THE SASSY PRINCESS

Chapter 6

Elara guided Seraphina through the long, dimly lit corridors of the servants' quarters, her voice a comforting whisper as she explained the layout of the estate. The atmosphere felt cold, the walls heavy with secrets Seraphina could almost feel pressing in on her.

"There's a lot you need to know to stay out of trouble," Elara began softly, glancing over her shoulder as if to make sure no one was listening. “First rule—don’t go near the well-built man's room. Ever.”

Seraphina's stomach tightened at the mention of him. The memory of his unsettling gaze and cryptic words was still fresh, and she shuddered involuntarily.

"Why?" Seraphina asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Elara hesitated, her expression troubled. “He’s... unpredictable. Let’s just say he doesn’t like being disturbed, and no one wants to see what happens if you cross him.”

They walked a bit further, passing by several rooms, all similarly plain. Elara pointed to a door on their left. “That’s his kitchen. He likes to cook for himself, strange as it sounds. No one is allowed in there but him.”

Seraphina frowned, confused. "The master of the house cooking? Why?"

Elara shrugged, but her voice dropped conspiratorially. “I don’t know. He’s got some odd habits. Maybe it's his way of controlling things, or maybe it’s something darker. Either way, steer clear. Marie’s the only one allowed in there sometimes, and even she doesn’t go in unless he asks.”

The tension in Elara’s voice made Seraphina’s skin prickle. Every inch of this place seemed to hold more danger than she had imagined.

They turned a corner and Elara stopped abruptly in front of another door. “This is Marie’s room,” she said. “Another place you should avoid unless you're called. She serves him exclusively, and she’s loyal. If she catches you sneaking around, she won’t hesitate to turn you in.”

Seraphina nodded, mentally noting every place Elara pointed out. It was becoming clearer that there were boundaries in this strange world she had to abide by. One wrong step, and it could cost her much more than punishment.

Elara’s face softened as they finally stepped outside into the estate’s expansive garden. Unlike the oppressive atmosphere inside, the garden was lush and vibrant, an unexpected oasis amidst the gloom. Tall hedges, blooming flowers, and the smell of fresh earth gave the space an almost magical quality.

“This is the garden,” Elara said, her tone lighter for the first time. “You can come here when you need a break. It’s the only place that feels a little... normal.”

Seraphina took a deep breath, savoring the clean air. It was a small comfort in an otherwise terrifying situation. The flowers swayed gently in the breeze, and for a moment, she felt a flicker of hope.

Elara continued, “Just remember everything I told you. And if you need help, come to me. We all have our roles here, but some of us still have hearts.”

Seraphina managed a small smile, grateful for Elara’s kindness. But as she looked around at the high stone walls surrounding the estate, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this garden—this place—was more of a cage than a sanctuary.

The next day, Seraphina woke up with a start, her head still foggy from the restless sleep. For a moment, She thought she was back in her bed at the palace. But as she blinked her eyes open, the reality of where she was hit her like a stone. She was still in that same dark room, no windows, just the eerie silence pressing down on her.

She clicked on the light, half expecting the room to look different. But no, it was exactly as she had left it last night. Had everything that happened really been real? The man, his cryptic words, the strange corridors? For a moment, she almost convinced herself it was just a bad dream. But the cold, hard floor beneath her feet told her otherwise.

She stepped out of the room, her heart pounding as she made my way downstairs. The corridor was just as dark as before, the air thick with a sense of unease. She had barely made sense of this place the day before, and now she was walking through it again, like some kind of twisted routine.

As she descended the stairs, her breath caught in my throat. There, in the same spot, on the same lavish chair, sat the man from last night. He was lounging, looking as relaxed as ever, a glass of wine in his hand. He glanced at her as she reached the bottom of the staircase, a smile creeping across his lips.

For a split second, she hesitated. Was this real? Had she somehow been trapped in a nightmare that she couldn’t wake from? My mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. How could he be sitting there again, in the same position, as if nothing had changed?

"Good morning," he said, his voice smooth and mocking. "Or should I say good afternoon?"

She swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. Was she still dreaming? Could this strange reality be repeating itself, or was this my life now—trapped in a place where time seemed to stand still?

"You look surprised," he continued, swirling the wine in his glass, his eyes watching me closely. "Did you expect to wake up somewhere else?"

She didn’t answer. Her mind was too clouded with questions, too filled with fear to even form words.

"Sit," he commanded, gesturing to the chair opposite him. "We have much to discuss."