“I don’t know what will happen, and I don’t know whether I am making a mistake or not, but I feel like I need to find out what is wrong with him, at least. I know it is not my responsibility, but I feel like I should help him if I can.”
I sign the letter, fold it, and slide it into an envelope. My hands shake as I seal it, because I know that once I send this, there’s no taking it back.
I exit my chambers and walk to the kitchen. What I’m doing is strange, and maybe even foolish, but it makes sense in a way I can’t fully explain. I’m simply not the kind of person who canwitness what I witnessed last night and walk away and pretend I never saw it. Whatever is broken in Altair, whatever drives him to hurt himself like that, I need to understand it.
I drop the envelope into the basket near the kitchen entrance, where all the outgoing letters are collected. As I turn to leave, I spot Greta down the corridor polishing a large vase. She hasn’t seen me yet, and I take a deep breath, gathering my courage before I approach her.
“Greta.”
She glances at me, her expression closed off. She returns her attention to the vase and continues polishing.
“Please,” I say, hating the desperate edge in my voice. “I need to talk to you.”
“I have work to do,” she replies without looking at me.
“Just a moment of your time. Please.”
She sets down her polishing cloth with an irritated sigh and turns to face me with her arms crossed over her chest.
“What is it?”
“Can you tell me what’s going on? Why did Altair change his mind about me?”
She shakes her head. “It’s not my business to get between you and Lord Aurellion. Whatever is happening between the two of you is your concern, not mine.”
She starts to walk away.
“Wait, please!” I reach out and grab her arm, then immediately let go when she turns back to glare at me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for whatever I did wrong, for making everyone here hate me. I’ll apologize to all the servants, if that’s what it takes. I’ll apologize to everyone who works at the palace. I can’t stand this anymore.”
Greta’s expression shifts, and for the first time since I arrived, I see something that looks like compassion in her eyes. She sighs deeply. Her shoulders drop.
“If you want to apologize to the servants, you can do it,” she says. “But things are not what you think they are.”
She turns and starts walking toward the kitchen. I follow behind her with my heart pounding against my ribs. When we enter, the room falls silent. There are at least twenty people gathered around the large wooden tables, sitting down for their lunch. They were talking and laughing before we walked in, but now they stare at me as if I’m unwelcome.
I straighten my back and lift my head, trying to look more confident than I feel. My voice wants to shake, but I force it to remain steady and controlled.
“I know you all hate me,” I begin, and several of them shift uncomfortably in their seats. “I wanted to come here and apologize for anything I’ve done wrong. I need you to understand that I was never privileged. Lord Aurellion treats me differently, yes, but differently in the way that I have a worse time than anyone working here.”
A few of them exchange glances.
“But that doesn’t matter, because I’m not here to complain,” I continue. “I’m here to simply tell you the truth and ask for your forgiveness if I’ve offended any of you.”
For a long moment, no one speaks. Then the cook stands up. He looks at me with an expression that’s difficult to read.
“The reason we don’t like you has nothing to do with privilege or because you eat at Lord Aurellion’s table,” he says flatly. “We all know that he bought you to be his bride, not his servant.”
I blink in surprise.
A young girl who looks about eighteen stands up next. Her eyes are sad when she looks at me.
“No one likes you because instead of making Lord Altair’s life easier, instead of making him happy the way you should, you’ve only made him feel worse and more miserable.”
The words hit me so hard that I take a step back. I stare at them in absolute shock. They’re angry with me not because they think I’m receiving special treatment, but because they think I’m failing in my duty to make Altair happy.
I wonder if they’re even aware that Altair cannot be made happy. I don’t think I’d achieve it even if I tried.
“You don’t understand,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I was actually born at the palace. I was raised here. My mother and my father worked here just like you, and I had an older brother named Brandon who was Altair’s best friend.”
