Women asked for Lord Samuel. Frequently. Canelle could not wrap her head around how frequently. 

For the last couple of years, out in the country, Canelle was under the impression that she was alone in her attraction to women and her belief hadn’t changed. Whatever occurred at the Court of Gaidos when Liorit came about opposed human nature. After all, if it wasn’t, why would the idea of lying with a woman be considered such a transgression? A transgression that everything in their society worked to condemn. 

Unspoken rumors about Lady Liorit circulated the tall halls in the Palace of Bevij whenever she took residence there. No words, only glances, sly smiles and frequent frowns. Residents kept their comments as pointed subtle jabs, or afterthoughts. 

By design, Liorit was a reckless smooth talker, and she never stuck around for anyone important to care about what or who she did in her spare time. 

On this particular visit, she stayed at the Palace for six months. Six months being a tad longer than her usual stay. Although, there was a chance that it only felt longer to Canelle because she hadn’t interacted with her during previous visits—not that directing women to her rooms was truly that bothersome. 

Once, Canelle’s curiosity brought her to the gardens outside of Lady Liorit’s wing. The sounds she heard from the window made her steer clear of the area from thereon. It sparked something internally, and she barred herself from exploring the meaning of it further. 

At least these occasional interruptions diverted her thoughts away from the monotony of her daily chores. The women that asked for Lord Samuel were at times surprising. Usually they were nobles, often from higher positions of power than Lady Liorit. Always, they were attractive, and Canelle couldn’t figure out what quality of Lady Liorit’s personality brought them to her rooms. Every woman, every conquest, was an indirect reminder of her place in the world. These women were born with identities, whereas Canelle was no one, and would continue to be no one indefinitely.  

Over time, what had started as the task of redirecting women to Lady Liorit’s quarters, turned into the occasional errand. Errands that required secrecy and the noblewoman couldn’t be bothered to deal with herself. On the occasion where a woman forgot something in Lady Liorit’s chambers, it was Canelle who would end up delivering said items, upon the request of their return. This would result in her climbing in through their windows at ungodly hours of the night.

And Canelle worked for the Vouverns, so the majority of this took place during her off hours. 

She reached the point where the risk was no longer worth it. Surely the punishment for breaking and ‘returning’ was worse than that of being outed. 

Alright, perhaps it wasn’t, but Canelle grew sick of it. The entertaining aspects of it were long gone and didn’t warrant the risk. Now, whenever she was summoned by the noblewoman, she would be filled with dread. 

Lady Liorit must have picked up on her reluctance as she began to tip the maid servant when she finished an errand. This was not a common practice in their society, but she found herself content with their new arrangement… and equally annoyed at herself for being so easily bought. 

Calendar winter outpaced seasonal winter thanks to the tides. That is what she had heard anyway. Lack of real snow aside, the Palace was in its early stages of preparation for Bacjovl, a week-long holiday that took place in the heart of the winter months. 

For that week, the halls smelled of cinnamon, sugar and burning wood. During the evening hours, big bonfires took over the centers of the outdoor amphitheaters.

From the large window on the second floor, Canelle could hear the faint sounds of the live music below. The fast, sharp notes of a violin reached her ears first. The rest of the instruments got lost in the shouts of the crowds, exclamations of excitement and drunken banter.

Like a child, she pressed her nose to the glass, and it gave her joy.  

That morning, she had stumbled upon a fellow maidservant cleaning the very same windows. She stopped Canelle mid-task, to give her a lengthy lecture about audibly dragging her feet. It wasn't the first time she’d heard the sentiment, and it was well-founded. Canelle’s issue with the lecture was its unwarranted length and the fact that it cut into her lunch hour. 

A little nose grease on the window wouldn’t kill anyone. It felt good to find the small moments in life where she had a bit of control. She smiled at her own nonsense, knowing that anyone that could catch her was long gone.

Because of the hour, what was left of the event staff was outside and not inside. All their preemptive measures to avoid staffing chaos always fell short. 

Most of the upper palace staff and regular event staff went home for the holidays. The event coordinators recruited temporary help from the lower quarters of the court to make up for the deficit, but every year, by the 11th hour, their numbers were scarce. Staff, burnt out by the demands of the visitors, would either sneak out to take part in the festivities, or (like Canelle) knowingly pick the day shift in order to avoid the worst of it. 

This year, the Vouverns spent the holiday in their second residence. They offered to pay for Canelle to travel to her hometown and visit with her family. A generous offer that she declined politely.

