"Nothing's wrong, exactly." She glances around, confirming we're alone before continuing. "It's just—you've been reassigned."
The words hit me like physical impact. "Reassigned? To where?"
"The kitchens." Nimae moves closer, lowering her voice even though there's no one around to overhear. "Starting tomorrow.You'll be working on food preparation and service for the estate rather than stable maintenance."
I can't breathe. The corridor tilts slightly, and I press my palm against the stone wall to steady myself. "No. I can't—I need to work with the beasts."
"Lenna—"
"Who authorized this?" My voice comes out sharper than intended. "Was it Malrec?"
Nimae's expression shifts, confirming what I already suspected before she even opens her mouth. "The order came from the Beast Master, yes. But Lenna, this is actually?—"
"He's pushing me out." The realization burns through me like the volcanic heat I've been working in for weeks. "He's making sure we don't have to see each other anymore."
"That's not what this is." Nimae's hand closes around my forearm, gentle but firm. "Listen to me. Kitchen work is a promotion. It's more stable, safer, better conditions than the stables. Most laborers would be grateful for this kind of reassignment."
"I don't care about safer." I pull my arm free, hating how my eyes burn with tears I refuse to let fall. "I don't want to be away from the beasts."
Away from Azhrael, who's the only creature here who seems to understand what I'm feeling even when I don't understand it myself. Away from the stables that feel more like home than anywhere else I can remember. Away from the last threads of connection to something I can't name but need desperately.
Away from him.
The thought comes unbidden, unwelcome. I shouldn't care about being separated from Malrec. I hate him. I hate his cold authority and the way he watches me like I'm a problem he needs to solve. I hate that he kissed me in that garden and then spent four days acting like I don't exist.
Except I don't hate him. Not really. And that's so much worse.
"I know you've formed attachments," Nimae says carefully. "To the beasts. But Lenna, you're human. Working in the stables is dangerous even when you're being careful. This reassignment might actually be in your best interest."
"My best interest." I repeat the words flatly. "Is that what he told you? That he's doing this for my safety?"
"The order came through estate management. I don't know what reasoning was given." She pauses, studying my face with that particular intensity she gets when she's trying to read beneath surface reactions. "But I've noticed things. The way you've been avoiding the stables during standard hours. The way you haven't spoken to the Beast Master since you returned from the auction. Something happened."
I look away, unable to hold her gaze. My throat feels tight, constricted by everything I can't explain. "Nothing happened."
"Lenna—"
"Nothing happened," I repeat more forcefully. "And now I'm being reassigned because apparently I'm too much of a liability in the stables. Fine. When do I start in the kitchens?"
"Tomorrow morning." Nimae's voice gentles. "But you don't have to pretend with me. If something's wrong, if he did something?—"
"He didn't do anything." The lie tastes wrong, but I can't explain the truth. Can't tell her that Malrec kissed me and it felt like memory. That I've been having dreams—no, memories—of loving him. That my body responds to his presence with a familiarity that shouldn't exist.
That I think something fundamental has been taken from me, and I don't know how to get it back.
Nimae watches me for another long moment, her expression hovering between concern and frustration. Finally, she sighs."The kitchen staff will brief you tomorrow. You'll still have quarters here in the servant annex, so your living situation doesn't change. Just your work assignment."
I nod mechanically, not trusting my voice.
"Lenna." She steps closer, dropping her voice to barely above a whisper. "I don't know what's happening with you and the Beast Master. But I've worked here long enough to recognize when something isn't right. If you need help?—"
"I don't need help." I force myself to meet her eyes, to project a certainty I absolutely don't feel. "I just need to adjust to the new assignment. That's all."
She doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't push. "Alright. But I'm here if that changes."
I manage something that might pass for a smile and continue past her toward my room. My legs feel unsteady, like the ground beneath me has fundamentally shifted without warning. Which, in a way, it has.
My room is exactly as I left it—sparse, functional, defined by absence rather than presence. I sink onto the narrow bed, still wearing my work uniform, not caring about the dirt and sweat transferring to the rough fabric.
