POV: Kaelrin

  The chain pulled.

  Kaelrin kept her eyes on the floor as the guard led her away from the window and deeper into the palace. The courtyard disappeared from her side vision. The girl in cream and gold—princess, crown-daughter, whatever title they used—became just another shape filed in the back of her mind under danger.

  The corridor bent twice, then emptied into a long hall with lower ceilings and narrower windows. The echo changed here. Less grand. More practical. Voices overlapped: human, Anthro, tired, rushed.

  They stopped at a wide doorway. The guard jerked his chin at it. “Servants’ hall.”

  Inside, benches lined the walls. Pegs held neat rows of gray uniforms. A few pallets were stacked in one corner. The room smelled of soap, dust, and a faint lingering trace of porridge.

  A woman waited near a table covered in folded linen. Not broad like Mira, but solid. Her hair was scraped back into a knot so tight it seemed to pull the lines at the corners of her eyes. She wore gray like the others, but hers was cleaner, straighter, the apron over it tied sharp.

  “Matron Sere,” the guard said, giving her a stiff nod. “New palace issue. For the royal apartments.”

  Sere’s eyes went immediately to the collar at Kaelrin’s throat, then to the writ the guard held. She took the page, scanned it, and hummed low in her throat.

  “Chetari,” she said. “No record of prior service.”

  “She’s fresh,” the guard said. “Straight from the Crown’s mercy.”

  Sere’s mouth tightened. “So we break her in before the nobles do. Fine.” She folded the writ. “Leave the chain.”

  The guard blinked. “Matron—”

  “You heard me,” Sere said. “She’s not going to start a war in the servants’ hall.”

  He hesitated, then unclipped the chain from the ring beneath Kaelrin’s collar. The weight of it fell away from her wrists. Her arms felt light and exposed without the pull.

  “If she causes trouble, it’s on you,” the guard said.

  Sere’s gaze didn’t shift. “She won’t cause trouble. She’ll be too busy working.”

  The guard snorted and left.

  For a moment, Kaelrin stood there, wrists bare, not quite trusting the absence. The collar still hugged her throat. The iron might as well have been a hand.

  Sere folded the writ once more and tucked it into her apron. Then she looked at Kaelrin properly.

  “Can you understand me, girl?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Kaelrin said. Her voice sounded rough in her own ears.

  “Good. I don’t have time to teach you words you should have learned before you were collared.” Sere lifted one of the folded gray dresses from the table and held it out. “Uniform. Change. There.” She pointed to a curtained alcove in the corner.

  Kaelrin took the dress. The fabric was rougher than the thin shift she wore now, but whole. No tears. No stains yet. She went where Sere pointed.

  Behind the curtain was just enough space to move without bumping her elbows. She stripped quickly, the air cool against her fur, and pulled the gray over her head. It hung a little short on her lanky frame, but it covered her. That was enough. She smoothed it down around the collar, fingers brushing the metal where it sat too snug against her neck.

  When she stepped back out, Sere was waiting with a plain rope belt.

  “Turn,” Sere said.

  Kaelrin turned. Sere tied the belt with quick, neat fingers, then tugged the fabric into place so it sat straighter.

  “There,” Sere said. “You’ll get another when you’re assigned to a fixed room. Until then, this is all you own inside these walls. Lose it and I’ll have words.”

  “Yes,” Kaelrin said.

  Sere stepped back, eyes scanning her again. “Claws stay sheathed when you carry anything. Tail tucked when you serve. Ears down if a noble raises their voice. You don’t speak unless spoken to. You don’t run. You don’t cry where anyone important can see you. Understood?”

  Kaelrin’s jaw worked once before she forced the answer out. “Understood.”

  “Good.” There was no kindness in Sere’s tone, but there wasn’t the sharp edge of cruelty either. Just tired practice. “You’re assigned to Her Highness’s wing. That means more eyes on you than on most. Step wrong there and it comes down on all of us.”

  Her Highness’s wing.

  Kaelrin remembered the girl in the courtyard, the clean dress, the calm face, the way she had looked up and seen her.

  “Why?” Kaelrin asked, before she could stop herself. “Why me?”

  Sere’s eyebrows flicked. “Because someone in the high rooms wrote your name on a line.” She tapped her apron where the writ hid. “None of us down here get to ask why. We get to make sure you don’t drop anything.”

  A voice called from the doorway. “Matron! Mira says if you steal her new girl, she’ll come pry your fingers off your spoons.”

  Sere exhaled through her nose. “Speaking of dropped things.” She raised her voice. “Fira, if you’re shouting in my hall, your own work must be done.”

  The foxfolk girl popped her head in through the doorway, grin wide. “Mostly done,” Fira said. Her gaze found Kaelrin and brightened. “Ah! There’s our new royal shadow. Mira said I should come fetch the spotted one before you turned her into a broom.”

