Each and every detail, from the chandeliers to the baseboard trim, makes me wonder if any of this is necessary, or if it’s just sheer overindulgence. I’m reminded it’s a show of power and wealth—a tool used to control and make its hostages feel privileged.
The house has its desired effect. I feel like an intruder as the dirty heels of the new-to-me boots lightly tap on the stone flooring.
Talia doesn’t give me a single more moment of time to take it all in before she directs me to a doorway.
The ornate door we stand in front of is carved with vines and flowers, the vines twining with the trim, making it so unified and welcoming. Talia knocks once and steps back, whispering to me from the side of her mouth. “They are preparing Lady Greann for the ceremony tonight. She will be introduced to the Kincaid Brothers. Only three of them are here to receive her. The other two are with the diplomatic envoy. Drake and William will return in three days’ time. Your task is to assist Lady Greann in all things. This includes wiping her ass should she ask you to. Don’t talk back. Don’t argue. Just obey. That’s the last advice you’ll get from me.”
Talia keeps a straight face through her entire speech before turning on her heels like a soldier in formation and marching back down the hall from where we came.
I’m left standing there waiting for the door to open.
It doesn’t.
I knock again. Two gentle taps against the frame. I wait, hoping this isn’t some sort of stupid trick that I’ll be hanged for.
Other servants pass me in the hall, but not one says a word to me as I wait there. Do they even know whose door this is? Does it even belong to Greann? Is she so new to House Kincaid they don’t realize the kind of danger I’m in stuck here without the faintest idea of what to do next?
I’m about to knock again when I hear someone’s voice in my ear. The feel of it makes me shiver, yet I don’t dare move. I didn’t even feel anyone come up behind me.
“Have you seen her yet?” a male voice rumbles, smoky and deep. I still don’t turn around for fear I’ll do something wrong and be punished for my actions. “I hear she’s beautiful. Can you confirm that?”
Is he for real? Why even ask me?
Finally, with steel in my bones, I turn to face the male who is talking. It takes effort for my gaze to absorb all of him, and as soon as my eyes reach his, my breath stalls. He is tall—taller than any of the other males I’ve seen. But his eyes hold mine prisoner for a moment. An arresting blue that on deeper inspection gleams with gray striations, almost like lightning casting its glow across a blue lit sky. He isn’t decked out in a uniform or dressed like Admiral Willis. He is unlike any man, a class all of his own.
He is in a simple pair of black pants and a black shirt that fits tightly against his physique. I can’t help but stare at the muscles bulging from beneath the thin clothing. His black hair is wet, almost as if he has just finished bathing. An earthy and rich scent emanates from him, and I do my best to hide my attraction toward him. I’ve never been one to melt at the sight of a man. The guards back at the colony weren’t all unattractive, but this one is different. His scent overpowers me as we stand almost toe to toe.
But it’s the scar over his eyebrow that draws my attention.
I stare, not knowing what to say.
“Well, is she or isn’t she?” he asks as his chest rumbles with laughter.
And now, I’m staring at his chest. Each laugh that escapes make his muscles twitch and undulate beneath the black fabric.
Snapping to attention, I mentally scold myself for my inadequate subordination. I don’t need anyone thinking they can get the best of me. “You mean Lady Grean
n?”
He gives me a curt nod, the smirk on his face not making me feel any more comfortable about my situation. “Yes, Lady Greann. What does she look like? What color is her hair?”
Pausing, I try to think of how I can preface my judgment of Greann without sounding like an ungrateful person. “I’m no one to judge another by their looks.” There, that’s it. Passive answers are the way to go with this man. Hell, I’m lucky to even be able to speak in his presence. By the way he carries himself, I know he isn’t a servant. “If I had to say she was pretty, or beautiful, I would say it depends.” I feel the immediate need to slap my hand over my mouth with the boldness of my words.
