The birds outside chirped in soft bursts, cutting into the stillness like tiny flutes. Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains in pale gold streaks, warming the stone walls and pooling over Aurelia's tangled sheets.
She stirred slowly beneath them, her eyelids heavy from a rest she hadn't intended to take.
For once, sleep had come without dragging her through blood, screams, or the weight of someone else's shadow.
But peace never lasted here. It was only a breath—nothing more.
Her fingers brushed her arms and found her skin still damp, not from the room's warmth but from the dreams that had hunted her even in quiet.
The estate smelled faintly of burning cedar, incense drifting from the torches outside her door—a scent that always made her feel watched.
Aurelia pushed herself upright. Her hair had unraveled during the night, falling in wild curls over her shoulders, framing her face like a reminder that nothing in her life stayed neat. She brushed it back, but it clung stubbornly to her neck, refusing to obey her hands.
Aurelia lifted her arm and winced.
She smelled awful.
A stale mix of sweat, night terrors clung to her skin, and the sour breath of restless sleep. Her hair felt heavy, and her shift stuck to her back. Even the air around her seemed to recoil.
She needed a wash—a real wash, not a quick splash from a basin. A clean bath. Hot water. Fragrant oil. Anything at all would do.
She yanked the door open, not caring when it struck the wall with a hard crack. "Damn thing," she muttered under her breath.
The wood trembled as she shoved it shut behind her, the echo snapping down the corridor like the crack of a whip.
Stepping into the corridor, Aurelia drew in a breath of cool stone air. The hallway stretched long and dim, lit only by narrow slits of sunlight that cut across the floor like golden blades.
Ahead, a small cluster of household servants stood over a bronze washing trough, their sleeves tied back, hands moving in steady, disciplined circles as they scrubbed clay dishes.
"Where is the bath chamber?" Aurelia asked, her voice clear.
Not one of them lifted their heads.
They kept working, the water sloshing softly against the basin, pottery clinking as they stacked the dishes aside. The smell of wet clay and crushed herbs drifted up from their washing.
She stepped closer, thinking perhaps she had spoken too softly.
"Where is the bath chamber?" she repeated, her tone firmer.
Still nothing.
Their necks remained bent in a reverent angle, eyes fixed on their work, movements steady and strangely uniform. Not a twitch of acknowledgment—not a stolen glance, not a muttered reply, not the faintest sign they recognized her presence.
Aurelia's brows knit together, a cold, crawling unease slipping down her spine. They were not ignoring her out of insolence. This was something else. Something trained. Something enforced.
"Can any of you hear me?" she asked, taking another step forward, her sandals scraping against the marble.
Silence.
Only the sounds of water, bristles, and disciplined labor filled the air. One servant reached across another to rinse a cup; another wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist—yet not a single one looked up.
Her heartbeat tightened, frustration rising like heat in her throat.
"I said I just need to know where the bath chamber is!" she cried, her voice echoing down the long corridor.
Still—nothing.
What is wrong with this people,They were laughing, talking just few minutes ago.
And all of a sudden when I came.
Silence.
This is surely Tenebrarum's doing, I'm sure he did this...
She stormed out of the servants' quarters, breath sharp, shoulders tense, moving like someone who had just clawed her way out of battle. The air tasted of smoke and hot iron, and for a moment she shut her eyes tight, forcing back the humiliation burning in her chest.
Then—a voice behind her, smooth and cautious:
"Morning, my lady."
Aurelia's eyes snapped open.
A young girl approached her—short-cropped black hair, skin dotted with tiny red marks as if from the heat of the kitchens, her posture small but steady. She stopped a few paces away, hands clasped before her, eyes lowered in the obedient way palace servants were trained to stand.
"Sorry… no one is meant to speak to you," the girl whispered, glancing over her shoulder as if someone might drag her away for even uttering the words. "But the bath chamber is here."
She moved quickly, almost furtively, leading Aurelia down a narrow side corridor to a small door half-hidden in the stone. When she pushed it open, the glow of a single oil lamp revealed a modest bath—an oval tub carved from dark marble, steam still rising as if someone had filled it moments ago.
"Who gave that order?" Aurelia demanded. The question slipped out sharper than she intended, but she needed to know. Someone had decided she wasn't worth a single word—and that someone had power.
Silence followed.
A long, heavy silence made the girl's throat bob as she swallowed. Her eyes darted to the floor, then to the shadows along the wall, as if even speaking the truth might summon punishment.
"Was it Tenebrarum?" Aurelia pressed, her pulse pounding painfully beneath her skin. It made sense—it had to be him.
But the girl shook her head.
"No, my lady… it was Lord Calvus."
The name fell between them like a stone dropped into deep water.
Seeing the way Aurelia stared, the girl could tell she was confused. Her eyes flicked nervously to the floor, then back up.
"He… he's the one who gave your lord's rules," she murmured.
Aurelia's stomach twisted. Rules. Orders. Control. Every command, every restriction—it all clicked into place.
And then she remembered. The one who had looked too alike to Gaius.
So his name is Calvus not gaius,They both share alot of resemblance.
"He surely isn't my brother, "Aurelia thought.
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To be continued...