  Sere rubbed her temple briefly. “You need a whipping post more than another spoon,” she muttered, then jerked her chin at Kaelrin. “Go with Fira. The cook wants to see how you hold a tray when your hands aren’t shaking from the road.”

  Kaelrin hesitated. “I thought I’m to serve the princess.”

  “And where do you think her food comes from?” Sere said. “You go through Mira before you go near Her Highness. Now move. And Fira?”

  “Yes, Matron?” Fira said.

  “If she comes back with flour in her ears, I’ll know it was your doing.”

  Fira put a hand over her heart. “I would never.”

  Sere gave her a look that said she had heard that lie before and waved them both away.

  Fira waited until they were a few steps down the corridor before snorting softly. “She’ll know it was my doing anyway. She always does. Come on, spots.”

  “Kaelrin,” Kaelrin said.

  “Kaelrin,” Fira repeated. “Long name. I’ll use it when I’m not tired.”

  They looped back toward the kitchens, the path more direct this time. Kaelrin tried to fix it in her head—the turn by the alcove with the chipped vase, the scuff in the floor by the storage door, the smell of yeast that grew stronger as they approached.

  Inside the kitchen, heat hit her full in the face again, flushing her cheeks. Mira stood near the main table, hands on her hips, watching a boy struggle with a sack of potatoes.

  “Tovin,” she said. “You’re going to break yourself before you break that sack. Use your legs, not your back.”

  “Yes, Mira,” Tovin puffed.

  Mira spotted Kaelrin and Fira and waved them over. “There you are. Matron didn’t keep you to scrub the walls, then.”

  “She said we need to see how she holds a tray,” Fira said. “And that you’re not allowed to have my spoons.”

  Mira snorted. “I’d rather have my spoons than you most days.” She turned her attention to Kaelrin. “Let me see your hands.”

  Kaelrin held them out, palms up. Faint red lines still marked where the shackles had sat that morning. The fur there was flattened and rubbed thin.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Mira hummed. “You’ll manage. We’ll start small. Fira, fetch one of the polished trays. Not one of the ones for visiting dignitaries. And don’t you dare drop it on purpose just to ‘teach her.’”

  “I don’t drop things on purpose,” Fira said.

  “Your tail does,” Mira replied.

  Fira went to the shelf, grumbling, and returned with a round silver tray. It had been polished so recently that Kaelrin could see herself reflected in the metal, distorted by the curve. The collar on her throat looked wider in the tray than it felt. Her eyes looked more tired.

  “Take it,” Mira said.

  Kaelrin curled her fingers around the edge. The metal was cool and heavier than it looked, but manageable. She balanced it the way she had watched other servants do—the way she had done herself in lesser houses since her capture. One hand beneath, one hand steady at the side. Tail tucked close.

  “Always know where your tail is,” Mira said, as if reading her thoughts. “It’s the first thing they blame when something falls, even if they were the ones who bumped you.”

  Kaelrin nodded.

  “Walk,” Mira commanded. “From this table to the oven and back. Slow. No clinking.”

  Kaelrin walked. The kitchen was busy, but a clear line had been left, whether on purpose or because people learned quickly to leave space when someone tested with silver. She kept her eyes forward, her grip firm, her steps even. The tray trembled only once when someone laughed loudly to her left, but she caught it.

  “Again,” Mira said.

  They did it three more times. On the fourth, Fira darted in front of her without warning, tail flicking.

  Kaelrin shifted her step, adjusted, and kept the tray level. Not a single invisible grape rolled.

  Mira’s brows lifted. “Huh. You weren’t lying on the writ. You have done this before.”

  Kaelrin swallowed. “Different house. In the city below.”

  “Not all collars are palace-made,” Mira said. “Some just get here late.” She took the tray from Kaelrin, checked it, then set it back on the shelf. “You’ll do.”

  Tovin dropped the potato sack with a thump and staggered back, panting. “Mira? The steward sent word. They want the new girl sent to the east baths. Royal wing wants her clean and presentable before midday.”

  Kaelrin’s fur prickled. “Royal wing,” she echoed.

  Mira wiped her hands on her apron. “Of course they do. Can’t have a speck of road dust in the princess’s shadow. Fira, show her the way. And listen,” she added, stepping closer to Kaelrin. “The bath matrons there don’t like surprises. Do what they say. Don’t argue. Don’t look too long at the other girls. It makes them nervous.”

  “I wasn’t planning to look at anyone,” Kaelrin said.

  “Good,” Mira said. “Keep it that way until you understand the game.”

  Fira hooked her arm through Kaelrin’s and pulled. “Come on. Before Matron Sere and the bath watchers argue over who gets to yell at you first.”

