Chapter 22

Aurelia meandered through the castle gardens alongside Betsy, the warmth of the morning sun filtering through the lush canopy of leaves overhead. The air buzzed with the gentle hum of bees and the distant chirping of birds, a peaceful melody that contrasted sharply with the turmoil simmering within Aurelia.

Earlier that morning, she'd caught a glimpse of the commotion near the castle entrance – a magnificent carriage and two women, both radiating an aura of nobility. Ever curious, she'd sought out Betsy, the ever-present maid, to glean some gossip.

Betsy, always eager to share a tidbit or two, had spilled the beans. Lady Cecilia Hightower, daughter of the Duke of the South, and Lady Gabrielle du Lac, daughter of the Duke of the East, had graced the castle with their presence.

While Betsy gushed about Lady Cecilia's apparent infatuation with the King, her voice took on a darker tone when she spoke of Lady Gabrielle. Rumors swirled about the latter's rebellious nature, whispers hinting at escapades to the infamous Red Light District. "A lady of noble blood, cavorting with such… riffraff," Betsy had muttered, shaking her head in disapproval.

Aurelia, however, found herself far more intrigued by Lady Cecilia's plight. Love for the King? If only Cecilia knew the truth lurking beneath that handsome facade. The King, a monster cloaked in royal garb, a man whose hands were stained with the blood of innocents, including her own parents. Here she was, trapped in his castle, a prisoner disguised as a servant, while ladies like Cecilia fawned over him in blissful ignorance.

A wave of bitter resentment washed over Aurelia. She longed to scream the truth from the rooftops, to expose the King's cruelty for all to see. But prudence held her tongue. One wrong move, one careless whisper, and she'd be sharing her parents' fate.

Aurelia's tranquil walk with Betsy was shattered by a sudden, clumsy collision. One moment she was admiring a vibrant flowerbed, the next she found herself sprawled on the cobbled path, a figure sprawled on top of her. A startled yelp escaped the figure's lips as they tumbled to the ground with an ungraceful thud.

Disoriented and covered in dirt, Aurelia scrambled to her knees, her heart pounding in her chest. Blinking away the stars dancing in her vision, she stared down at the source of the collision. A blonde woman, her beautiful gown now smudged with dust, sat on the path, her expression a mask of fury.

Before Aurelia could even stammer an apology, Betsy materialized at her side, a low gasp escaping her lips. "Lady Cecilia," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Recognition dawned on Aurelia. This, then, was the famed Lady Cecilia Hightower, the one rumored to be smitten with the King. Shame washed over Aurelia. How clumsy could one person be?

"You clumsy oaf!" the woman shrieked, her voice laced with disdain.

Aurelia attempted to reach out a hand to help Cecilia up, but the noblewoman recoiled as if struck. Slapping away Aurelia's hand with a venomous glare, she scrambled to her feet, clutching the arm of the other woman who stood beside her – Lady Gabrielle, if Betsy's frantic whispers were to be believed.

Mortified, Aurelia bowed low, her face burning with embarrassment. "A thousand apologies, Milady," she stammered. "I… I didn't see you there."

Betsy echoed Aurelia's apology, her head bent in a deep curtsy. From the corner of her eye, Aurelia could see Lady Gabrielle give a small, disdainful snicker to Cecilia. "Seems Lady Love-struck has eyes in the back of her head," she muttered, her voice laced with amusement.

Cecilia's glare remained fixed on Gabrielle, her anger momentarily diverted by the latter's snide remark. "Clumsy oaf," she muttered, viciously brushing at the dust clinging to her once-pristine gown. For a moment, her tirade continued, a stream of complaints directed at Aurelia's apparent ineptitude. "Honestly, Gabrielle," she huffed, "the audacity! Does she not know who she's barging into? She'll pay dearly for ruining my dress!"

However, her tirade was cut short as a new observation caught her eye. She stopped midsentence, her gaze flickering to Aurelia, who stood frozen in place.

"You," Cecilia began, a new note of suspicion creeping into her voice, "aren't you... the rumored slave of His Majesty?"

Aurelia's breath hitched in her throat. She clenched her fists, her body tensing.

Emboldened by this revelation, Cecilia pressed on. Her voice dripped with a mix of disbelief and indignation. "A slave? Wandering freely in the castle gardens? Surely the King wouldn't be so… lax with his discipline! This calls for an audience, wouldn't you agree, Gabrielle? The King needs to hear about this blatant disregard for order!"