“On what?” His blue eyes flare with interest, and I swear the color changes for a moment. Deciding to ignore the possibility, I make sure my answer is both honest and concise. Maybe he is part of the staff, but in a higher position than me. Admiral Willis was clear in his directive. I speak to no one unless they speak to me. I wasn’t breaking any rules. Yet.
“People can possess an outer beauty while ridden with rot and ugliness on the inside.” I swallow hard, hoping I’m not going to regret my words… or who I’m speaking to. “Their souls can be tarnished, ruining their outer image.”
“So, is she beautiful on the inside as well as the outside then?” the male in front of me asks, his tone full of ferocity and seriousness. He really wants to know.
“She’s a bully. It makes her an ugly person. But if the Kincaids are only interested in outer beauty, which is clearly the case when it comes to Lady Greann, then they’ve nailed it. Luckily for the both of us, we don’t have to suffer her company.”
I think I might’ve overstepped my boundaries with my words until the man lets go of a deep belly laugh before straightening his posture. Frantically darting my worried gaze around, I fear someone may hear his laughter.
“You’re standing in front of her door, so you’ll not only suffer her company, you’ll also have to find a way to survive.”
I almost smile at his comeback, but hold it in. I’m not here to make friends, and I need to keep reminding myself that. Even if he is the only person to show me any amount of kindness, it’s wrong to get hopeful in a companion, especially when all I want is to find a way out.
“I suppose you’re right. I am her attendant.”
“What do they call you?”
“Zhavia.”
“Zhavia…” He lets my name roll off his tongue as if he’s tasting it, feeling its roundness and depth. “Well, Zhavia, I guess I’ll see you around.”
He doesn’t give me his name as he continues making his way down the hall.
I try to rid my mind of the inquisitive man and turn back to the door, ready to knock again. A loud thump and the doorknob moving has me backing up a step. It cracks open enough for me to see a tall male pushing his shirt back into his pants. He’s surprisingly similar in stature to the mystery guy.
I’m taken aback, not only by his presence, but also by his expressive red eyes. I step out of the way as his large body almost crashes into me.
He has red stuff all over his lips, and he doesn’t glance at me as he pushes past me.
“Make sure you braid her hair up for dinner tonight, servant,” he barks as he makes his way down the hall in the same direction where the other man disappeared.
Braid her hair? I don’t know how to fucking braid hair.
When I step inside, Greann is sprawled out on an enormous bed, completely naked with her hair a tangled mess. Her eyes are closed. For a minute, I think she’s hurt, until I see the smile plastered on her face.
“Greann?” I call out.
“That’s Lady Greann now,” she informs me without even opening her eyes.
“Lady Greann. Is there anything I can get you?”
“Yes. Clothes, please. Make sure you hand me the peach silk dress. It goes with my hair.”
I look at her, really examine her, for the first time since I’ve known her, noticing her strawberry-blonde hair is more on the fairer side. Her skin is a pale porcelain with delicate freckles spread across her cheeks and shoulders. She’s so white I can see the blue veins beneath her skin, a stark contrast against my own skin. My mother’s people were from the south where the sun was hotter, and our skin became much darker to accommodate the sun’s brutal beams. Now that the dirt has been removed from Greann’s outer surface, I am able to guess her age, or at least estimate it. She’s somewhere near her thirtieth birthday, give or take a few years. I’m barely twenty-five, and I am well aware we’ve both managed to live hard lives. However, at this moment, she’s doesn’t appear to have lived a hard life at all. The newfound luck she has fallen into seems to have the opposite effect on her aging.
Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I head to her wardrobe and pull out the peach silk dress she wants. After I lay it across the chair, I wait for more instructions.
“Stand up straight, Zhavia,” Greann demands like a scolding mother. “You’re in House Kincaid now. You should be proud.”
