Valaia woke with a groan, her body aching as though she’d been tossed about in a violent storm. The cold, smooth floor beneath her sent a shiver up her spine as she sat up, disoriented. Blinking the haze from her eyes, she surveyed her surroundings. The chamber was modest, almost plain, a stark contrast to the lavish chamber she had last remembered. 

Her gaze landed on a young servant girl huddled in the corner, her wide eyes darting nervously toward Valaia. The girl’s face lit up in alarm before she scrambled to her feet and bolted for the door. 

“Wait!” Valaia called, but it was too late. The girl slipped through the door and slammed it shut, the lock clicking audibly into place.

Valaia rushed to the door, pulling at the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. Her frustration boiled over as she pounded on the wood. “Let me out!” she shouted, her voice echoing in the small chamber.

The futility of her efforts sank in, and she let her hands fall to her sides, her breathing ragged. It was then that she noticed her attire—a simple linen dress, plain and coarse, entirely unlike her usual assassin’s garb or even what she’d last been wearing. Her frown deepened as she examined herself. 

“Servant’s clothes?” she muttered, confused. She ran her hands over the unfamiliar fabric, the realisation dawning slowly like the sun over the dunes. “Wasn’t I with the princess?”

Memories rushed back in fragmented flashes—the princess’s golden gaze, the intoxicating aura of power, the smirk that promised both delight and danger. How had she gone from that enchanting chamber to... this? Her mind raced with questions, none of which had answers.

Turning back to the room, she searched for any clue to explain her current situation. The walls seemed to close in on her as she paced, her instincts screaming that something was deeply wrong.

Footsteps echoed outside the door, growing louder. Valaia braced herself, her assassin’s training kicking in despite her dishevelled state. Whoever was coming, she needed answers—and she intended to get them.

The lock turned with a metallic click, and the heavy door swung open to reveal an imposing figure. The head maid stepped into the room, her sharp gaze immediately assessing Valaia. She was an older woman, her grey hair pulled tightly into a bun. Her posture was straight as a spear, her dark robes neat and unwrinkled. In one hand, she held a leather whip, its coiled length resting ominously against her hip. 

Her voice cut through the silence like a blade. “Stand.”

Valaia rose quickly, feigning submission. Though her instincts screamed to fight or flee, she knew better than to act rashly. She needed answers, and if playing submissive was the only way to get them, then so be it.

The maid’s piercing eyes bore into her. “What is your name, girl?”

Valaia decided to adopt a false name, keeping her identity concealed until she could piece together what was happening. When the head maid glanced back with a piercing look, waiting for her to follow, Valaia answered, “My name is... Aila, my lady.”

The head maid’s gaze lingered for a moment, her sharp eyes scanning Valaia as if weighing the truth in her words. Finally, she gave a curt nod.

The maid’s lips twitched in what might have been a grim smile, though it lacked any warmth. “Aila, is it? Well, listen carefully. Because those two ungrateful servants had the audacity to run away, you are now assigned to the most sacred of duties—seeing to the princess’s personal needs.”

Valaia blinked, keeping her expression neutral. So the other two were gone. She killed them, Valaia thought grimly. The princess’s dark power was evident now more than ever, but it didn’t explain why she had spared her—or why she was being given this role.

The maid stepped closer, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Let me make one thing clear. The princess tolerates no disobedience. If you cross her, or if you fail in your duties...” She raised the whip and snapped it in the air, the crack reverberating through the room. “...your life is forfeit.”

To emphasise her point, she lashed the whip across Valaia’s arm with a swift motion. Valaia flinched, biting her tongue to suppress a hiss of pain. The sting burned, but she kept her head bowed, refusing to give the maid the satisfaction of seeing her reaction.

“There’s more where that came from if you do not behave,” the maid said coldly, her voice as sharp as the whip in her hand. “Do as you are told, and you may live long enough to serve with purpose.”

“Yes, my lady,” she murmured, her voice steady despite the ache in her arm.

The maid gave a curt nod, satisfied. “Good. Your duties begin immediately. Follow me.”

As Valaia trailed behind the head maid, her mind whirled with questions. Why had the princess orchestrated this? Was this a test, or something far more sinister? Whatever the reason is, she would play her part—for now.