Cecilia's gaze then dropped to Aurelia's clothing, a sharp crease appearing between her brows. The simple gown Aurelia wore, though clean and well-maintained, didn't exactly scream "slave." In fact, it looked more like something a minor noblewoman might possess.

"And that dress," Cecilia continued, her voice laced with suspicion, "it's far too fine for a servant. Where did you get it, girl? "

Cecilia's accusatory outburst was cut short by Gabrielle's dismissive wave. "Spare us the dramatics, Cecilia," Gabrielle drawled, her voice laced with boredom. "Before you launch into another self-righteous lecture, allow me to introduce myself."

She straightened her posture, a hint of playfulness flickering in her eyes. "Gabrielle du Lac, at your service, though you can call me Gabe, that I prefer."

Her gaze then shifted to Betsy, who stood frozen beside Aurelia, her face a mask of confusion. "And you," Gabrielle continued, her voice softening slightly, "what is your name?"

Betsy, still flustered by the encounter, darted a quick glance at Aurelia before stammering, "B-Betsy, milady."

"Betsy, hmm," Gabrielle repeated, rolling the name on her tongue. "A charming name for a charming young lady."

Before anyone could react, Gabrielle did something that sent a jolt through Cecilia and left Aurelia speechless. With a surprising display of affection, Gabrielle reached out and took Betsy's hand in hers. Then, with a swift movement, she bent down and pressed a gentle kiss on the back of Betsy's palm, Betsy's eye widened.

Cecilia's jaw dropped. "What in the world are you doing, Gabrielle?" she sputtered, her voice a mix of outrage and disbelief. "That simply isn't done! A lady of your stature… kissing a servant's hand? Only men are permitted such liberties."

The playful defiance on Gabrielle's face evaporated the moment Cecilia voiced her outrage. Gabrielle's hand, as if caught in a sudden downdraft, dropped Betsy's limp palm. "Oh, I…" she stammered, fumbling for an apology. A flicker of defiance lingered in her eyes, a silent rebellion against the suffocating expectations of her class.

Cecilia, quick to capitalize on Gabrielle's momentary lapse, turned her attention back to Aurelia. Her voice, though still tinged with annoyance, held a hint of grudging curiosity. "Well?" she queried. "Surely even a slave deserves a name. What do they call you?"

Before Aurelia could muster a response, a new voice cut through the tense atmosphere. A middle-aged man with a stoic expression and impeccably groomed dark hair strode towards them. He was clad in a formal butler's attire, his demeanor radiating an aura of quiet authority, Ser Malcolm.

"Lady Cecilia," he began, his voice low and respectful, "Lady Gabrielle. What seems to be the trouble here?"

Cecilia, ever the drama queen, plastered a saccharine smile on her face. "Oh, Ser Malcolm, thank goodness you're here," she chirped, her voice dripping with feigned distress. "This… this slave," she gestured disdainfully at Aurelia, "purposefully bumped into me, and look at my dress!" She twirled dramatically, showcasing a smudge of dirt clinging to the otherwise pristine gown.

Malcolm cast a dispassionate glance at Aurelia, his gaze devoid of any emotion. "An unfortunate accident, I see," he remarked dryly. "Fear not, Lady Cecilia. I will have one of the maids assist you with cleaning your gown, or perhaps you would prefer a replacement."

Cecilia's theatrical sigh could have filled the entire garden. "A replacement, of course," she declared, her voice laced with a hint of entitlement. "And this… this girl," she spat, once again directing a glare at Aurelia, "she deserves punishment for her carelessness."

Malcolm, however, remained unfazed. "Punishment will be addressed," he said simply. "Rest assured, Lady Cecilia, the matter will be handled."

Cecilia, her initial outrage simmering down to a pout, hooked her arm possessively around Gabrielle's. One last withering glare shot at Aurelia's retreating figure, she whispered something venomous about clumsy servants before following Malcolm back into the castle.

Left alone, Aurelia exchanged a bewildered glance with Betsy. "What on earth...?" Betsy muttered, her voice barely a whisper, her hand still feeling tingly from the kiss.

Aurelia, still reeling from the encounter, offered a small, humorless smile. "An unfortunate collision with nobility," she replied.

They turned around and continued their walk.The path stretched before them, a metaphor for the uncertain future that awaited.