---
"I shall return to my duties now. The servants will bring your belongings inside shortly."
Butler Sebas offered a warm smile as he stepped back from the group.
"Thank you for everything."
"Yes, thank you so much, Butler Sebas."
Both Marin and Roenna dipped into grateful bows.
"There's truly nothing to thank me for." He inclined his head graciously. "I wish you both well."
With that, he turned and departed, his footsteps measured and unhurried across the gravel.
Olive stepped forward, gesturing toward the building's entrance.
"If you would follow me?"
"Yes."
Marin wrapped an arm around her mother's waist, providing support as they crossed the threshold into the outbuilding.
The interior stole her breath.
The hallway stretched before them, lined with porcelain vases that gleamed like captured moonlight. Fresh flowers spilled from crystal vessels—roses, lilies, delicate sprays of baby's breath—their fragrance perfuming the air. Polished wood paneling reflected the warm glow of oil lamps, and underfoot, carpet as plush as clouds cushioned their steps.
*This is supposed to be servants' quarters?*
The thought echoed between them. Marin could feel her mother's grip tighten on her arm.
"Miss Marin's mother may take this room to start," Olive announced, pausing before an ornate white door. "It receives the best morning light."
He pushed the door open and stepped aside.
Marin and Roenna entered together—and stopped.
They stared.
Then they looked at each other with identical expressions of disbelief.
Sunlight poured through floor-to-ceiling windows, flooding the space with golden warmth. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, its facets catching the light and scattering tiny rainbows across the walls. The wallpaper shimmered with subtle gold accents. A massive four-poster bed dominated the far wall, draped in silk the color of fresh cream, piled high with pillows that looked impossibly soft.
The furniture—a vanity, armoire, writing desk, and chaise lounge—had been arranged with obvious care, each piece elegant and clearly expensive.
"Is this *truly* the servants' quarters?"
Roenna's whisper was barely audible.
"I... don't think so..."
Marin turned to Olive, confusion evident on her face.
"Mr. Olive, surely there's been some mistake. This room—"
"You don't care for it?" He tilted his head, that gentle smile never wavering. "We can certainly find another if you'd prefer."
"No! No, it's not that I don't like it..." Marin stumbled over her words, heat rising to her cheeks. "It's just—this seems far too grand for—"
"The entire third floor of this wing is available for you and your mother," Olive continued smoothly. "Feel free to explore all the rooms and choose whichever ones suit you best."
Marin's jaw dropped.
*The entire third floor?*
Even a quick mental count suggested at least five or six rooms, possibly more.
"Mr. Olive." She tried again, more slowly. "Is this *really* considered servants' quarters?"
"Of course not."
He shook his head, still smiling.
"I thought as much..."
Marin nodded, oddly relieved to have her suspicions confirmed. But then—
"Why are we here, then? If this isn't where servants live?"
Olive regarded her as though the answer were obvious.
"Because you aren't a maid, Miss Marin."
"I'm not?"
"You are my assistant. And I serve as advisor to His Grace the Duke."
*Does that position really warrant* this*?*
The question burned on her tongue, but she couldn't quite bring herself to voice it. Instead, she smiled awkwardly, eyes crinkling with uncertainty.
"That's right. I'm an *assistant*, after all."
She emphasized the word deliberately—a gentle reminder that "assistant" and "person deserving of luxury apartments" were not typically synonymous.
Olive merely smiled in response. Serenely. Impenetrably.
"Shall I show you the other rooms?"
Marin turned to her mother for guidance.
"Mama?"
Roenna stood near the bed, one hand pressed to the mattress as though testing whether it was real. Her voice emerged soft with wonder.
"If I may... I would choose this one."
"Then this one it is." Marin nodded and turned back to Olive. "And I'll take the room next door, if that's acceptable?"
"Of course. And will you be taking your meals here in your quarters?"
"Is that... possible?"
The question escaped before she could stop it, tinged with the same disbelief that had colored every revelation since they'd arrived.
"Naturally." Olive's smile widened slightly. "You are, after all, my assistant. *His Grace's* assistant."
The deliberate echo of her earlier emphasis was not lost on Marin.
"Ah... thank you."
She bowed her head, caught somewhere between gratitude and bewilderment.
*A luxurious room. Personal meals. All this simply for being an assistant to an assistant?*
Something about the excess made her uneasy—though she couldn't quite articulate why.
"Please stop by the office after you've eaten," Olive added. "There are some adjustments to discuss regarding your contract."
At the word *contract*, Roenna's hand shot out to clutch Marin's sleeve. Her fingers trembled against the fabric.
Marin covered her mother's hand with her own, pressing gently.
*It's all right, Mama. I'll handle it.*
"Yes. I'll be there shortly."
"Then please, rest and recover from your journey."
Olive bowed slightly and withdrew, the door clicking shut behind him.
---
The moment they were alone, Roenna's composure cracked.
"This is dangerous."
"Mama—"
"I was foolish." She began to pace, her steps unsteady. "I let myself be dazzled by His Grace's apparent kindness. I forgot who we're dealing with."
She stopped near the window, pale light washing over features drawn tight with fear.
"You've heard the stories. Everyone has. The Duke shows no mercy to those who cross him."
"I've heard."