Her sister recently married the young man Canelle had almost married five years ago. It was a different lifetime, before she uprooted her life to Gaidos, and Canelle was happy for them. Elated even. But nothing she could do or say had been able to convince anyone of that during her last visit. To relive the awkwardness a second year in a row was asking too much of her. 

So she turned down the offer and volunteered her services at the Bacjovl celebration.

In the scene taking place a floor below her, a noblewoman danced with her husband next to the roaring fire. Her skirts twisting, echoing her movements in the amber light. Canelle wondered if Liorit was down there, and if she ever suffered the consequences of sleeping with married women.

Liorit was smart enough to distance herself from such encounters. The last time Canelle had run an errand for her was about a week and a half before the start of Bacjovl. She was likely long gone. Canelle would miss that bit of extra income, but she would not miss breaking into any more rooms. 

She got ahead of herself, because as soon as she had the thought, Liorit appeared at the other end of the corridor. Or rather, she had been standing there for some time and the maid was only now noticing her.

She too watched the celebration from the tall windows, leaning against a pillar at the end of the hall.

“Ay.” She gestured for the younger woman to approach. 

Even during the traditional event, she wore pants instead of the fashionable, thick, layered skirts of the holiday. Her shoulder-length fiery red hair was tied back with a plain white ribbon that matched her blouse. Normally, her hair had a low-effort aesthetic going for it. Her brushing it meant she put some intention into her appearance. 

Canelle noticed these things. Part of it was her job, the other part was her longing to wear nice things. 

“Lady Liorit,” she grumbled, trudging in her direction with caution. 

“Do me a favor, and grab me another drink from downstairs.” She handed Canelle her empty glass. 

In her hands, the maid weighed it, tracing her thumb over the intricate carvings on the thick glass. Every detail had weight and thought, a loud dedication to the gods. Over the years, she washed many of the same kind of glass, she could carve one herself, and she wasn't artistic by any means. 

Brushing her notion aside, she began to hand the glass back to Liorit, only to receive a dirty look in return.

“The kitchen staff won’t serve liquor to the servants. They have a strict policy about only serving the nobles or the wait staff,” Canelle explained. “I can send for someone—“

“No.” Liorit rolled her eyes. “Nevermind then.” 

She didn’t intend to take her glass back, Canelle realized. This meant she would have to detour to the main kitchen on her way to her room. She was considering leaving it in a corner til the morning when Liorit spoke up again.

“Valkom booted me from the party because he’s paranoid that I’ll make a move on his new wife.” 

Valkom Arte Mios, heir apparent, and the only person within a hundred miles that had the power to tell Liorit what to do. Their friendship was notorious, and another reason why the woman would never face real consequences while she was in Gaidos. Canelle doubted that even if Liorit made a ruckus downstairs he had it in him to kick her out. Sure, he’d find a way to retaliate, but he wouldn’t kick her out.

She didn’t dare point out that Liorit had the habit of soliciting the wives of various nobles, and that Valkom had reason to be wary. Prince Valkom himself had many wives over the number of years from various failed marriages, and Canelle could say with certainty that at least one of them had come looking for Liorit in the past. 

“He’s being rather dramatic about it—as he is when he drinks.” Liorit’s tone was warm for once because her irritation was directed at Prince Valkom.

During Canelle’s short time knowing her, she’d begun to put colors to the woman’s moods. Her main reasoning for it was to gauge how much she could get away with. Some colors tolerated her off-handed remarks, and some colors would not have them.

The color of a deep toasted gold welcomed her comment. Or so she thought.

 “You do have a type though, and I would say that she falls into that type appearance-wise.” 

Liorit’s head whipped in her direction, her brows knit together in an offended dubiety. “Her?” 

“Let’s just say that I’ve never seen a lady visit Lord Samuel who didn’t pride themselves on their outward appearance.”

“Are you calling me shallow, Canelle?” 

Liorit had never addressed her by name, and she couldn’t sort out if it was a good thing that she knew it in this situation. 

She shrugged, trying to force indifference into the conversation.

“I like pretty girls too, Liorit.”

Lior’s eyes narrowed further at the casual use of her name. 

“Pardon—Lady Liorit.” 

Provoked, she approached her. A light scent of liquor mixed with an androgynous perfume cut through the smells of cinnamon and wood. She took Canelle’s collar between her index finger and her thumb, and adjusted it boredly.

“Lior is fine, you and I know very well that I’m no ‘Lady’.” Her tone was flat and as she turned to walk away, Canelle began to pick up on a pattern. 

Still, she was relieved, seeing that she didn’t have a response to such a bleak sentiment. Regardless, the help shouldn’t have an opinion. They were there to listen, like the walls of Gaidos.