Chapter 2 – Inventory of a Doomed Maid
The ballroom doors slammed shut behind us like a coffin lid.
Evelyn's heels clicked once, twice, down the marble corridor, fast enough that I had to lengthen my stride to keep the train of her gown from catching on anything. The silver tray was gone (left on a random table the second we were out of sight). My palms felt empty without it. Empty palms are dangerous; they reach for knives.
We turned three corners before Evelyn's pace finally cracked. She stopped so suddenly her skirts swung forward and wrapped around my legs like crimson vines. Her shoulders were rising and falling too fast.
I waited.
Servants don't speak first. I remembered that much from the novel.
Evelyn spun around. The torches on the wall painted fire in her eyes.
"Rin."
My new name. It tasted foreign and fragile in the air.
"Yes, my lady."
Her gloved hands clenched at her sides. "Did you hear what he said?"
Every word. I'd read it before I died. I'd screamed at my phone about it.
"I heard," I said softly.
She stared at me as if waiting for hysterics, for gossip, for anything a normal maid would give her. When I only looked back (calm, steady), something fractured across her face.
Then she did the last thing I expected.
She stepped forward and pressed her forehead to my shoulder.
Just for three seconds. Long enough for me to register the tremor running through her entire body, the faint scent of frost-roses and terror.
I stood frozen, terrified to move. If I put my arms around her now, I might never let go.
She pulled away first. Straightened her spine like armour sliding back into place.
"Prepare my evening bath," she said, voice flat again. "I want to wash that man off my skin."
Then she walked away, leaving me standing in the corridor with a dead heart that had somehow started beating again.
I exhaled, slow and shaky.
Okay.
First things first: inventory.
I slipped into the servants' passage (narrow, dark, smelling of candle smoke and lemon polish) and found the tiny room assigned to "Rin." Six tatami-sized, one narrow cot, one cracked mirror, one cedar chest.
I locked the door, leaned against it, and finally let myself feel everything.
The body was nineteen, maybe twenty. Five-foot-two on a good day. Delicate wrists. Ridiculous. I'd taken down men twice my old size with these hands in another life. Possible. Just annoying.
I stripped fast, folding the uniform with muscle memory that wasn't mine. The original Rin had been thorough.
Under the pillow: a thin stiletto disguised as a hairpin.
Inside the hollow bedpost: three vials (clear, amber, black). Poison, paralytic, sleeping draught. Labels in code.
Garter belt: two throwing needles and a garrote wire sewn into the lace.
Soles of the slippers: ceramic shards sharp enough to open a throat.
I whistled low. The original maid had been prepared to die for Evelyn long before I arrived. Respect.
I opened the cedar chest. Spare uniforms, a tiny sewing kit (more needles), and a leather-bound notebook in the original Rin's handwriting.
I flipped it open.
Page one: a list.
Crown Prince Cedric – avoid direct confrontation
Saintess Lilia – never alone with her
Duke of Southmarch – allergic to lilies
If exile decreed, hide blade in left boot…
The list went on for twenty pages. Every danger, every escape route, every noble weakness. The original Rin had catalogued the entire kingdom like a soldier prepping a war.
I closed the notebook and pressed it to my chest.
"Thank you," I whispered to the girl whose body I stole. "I'll make it worth it."
Then I went to the mirror.
The face staring back was heart-shaped, big violet eyes, soft mouth. Cute. The kind of cute that gets underestimated.
Perfect.
I practised smiling. First the sweet, blank maid smile. Then the one I used in interrogation rooms back in my old life (small, polite, promising pain).
The mirror reflected both perfectly.
Good.
I dressed again, hid every weapon exactly where the original Rin had kept them, and left for the lady's wing.
Time to take stock of the real battlefield.
Evelyn's private suite was the size of a small house. I slipped in through the servants' door. She was already in the dressing room, back to me, staring out the window at the moonlit gardens.
The crimson gown lay discarded on the floor like a murder victim.
She wore only a thin silk chemise now, moonlight pouring over her collarbones.
I kept my eyes professional. Mostly.
"Your bath is ready, my lady."
She didn't turn. "Leave me."
Normally a maid would bow and vanish.
I didn't move.
After ten seconds of silence she looked over her shoulder, eyes sharp. "Did you not hear me?"
"I heard," I said. "But you're shaking."
Her chin lifted. "I am not."
She was. Fine tremors in her fingertips, the kind I'd seen in soldiers right before their first firefight.
I took one step closer. "May I speak plainly, my lady?"
A pause. Then, almost curious: "You never have before. Why start now?"
Because I'm not your old Rin.
I bowed anyway (perfect maid posture), then met her eyes.
"Because tonight someone tried to cut your wings off in front of the entire kingdom. And I need to know if you want me to start cutting back."
The room went so quiet I could hear the candles hissing.
Evelyn stared at me like she'd never seen me before.
Finally, she whispered, "Who are you?"
I smiled (not the maid smile, not the soldier smile, something raw and new).
"I'm the one who's going to make sure you never cry in public again."
Her lips parted. No sound came out.
I turned to leave, paused at the door.
"Your bathwater's getting cold, my lady. And I took the liberty of adding calming salts. No poison tonight. I checked."
I slipped out before she could answer.
In the hallway I leaned against the wall and let my forehead rest against the cool wood for five seconds.
Heart rate one-thirty and climbing.
Objective one: protect Evelyn de Clermont.
Objective two: burn everyone who hurt her.
Objective three (the one I wouldn't admit yet): figure out why the thought of her shaking alone in that room made me want to tear the palace apart with my bare hands.
I pushed off the wall and headed for the kitchens.
First rule of war: secure supply lines.
Tonight, that meant making sure no one poisoned my lady's morning tea.
Tomorrow… tomorrow the real fun began.
I passed a window. The moon hung huge and red over the academy towers.
Blood moon, the servants would whisper tomorrow.
I smiled up at it.
Good omen.