Beneath the chandelier

state did not whi

ected more than they showed, how silence here wasn't quiet, but pressure. It pressed on her sh

s. She slipped through the servant's hallway, apron wrinkled from the night before, fingers still raw from polishing silver. It had to be done

hed the kitchen. "Breakfast trays for the east wing. And do

fection every day. From everyone. And he

quarters. The house was hushed, but not quiet. There was always the ticking of clocks, the hum of security

ls or cleared breakfast. Cassian , the oldest, never looked at her. Never looked at anyone who was

owan n

t a full melody, just scattered notes. She paused. It was forbidden to stop. But th

door crea

light from the window softening his sharp feature

e tray trembling in her ha

ietly. His voice didn't command like his fath

t. Nothing h

she mumbled,

but his eyes followe

that, because her eyes are always on the ground

ny maid. He was still a teenager, more of an innocent puppy than a snarling pit bull, unlike the rest of his fa

difference becoming intimidating. His usual wide brown eyes , were small, still sleepy. His blond hair was slightly tousled, not sli

t they were there. He didn't bark orders, and he didn't watch them like hawks the way his mother or eldest brother did. He was, at wors

family name, and part of C

ed a small 'thanks', and closed t

w he plays again - even if it was a little scrawny - but she knew better than to disobey the rules twice in

elrich - also known as Lucien - as always, on time, sat down to eat his breakfast. Clara didn't see it, but she knew. Everything in this house was