When we’re down the hall, far from the office, Harvey snickers, “That went much better than predicted.”

“You are joking. He completely dismissed me,” I say.

“Trust me, if you were dismissed, he would have tossed you out of the castle himself.” Harvey holds his head high. “I will return to him after I’ve escorted you to your chambers. He will put up an argument, but I believe I can convince him. Then the rest is up to you.”

“The rest being what, exactly? ‘Saving him from himself’ isn’t exactly clear directions, and he isn’t thrilled that I am here... if he remembers me at all.” To be forgotten by him would be a pain I certainly could never forget. I’ve had enough pain to last a lifetime.

“To be fair, he is never thrilled. This will take time, but we will work something out.”

I wish I had the same optimism, but I agreed to do this, so I will do my best.

Harvey escorts me to my quarters on the top floor of Sylas’ housing. All the staff attending to this section of the castle live on the top floor. A set of stairs at the end of the hall lead to a large lounge containing sofas, chairs, bookcases, and even gaming sets like a pool table. Short windows line the lounge, letting in warm afternoon light. A handful of workers are resting here, one of whom garners Harvey’s attention.

“Alyssa, the very fairy I was looking for.” Harvey approaches a pink-winged fairy seated along the windowsill. Her blonde hair rests over thin, shimmering shoulders in a long braid that narrowly avoids sweeping the floor.

“Harvey, welcome back. How was your trip?” Alyssa extends a delicate hand, her movements flow like water, as if she’s the queen of this castle. The red and white uniform she, and the other staff, wears says otherwise.

Harvey gives Alyssa’s hand a soft kiss. “Fruitful, as I had hoped. This is His Majesty’s new attendant that I spoke of, Foster Laywell. Foster, this is Alyssa Riverstone, the head of staff here.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Riverstone.” I ensure to bow low at the waist. Fairies like manners and can become prickly when not addressed in a way they perceive to be proper.

“Please, call me Alyssa.” She makes no noise as she stands, nor when her wings flutter. They catch the light so the pink breaks into varying shades. “I am happy you found someone so quickly, Harvey. It is always troublesome to replace His Majesty’s attendants. He never likes them. It feels like a lost cause.”

“I know, and you do so well to tolerate him, but I think Foster here will save us from future torment.” Harvey approaches to settle a kind hand on my shoulder. “There are herbs in your room. Should you need more, inform me or Alyssa and we will get them from town. I will speak further with His Majesty and see you tomorrow, alright?”

“Alright, thank you, and good night, Harvey.”

Harvey excuses himself, then Alyssa instructs me to follow. Her wings flutter without sound or rustling even a breath of air, allowing her feet to hover above the floor. Two hallways expand from the lounge area leading to the bedrooms, including my own.

“This is where you will stay,” she announces.

The room has everything I could need, a comfortable-looking bed with a heavy blanket and a dozen pillows. The few belongings that I brought rest at the center of the room on a plush rug. There’s a trunk at the bottom of my bed, a wardrobe, a desk situated under the window, and a chaise chair with an end stand. Another other door in the room leads to an attached bathroom.

“This is a lot more than I expected,” I say.

“Much of this is new. Viktor Yarvelis provided little for his staff, so His Majesty had our sleeping arrangements renovated over the last few years.”

That sounded like the Sylas I knew. He never liked when a haughty visitor treated staff like a hindrance. Truthfully, it is a relief to hear and adds to my growing questions. What has he gone through? What more did he have to do to get here? How can I possibly help?

“There are two bells above your bed.” Alyssa gestures to them. “The first leads to His Majesty’s personal chambers, and the second leads to his office. Should you hear them, you are expected to attend to him as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Alyssa explains my duties in more thorough details. I won’t start immediately, as they will measure me tonight to have a couple of uniforms made—so long as Harvey convinces Sylas to let me stay. Over the next week, I will shadow her to learn the basics.

She has me repeat that I will wake him at noon. Vampires aren’t known for rising early, and he becomes especially crabby if woken too early. That I already knew. Then there are a couple of rules specific to him, like shielding him from the sun with a parasol when we go outside. As kids, Sylas hated being in direct sunlight. He said it gave him a headache, so that makes sense, although it doesn’t stop me from laughing at the funny mental image.

As Alyssa explained, I’m measured for my uniform, then she gives a tour of the area I’ll be working in. By the time we’re finished, dinner is ready. Staff have their own dining area in a hall lined with many tables. Everyone knows each other and speaks amongst themselves. I end up taking my meal to my room, where I eat alone. Maybe another day I will converse, but right now I am exhausted and I have medicine to make.

This is the one way I use magic every day. Many who survived the Weeping Plague suffer from some ailment, but I’ve never risked looking into the illness more. I know I’m lucky to be capable of tending to my own health in more ways than one. Since I suppress my magic so frequently, it thanks me now for the release. I miss the feeling of letting go, of using magic when it suits me, but I’ve found it’s more trouble than it's worth.

When I prepare to sleep, the bell above my bed rings and my heart stutters. Sylas’ quarters.

Wiping my clammy hands on my pants, I make my way downstairs. My gut screams that this isn’t a friendly call. Harvey must have spoken to Sylas by now and, frankly, I do not know if Harvey could have changed his mind. Sylas seemed adamant that I leave, and now, as I stand in front of his bedroom door, I am more certain that he wants to dismiss me.

I curse my trembling hands when they knock. Sylas’ deep voice grants me entrance. The doors are silent as they open. A fire flickering in the hearth lights the room. The orange light is caught by the consuming red of his eyes, which never stray from the flames.

“Shut the door,” he orders coldly.

With a click of the handle, I slip further into the shadowed room. Sylas lounges on the sofa, goblet in hand with red droplets trickling down the side. He presses it to his lips and I can’t keep my eyes from watching his neck as he drinks.

“Harvey was insistent that I reconsider,” he says.

“Have you reconsidered?” I ask, pondering if he heard the hope in my voice.

Sylas sets the glass aside. When he moves, the shadows follow him like lost souls seeking shelter. His quiet steps circle the sofa and the firelight illuminates his silhouette, now towering over me. Darkness overtakes his expression, leaving nothing but an intense gaze to drown in.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

“To work.”

Sylas steps closer so that every word caresses my warm cheeks, “Why are you here, Foster?”

Gods, my name has never sounded better. This is what hopelessness feels like.

“Can’t you guess?” I ask, but his silence lingers and my heart swells. “All these years, I thought you died that night. I thought you were terrified, in pain, and worst of all, alone. I’ve dreamt about that fire over and over, you lost in the flames, so when a stranger showed up telling me you had survived, I… Well, I thought it was a piss poor joke, but I hoped, Gods, I hoped it was true. What I’m trying to say is, I wanted to see you, to know he told the truth.”

And a naïve hope in me thought my life could change for the better.

“Well, you know now.” He pivots on his heel, returning to the sofa, where he drops. “Since your curiosity is sated, Harvey will escort you home tomorrow, as decided.”

“My curiosity? Are you—?!” I catch my tongue between my teeth, preventing a potential call for a beheading because his words stung me again. This time, in a manner I want nothing more than to shout at with a long list of foul words. Instead, a quiet chuckle that is no way joyful escapes my chest.

“Does something amuse you?” he asks.

“No, Your Majesty, I suppose I expected more.”

“More?” he echoes.

I don’t elaborate, choosing to wish him goodnight and walk out the door with absolutely no intention of leaving tomorrow, if only to irritate him as payback for hurting me today.