  They climbed a narrower staircase this time, one that smelled faintly of lye and steam. At the top, a heavy door opened into a tiled chamber where heat and moisture hit like a wall. Steam drifted up from long stone basins sunk into the floor. Water gleamed inside them, clear and hot. The room echoed with the splashing of water, the soft scrape of cloth on skin, the low murmur of servants’ voices.

  A stocky woman with sleeves rolled to her elbows stood at a central basin, directing the flow like a general on a field. Her gray hair frizzed from steam. A scar ran down one forearm, pale against her darker skin.

  “Matron Hale,” Fira called. “Special delivery from the kitchens. Royal wing wants this one scrubbed.”

  Matron Hale looked Kaelrin up and down, then jerked her chin toward an empty basin. “Strip. In.”

  Fira patted Kaelrin’s arm. “I’ll wait outside. Only so many matrons yelling at once a girl can take.”

  She vanished back through the door.

  Kaelrin swallowed and obeyed. She was used to being on display when they wanted her cleaned. That didn’t make it easier. She shed the gray uniform, folding it carefully and setting it on a dry bench, and stepped into the basin.

  The water was hot enough to sting at first, then settled into something that made her muscles go loose whether she liked it or not. It came up to her knees when she sat. The heat soaked up through her legs and into her back, easing the ache.

  Hale came over with a bucket and a cloth. “You wash. I’ll check you didn’t miss anything they’ll complain about.”

  Kaelrin took the cloth. The soap smelled like tallow and something sharp she couldn’t name. Not flowers. Not herbs from home. Clean, in a different way.

  She worked it over her arms, chest, shoulders, careful around the collar. Hale watched, occasionally pointing with a thick finger.

  “Behind the ears,” she said. “They always look there. They think it tells them if you’re lazy.”

  Kaelrin scrubbed behind her ears.

  “Between claws,” Hale added. “If you’re serving in the royal wing, your hands will be watched more than your eyes.”

  Kaelrin blinked water from her face. “You’ve… done this before?”

  “Been watching girls go up there since before you were born,” Hale said. “Some came back. Some didn’t.” She didn’t sound particularly dramatic about it. Just tired.

  Kaelrin’s throat tightened. “Did they die?”

  “Some went to other posts,” Hale said. “Some got sent back down to lower service. Some got sent out of the palace on other work. Some died.” She shrugged. “It’s not my place to know which.”

  Kaelrin’s fingers slowed briefly on her own arm.

  Hale tapped the side of the basin. “Move. Thinking slows your hands.”

  Kaelrin finished scrubbing. Hale handed her a smaller cloth.

  “Dry your fur as much as you can before you put the uniform back on. The princess’s carpet won’t thank you if you drip all over it.”

  “You’ve seen her rooms?” Kaelrin asked.

  “More than once,” Hale said. “Don’t stand in the middle. Don’t touch her things unless you’re told. Don’t speak if a priest is in the room, even if they speak first. They’ll make it sound like your fault later.”

  Kaelrin nodded.

  When she stepped out of the basin, the air felt cold against her damp fur. Hale gave her a rough towel and turned away politely, pretending not to look while Kaelrin dried herself and slipped back into the gray uniform.

  “Better,” Hale said when she turned back. “You look like you were meant to be here now, not dragged in from the road.” She picked up something from a nearby shelf and held it out—a plain leather thong. “For your hair. They don’t like it loose. Too wild.”

  Kaelrin gathered her mane back with quick fingers and tied it off. It tugged a little at her scalp. She was used to that. Back home, they had braided beads into it. Here, it was just rope.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Hale made a small noise that might have meant you’re welcome and might have meant don’t thank me for doing my job.

  Fira poked her head back in. “Is she boiled enough?”

  “Take her before I start scrubbing that collar out of habit,” Hale said.

  Fira grinned and waved Kaelrin out. “Ready to go stand very still and be stared at, spotted girl?”

  “No,” Kaelrin said honestly.

  “Good,” Fira said. “Means you still have sense. Come on.”

  They walked a shorter corridor this time, walls smoother, windows wider. The floor changed from simple stone to inlaid patterns, little flecks of color set into the white. Kaelrin’s steps slowed despite herself.

  Fira noticed. “First time in this wing?”

  Kaelrin nodded.

  “It smells different,” Fira said. “Too clean. Like they scraped all the real air out and put incense in the cracks.”

  Kaelrin inhaled. She smelled beeswax, flowers from vases she couldn’t see yet, a faint trace of ink and parchment. And under it all, something else—expensive perfume, fabric that had never seen sweat, the ghost of powdered sugar.

  They stopped outside a pair of tall doors carved with lilies and sunbursts. A guard in better armor than the one who had brought her from the plaza stood there, spear resting in one hand. His gaze slid over Fira without interest and landed on Kaelrin with a little more. Not lust, exactly. Not hate either. Just measuring.