Marin's voice came out heavier than she intended.
"If he discovers we've lied about our station..." Roenna's voice wavered. "If he learns who we really are—"
"Mama."
Marin crossed to her mother and took both her hands. They were cold as ice.
"Listen to me. I will make myself useful. So useful that when the truth comes out—*if* it comes out—His Grace will have reason to show leniency."
"Will that be enough?"
The question hung between them, weighted with fear neither could fully banish.
"It will have to be."
Marin squeezed her mother's hands firmly, then released them with a smile she didn't entirely feel.
"Now—before it gets cold. Let's eat."
"You'll join me?"
"Of course."
Roenna hesitated, then nodded slowly.
They had just settled into chairs at the small breakfast table when—
*Knock-knock.*
"Yes? Come in."
The door opened to reveal a young maid—barely fifteen, if that—with hair cropped short in a vivid red bob that brushed her earlobes. She pushed a wheeled cart before her, its contents hidden beneath silver domes.
"G-good afternoon, Miss." The words tumbled out in a rush, tripping over each other. "S-starting today, I'll be s-serving you and your mother. My n-name is Julia."
A fierce blush climbed her cheeks, nearly matching her hair. She seemed mortified by her own stuttering.
"Hello, Julia." Marin softened her voice deliberately. "But please—I'm not a 'Miss.' Just call me Marin."
Julia's face fell into dismay.
"Th-then what should I...?"
"Marin is fine. And my mother is Roenna."
"Y-yes. Miss Marin. Lady Roenna."
"You don't need to use—"
But Julia was already shaking her head frantically, hands waving in alarm.
"I c-can't! The Advisor and B-Butler both said Miss Marin must be p-properly cared for!" She paused, cheeks flaming brighter still. "I'm s-sorry. I always st-stutter around new people. It'll p-pass soon, I promise."
"It's perfectly all right." Marin smiled warmly. "We understand you just fine. Don't we, Mama?"
"Perfectly," Roenna confirmed gently.
Some of the tension drained from Julia's shoulders.
"I'll p-prepare the table."
She wheeled the cart to the tea table and began arranging dishes with hands that trembled only slightly. Silver domes lifted to reveal treasures: warm pumpkin soup that smelled of cinnamon and cream. Freshly baked bread, still steaming, surrounded by small pots of golden butter. Aged cheeses and thinly sliced ham. Crystal dishes of jewel-bright jams—raspberry, apricot, fig.
And for dessert: creamy pudding topped with caramelized sugar, and a tower of pastel macaroons.
Julia stepped back, drew a visible breath, and spoke slowly—clearly concentrating on each syllable:
"What time shall I serve lunch? Here as well?"
"Yes, please. All meals here. Breakfast at eight, lunch at one, dinner around seven."
"Yes, yes. Understood." Julia bobbed her head. "When you're finished, please leave everything—I'll clear it away. If you need anything, there's a bell pull by the bed."
"Thank you, Julia. We'll do that."
The maid bowed and departed, closing the door softly behind her.
The moment they were alone, Roenna's expression darkened.
"Marin."
"Yes, Mama?"
"I'm worried."
She reached across the table and gripped her daughter's hand, her eyes shadowed with anxiety.
"All of this—" she gestured vaguely at the room, the food, everything "—it's too much. Too generous. When people are this kind to those who have nothing..."
*They usually want something in return.*
The unspoken ending hung between them.
Marin understood. After their father's death, the only people who'd shown them kindness had turned out to be swindlers—smiling vultures waiting to pick clean the bones of a ruined family.
But the Duke had no reason to deceive her.
Did he?
*He already knows I'm not common-born. Kay investigated me days ago. If he wanted to punish my deception, he wouldn't need to be subtle about it.*
"Mama." Marin squeezed her mother's fingers. "Eat. Before it gets cold."
Roenna hesitated, then picked up her spoon.
The soup was exquisite. Rich and velvety, warming Marin from the inside out.
She pushed her worries aside and focused on the taste.
---
## — The Office —
Marin knocked twice, then entered at Olive's invitation.
"Please, have a seat."
She settled into the chair across from his desk, her gaze dropping to the documents spread across its surface.
"You mentioned adjustments to the contract?"
"Indeed." Olive slid a paper across to her. "An addendum. Please review the section titled 'Additional Compensation.'"
Marin picked up the document, her eyes scanning until they found the relevant clause.
> *For each occasion upon which His Grace the Duke successfully falls asleep under the employee's care, additional compensation of one (1) gold coin shall be provided.*
She read it twice.
Then a third time, certain she'd misunderstood.
"One gold... per *instance*?"
"Correct."
"Each time he sleeps?"
"Each time you help him achieve sleep, yes."
Marin's mind raced through calculations she barely dared to complete.
She already earned one gold per week. If the Duke slept even a few times in that same period...
"Is this... standard?"
"There is no standard for this." Olive's smile held something she couldn't quite read. "His Grace has never had anyone assist with his sleep before."
*Because he hasn't been able to sleep at all.*
The unspoken context made the contract's generosity suddenly, terribly comprehensible.
"I understand," Marin said slowly. "I'll do my best."
She signed where indicated, the quill scratching softly against parchment.
And tried not to think about what failure might cost her.
---