She doesn’t let me respond as she continues, her rant seemingly more for herself than for me. “This is a very strong and powerful family. That was Vulcan Kincaid who just left. His brothers Graham and Seneca will be the only ones in attendance tonight at the ceremony. Drake and William won’t be back for three days. They’re out doing important things for the family, I guess.” She flips her hand in the air dismissively as she speaks of the Kincaid brothers, obviously taking to her new role well. It’s no surprise to me that she fits well into this new life. Most everyone would feel lucky to be in her shoes. She will never understand how freedom is a commodity that no one should have to barter or work for. That she has escaped one prison just to be shoved into another will probably never occur to her. This place may look pretty, but with its treasures come despair. Clueless about her situation, she continues speaking as if I’m actually absorbing the information. “But, according to the recruitment party, only three members of the house need to be present in order to receive me.”
Her eyes are harshly pinned to me as if she expects me to defy her at any moment. I don’t dare say a word, deciding keeping busy is my best bet. Moving to the peach dress once again, I smooth an imaginary wrinkle from it, hoping she’ll notice and finally put it on. She doesn’t. She just continues to talk.
“Madame Kincaid came by earlier to coach me on what to expect tonight. Vulcan came by to make sure I was agreeable to his liking.” She giggles.
Looks like it.
Yawning, Greann sits up on the bed. Completely unashamed about her nakedness, she stretches and stands before gesturing to her dress.
“I want to look like perfection for them tonight. And don’t forget to braid my hair.”
If she isn’t perfect, they can, and will, reject her. That much I know. I also know rejection isn’t uncommon. It can come at any stage of the selection relationship, even going as far as turning a selectee away because she can’t bear children. Greann was chosen not only for her looks and mature age, but also for her capability to breed, the latter being the most important part of the entire selection process. Love is not a factor in the decision, regardless of those who dream of it. The female only needs to be pleasing to the eye and able to carry the Primes’ offspring. If the brothers do end up rejecting Greann, House Kincaid will have to wait another five years before a new selection can be made. I assume a new selection ceremony isn’t something any of the Prime houses care to do, yet they haven’t come up with a more efficient way to breed… yet. It’s really too bad they don’t look at inner beauty, though. A personality screening would save so much time, not to mention the headache servants like myself have to deal with.
As if she could read my mind, her timing spot-on, I’m jerked from my thoughts when the subtle sneer in Greann’s voice is enough to make me tense in preparation of the cruelty that is sure to come next.
“I don’t know how to braid, Lady Greann,” I answer honestly. She’ll find out sooner or later, even
if I dare to make the attempt to do so. Back at camp, I have never cared how my hair looked, just as long as it was out of my face.
I guess now I will need to start caring, considering the way Greann is looking at me with disgust.
“It figures you wouldn’t know how to groom someone.” Her tone is like venom, rotting away at my insides bit by bit. “I guess if I will have any way of looking presentable with you as my attendant, I’ll need to teach you.”
She stands from the bed, still completely unaware she is baring herself. The humor in her eyes tells me just how wrong I am. She’s not unaware at all. She’s completely coherent about her nudity. She just knows how easy she is on the eyes.
Looking away, I focus on the dress slung over the chair.
“Come,” she demands.
Slowly, I raise my head, trying to control my temper. Her tone is condescending. I’m not a dog, but I am, for now, a servant. She has her hand extended, beckoning me to approach her as she stands near the vanity chair.
Still naked.
Her nudity doesn’t bother me as much as her arrogance does.
Not only will I have to suffer through being taught to braid hair, but I’ll also have to do it while she’s completely nude.
This day gets better and better as it progresses.
Steadying my gaze, I lift my chin. I can look past her nudity and do my job.
As I take each solid step toward her, she stiffens and then relaxes. I can’t help but smile with her reaction, as if she had to ready herself for my close proximity. Maybe she thought I wouldn’t have the balls to man up and do as I’m told?
Greann sits in the vanity’s chair, her smile small as she stares back at me through the mirror.
I can’t help but wonder… “Why are you doing this?”
Surprise flares in her eyes for a fraction of a second before she recovers, plastering that fake smile back on her lips like she has been practicing for years.
“Doing what?” she asks, her inflection sweet. I’m already tired from her forced friendliness.