  “Handmaiden consignment,” Fira said, jerking her head toward Kaelrin. “From the kitchens. From the plaza before that. Where next? From the moon?”

  The guard gave a brief snort despite himself. “Steward said to bring her when she was ready. You’re late.”

  “I brought her back scrubbed, dressed, and breathing,” Fira said. “If you want her faster next time, you carry her.”

  The guard shook his head, then pushed the door open with his free hand.

  “Inside,” he said to Kaelrin. “Matron Sere is already waiting with the steward. And Her Highness’s other girl.”

  Other girl. That would be the one who dressed the princess earlier. The one who wasn’t collared.

  Kaelrin stepped inside.

  The princess’s antechamber was softer than the halls outside. Rugs covered most of the marble floor, woven in blue and gold patterns. Two high-backed chairs flanked a low table. On the far wall, another door stood closed, likely leading into the bedchamber.

  Matron Sere was there, hands folded, standing beside a man in fine but not noble cloth—dark tunic, ink-stained fingers, a ring with the Crown’s sigil but not in gold.

  “Steward Halen,” Fira murmured under her breath.

  Pella stood a few steps back, near the inner door, her gray dress neat, hair pinned tight. She looked as she had in the morning—composed, careful. Her gaze flicked to Kaelrin and softened a fraction. Then she lowered it again as propriety demanded.

  “You took your time,” Halen said, looking Kaelrin over as if assessing a new piece of furniture. “At least she’s clean.”

  “She had road on her,” Hale’s voice echoed in Kaelrin’s memory. She looked like she was dragged in from the outside. The baths had scraped that away. The collar had already done most of the other scraping.

  “She’s here before the bell,” Sere said. “That’s on time. Your schedule wants the day stretched longer than it is, Steward.”

  Halen gave her a bland smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “The Crown’s will stretches hours nicely when needed.”

  He turned to Kaelrin. “Step forward. Hands at your sides. Eyes down.”

  Kaelrin obeyed. Her heart thudded, but her face stayed still. She knew this part. Inspection. Always inspection.

  “You’ll serve as second handmaiden to Her Highness,” Halen said. “You shadow Pella,” he added, with a small nod toward the woman by the door. “You carry when she tells you. You fetch when she tells you. You breathe when she tells you. You do not speak to Her Highness unless she addresses you directly.”

  Kaelrin nodded once.

  “Answer with words, not just fur,” Halen said.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Yes, Steward,” Sere corrected quietly.

  “Yes, Steward,” Kaelrin repeated.

  Halen’s eyes narrowed briefly, then he hummed. “Your human tongue needs smoothing. Pella will see to that. The princess won’t tolerate slurred answers in her rooms.”

  Pella’s jaw clenched slightly. “I will teach her,” she said.

  “Teach her fast,” Halen replied. “Her Highness meets with the High Solar’s choirmistress tomorrow. They like their servants to look and sound like part of the decor.”

  Kaelrin didn’t know what a choirmistress was exactly. Someone important with songs, maybe. But she understood decor. Decoration. Something to look at, not listen to.

  Halen stepped closer, studying the collar. His fingers brushed the sunburst stamped into the plate.

  “This mark means you are palace property,” he said, voice going a little slower, as if speaking to a child. “Not just some noble’s whim. That’s a privilege, beastgirl. Try to act like it.”

  Privilege. Another word humans liked to twist into a shape that fit them.

  “Yes, Steward,” Kaelrin said.

  He seemed satisfied with that. “Her Highness is with the king now,” he said. “She’ll return soon. When she does, you stand there.” He pointed to a spot near the inner door, facing toward the room. “Back straight. Hands together. If she wants something, Pella will tell you.”

  He looked to Pella. “You understand your new responsibility.”

  “Yes,” Pella said. “If she fails, it’s my failure first.”

  “Exactly,” Halen said. “See that she doesn’t.”

  He left then, gliding out with the air of someone who always had a list of more important things waiting.

  Sere lingered a breath longer, eyes on Kaelrin. “Do the work,” she said quietly. “Breathe between orders. Don’t think about the rest.” Her gaze flicked to the collar again, then back to Kaelrin’s face, an unreadable mix of pity and resignation. She left.

  The room felt larger without them, somehow. The rugs swallowed some of the echo the stone usually threw back. A clock on the mantle ticked steadily. Somewhere beyond the inner door, a faint murmur of voices came and went.

  Pella approached. Up close, Kaelrin could see the lines of tiredness at the corners of her eyes more clearly.

  “I’m Pella,” she said. “You know that already, I think.”

  Kaelrin nodded.

  “I’ll show you the room,” Pella said. “And what not to