Chapter 16 CHAPTER 16
Tessa's POV
Marta's hands trembled slightly as she stood from her chair, moving to the window as if she needed distance from what she was about to say.
"The King," she began, her voice low and careful, "is not like other men. Not like other Lycans, even." She turned to face me, her expression grave. "You need to understand what you're walking into, girl. What serving him truly means."
I said nothing. Just stood there, clutching Kastiel's damp handkerchief, waiting.
"King Dmitri is mad." The word fell between us like a stone. "Has been for a century. Ever since the Great Disaster—ever since he lost his mate and children." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "The grief broke something in him. Something fundamental. His Lycan took over, and it never fully retreated."
She moved closer, and I could see the lines of worry etched deep around her eyes.
"He has episodes," she continued. "Times when the beast fully consumes him. When he becomes nothing but rage and violence and bloodlust. We've lost servants that way. Good people who were simply in the wrong place when the madness took hold." Her jaw tightened. "He doesn't remember afterward. Doesn't even know what he's done."
The words should have terrified me.
Should have sent me running, screaming, begging to be sent anywhere else.
But I felt... nothing.
Just a strange, hollow emptiness where fear should have been.
I'd already accepted that my life was over the moment I'd been sold by my father to The King. Everything since then had been borrowed time.
What difference did it make if death came from a mad king's claws instead of starvation or disease or Kira's hatred?
At least it would be quick.
"His chambers are dangerous," Marta pressed on, clearly trying to make me understand. "He's destroyed furniture. Shattered mirrors. There have been times when guards had to barricade the doors just to keep him contained until the episode passed." Her voice turned sharp. "And now they're sending you—a slip of a girl who looks like she'd blow away in a strong wind—to serve him? To be alone with him?"
She shook her head, disgust and pity warring on her features.
"The previous personal maids didn't last long. The lucky ones quit after a week. The unlucky ones..." She didn't finish. Didn't need to.
I knew what happened to the unlucky ones.
Marta studied my face, clearly waiting for a reaction. Waiting for me to cry, to beg, to show some sign that her warnings had penetrated.
But I just stood there.
Blank. Empty. Already gone.
Her expression shifted, hardening into something colder. Almost contemptuous.
"I see," she said slowly. "You're not even listening, are you? Already imagining the prestige of it all. The luxury. The privilege of serving the King himself." Her lip curled. "Thinking you're special now. Thinking this is some kind of honor."
I blinked, but said nothing.
What could I say? That I didn't feel special? That I'd trade this "honor" for a single day back in my village, poor and hungry but safe?
That I'd already accepted I was going to die here, one way or another, and at least this way it might mean something?
"Let me be very clear, girl," Marta continued, her voice sharp as a blade. "You are not special. You're a body. A replacement. A temporary solution to whatever whim possessed the King to want a personal servant again." She stepped closer, her eyes boring into mine. "And when he tires of you—or when his beast finally does what his beast does—there will be another girl standing exactly where you are now. Another foolish child who thinks proximity to power makes her important."
Her words were meant to wound. To cut through whatever delusions she thought I harbored.
But they just... slid off.
Like rain on glass.
Because she was right. I wasn't special. I was nobody. A peasant girl playing dress-up in a world that would chew her up and spit her out.
I'd known that from the beginning.
Marta watched me, waiting for tears or anger or something.
When I gave her nothing but that same blank stare, she made a sound of disgust in the back of her throat.
"Fine," she snapped. "If you're so determined to walk into this blind, who am I to stop you?"
She moved back to her desk, shuffling through papers with sharp, irritated movements.
"Your duties will be as follows," she said, her tone clipped and professional now. "You will wake before dawn to prepare the King's chambers. Fresh linens daily. All surfaces dusted and cleaned. Fireplace maintained. You will lay out his clothing for the day and ensure his bathing chamber is prepared."
She didn't look at me as she spoke, just read from a list like she was reciting a recipe.
"You will serve his meals personally. Breakfast in his chambers, lunch and dinner as his schedule permits. You will clear the dishes yourself—no other servants are permitted in his private rooms without explicit permission." Her finger traced down the parchment. "You will attend to any requests he makes immediately. Any special requirements will be communicated to you directly by the King or through Beta Kastiel."
She finally looked up, her expression hard.
"You will be available at all times. Day or night. If he summons you, you go. Immediately. No delays. No excuses." Her eyes narrowed. "And you will speak of nothing you see or hear in those chambers. Not to other servants. Not to guards. Not to anyone. The King's privacy is absolute. Do you understand?"
I nodded.
Just once. A small dip of my chin that felt mechanical. Hollow.
Marta snorted, shaking her head like I'd just confirmed every low opinion she had of me.
"Of course you do," she muttered. "Brainless little thing."
She moved toward the door, gesturing sharply for me to follow.
"Come on, then. I'll show you to your chambers. Not that you deserve them."
I followed silently, my feet moving automatically as we left her office and returned to the corridor.
We walked through the servants' quarters, past the dormitories where I'd spent my first nights here. Past the kitchens where I could hear the clatter of pots and the low murmur of conversation.
Then we were climbing stairs. Not the grand marble staircases of the main palace, but narrow servant stairs tucked into the walls. Up and up until my legs burned and my breath came short.
Finally, Marta stopped before a plain wooden door set into the stone wall.
"Here," she said curtly. "Your chambers."
She pushed the door open, and I stepped inside.
The room was small—barely large enough for the narrow bed, the simple wardrobe, and the washstand against one wall. A single window looked out over the gardens, letting in thin afternoon light. It was sparse, utilitarian, nothing like the lavish quarters the nobles surely enjoyed.
But it was private.
My own room. My own space.
I'd never had that before.
"Don't get comfortable," Marta said from the doorway, as if reading my thoughts. "You're only here because your position requires immediate availability. This room shares a wall with the King's chambers." She pointed to the left wall, and I realized with a jolt that Dmitri was literally on the other side. "There's a connecting door—locked from his side. If he needs you in the night, he'll unlock it and call for you. You're expected to respond immediately."
Of course.
Even in sleep, I wouldn't be free.
"Your uniforms are in the wardrobe," Marta continued. "Plain gray dresses, white aprons. You'll wear them at all times when on duty. Keep yourself clean and presentable. The King may be mad, but he's still a king. Standards will be maintained."
She moved to leave, then paused, glancing back at me.
For a moment, something almost like concern flickered across her stern features.
"Girl," she said quietly. "Thea. Whatever you think this position will bring you—power, security, advancement—forget it. All this will bring you is pain. And if you're very unlucky, it will bring you worse."
I met her eyes, and for the first time since entering her office, I spoke.
"I know," I whispered.
Two words. Barely audible.
But true.
Marta's expression shifted into something complicated. Something sad.
Then she shook her head and stepped out, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
I stood alone in my new chambers, in the room that would be my cage, separated from a mad king by nothing but a wall and a locked door.
And I felt nothing at all.