Who are you?

The morning sunlight felt too bright.

I sat at the small corner table where I usually took my meals, my hands wrapped around a warm bowl of porridge I hadn't touched. I kept stirring the surface out of habit, watching the pale grains fold into themselves, over and over.

I didn't have the appetite.

I shifted in my seat, forcing myself to look at the food. A bitter taste still lingered at the back of my throat, no matter how many times I rinsed my mouth.

I hadn't slept. Not really. I must've drifted in and out, but each time I closed my eyes, the images came back.

Finn's hand curled in the maid's hair, the way her back arched against the stone wall, the dull, lifeless look in her eyes. The sound of it all. It rang louder in memory than it had in the garden.

I'd assumed Finn was loyal to Esther. That his detachment from other women meant something, that she was the one exception. The only one allowed near his heart while his chosen mate was not yet by his side.

And I… was just a means to fulfill his duty. The chosen breeder of his heir.

But seeing him last night, I realized I was wrong about him. I could tell that for him, love and affection didn't come along with physical intimacy.

And now I couldn't stop wondering what was waiting for me after the Heirbind rite.

"Miss Vivien?" Stella's voice pulled me back.

She was standing nearby, holding a fresh teapot and glancing down at my untouched breakfast. Her expression softened with concern. "You haven't eaten a bite."

"I'm not very hungry," I murmured.

She tilted her head, concern furrowing her brow. "Are you unwell?"

I hesitated.

"I had a nightmare," I said instead, my voice quiet. "Didn't sleep well."

Her expression softened, the tension in her shoulders loosening. "Oh, I see. That happens to me sometimes too." She reached over and gently pushed the bowl closer to me. "Would you like something else? Maybe fruit?"

I shook my head. "No. Thank you."

She didn't press.

"I'll brew some chamomile tonight," she said, offering a faint smile. "It helps me sleep, especially when my thoughts won't stop spinning."

That made me smile, just a little.

"That would be nice," I murmured.

"Something shocking happened early this morning," she said after a few seconds, lowering her voice slightly, her forehead creasing. "One of the maids was found dead. Alice."

My heart skipped a beat. "Dead?"

She nodded. "They say she died of a sudden illness. Collapsed in the servants' quarters last night and didn't wake again."

My fingers tightened around the teacup.

"Was she young?" I asked slowly.

"Barely older than me," Stella said. "I didn't know her well, but… I saw her last night before supper. She seemed fine."

I felt something shift in my chest, cold and sharp. "How did she looked like?"

She took a moment to remember the woman's face properly, "Long ginger hair, pale skin. Small face, green eyes. She was really beautiful and quiet. I heard she's supporting her family back home in her village…"

I didn't hear the rest.

My chest went tight. My breath faltered.

The face flickered behind my eyes. I saw it again - the woman pressed against stone, mouth parted in a soundless cry, that same small frame trembling under Finn's hands.

It was her.

The maid from last night.

I set my cup down with shaking fingers. My mouth had gone dry.

What… happened?

The question wouldn't stop echoing in my head.

Stella kept talking about how the other maids saw Alice as someone very kind, but her voice had already faded into the background.

Some awful thought had pushed its way into my mind. Crawled in and rooted itself before I could stop it.

Was she killed?

It was too much of a coincidence. I had seen her. Just last night.

I couldn't be mistaken. There weren't many maids who looked like her in this manor, and the memory of her face, twisted in discomfort, caught in that moment with Finn, was still etched too vividly into my mind.

Now she was gone.

Dead.

They said it was illness. But how truthful could that be?

The air in my chest felt so tight.

Did he kill her?

Did Finn end her life so there wouldn't be a trace of his filthy doing?

He always seemed so composed. Controlled. The perfect Alpha, upright and noble. Feared but respected.

But last night, he hadn't looked composed.

He had looked like a man with no restraint, someone who didn't care if he hurt others as long as his need was satisfied.

The idea of it, of him cleaning up after himself like someone wiping blood off a blade, was so sickening, I could hardly breathe. My hand trembled as I reached for the teacup again, but the smell of it, even the warmth, made the bile rise back to my throat.

I pushed the cup away.

"You don't seem really well," Stella said gently, her voice cutting through my thoughts. I looked up, and she was watching me now, brow furrowed. "You've gone pale."

"I'm fine…" I managed, my voice barely holding. "I just need rest. Could I have a moment to myself?"

She looked worried, didn't want to leave me alone. But then she nodded and stepped away, her footsteps heading to the door.

And then I was alone.

I let out a shaky breath.

Tears gathered in my eyes before I even felt them. They slipped down my cheeks silently, one after another. I didn't make a sound. Just sat there, bent slightly over the table, gripping the edge like it could hold me together.

I was scared.

Terrified.

If Finn could do that to her, if he could take what he wanted and erase her like she never existed, what would stop him from doing the same to me?

After I fulfilled my purpose… after I gave him an heir… would I just be discarded?

Silenced?

Erased?

It made me angry. How could he do that? After using the woman? How vile could he be?

The thought clung to my ribs like rot. I hadn't even been touched yet, and still, I already felt like something inside me was being stripped away.

***

The sun had set without me noticing.

The sky had already faded to a deep blue by the time I looked out the window, and the shadows in my room had lengthened into something soft and heavy. I had spent the entire day here, barely moving.

Stella brought me lunch sometime in the afternoon. I managed to eat a little, though nothing tasted like anything. She looked at me with gentle eyes, like she could tell something was off. But she didn't ask. And I was grateful for that.

I couldn't tell her what I had seen. Not when even knowing might put her in danger.

That night, just as she said she would, she returned with a cup of chamomile tea. She left it on the side table and she didn't linger.

I stepped out onto the balcony a few minutes later, cradling the warm tea in my hands. The sky was clear, the moon not yet risen, and the stars blinked dimly above the roofline.

I sipped slowly, letting the tea sit on my tongue before swallowing.

Halfway through the cup, a familiar crow landed on the small table beside me.

It carried a rolled paper again.

I stared at it for a moment. Then I reached out, gently taking the note from the thin tie in its leg.

The crow didn't fly away. Just settled there, watching.

I unrolled the paper and read the note.

'You don't want an escape? So you want to be that bastard's breeder?'

My jaw tightened.

I hated that it made something stir in my chest, something dangerous. Hope. That fragile, useless thing I'd been trying so hard to silence.

I hated that I wanted to believe it.

I almost crushed the paper in my fist. Almost threw it over the railing and told the crow to go back to wherever it came from.

But I didn't.

Instead, I placed the teacup down beside the bird and turned back into the room. I found a scrap of paper, about as small as half of my palm, and a pen.