The Death of a Tyrant's Concubine

CHAPTER 06 - High Elvish

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【𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐉𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄】

I forced the kitchen windows open with a grunt, the rusted hinges groaning in protest. Dust billowed into the air, and I coughed, the musty stench of mold filling my lungs.

When was the last time Clover Castle's kitchen had seen any use?

I turned back, hands on my hips, surveying the sorry state before me. The sunlight streamed in weakly from the window behind me. Dust coated every surface while scattered pots and pans lay abandoned on the floor. A rat darted into the shadows, its tiny claws scratching against the stone.

First thing's first. I needed to know what pitiful provisions the palace had deigned to send here. I sifted through the supply, finding little more than rice, beans, lentils, oats, and dried plums and figs. All in burlap sacks riddled with tiny holes — courtesy of the rats, no doubt.

"Hey, Rainey, can't you keep me strapped to your thigh like last night?" Ryn's voice whined through the room. "It was so nice and cozy..."

I shot a glare down at the dagger fastened to my hip.

"If I knew I had a pervert beneath my skirts at the banquet, I would've left you with the rest of the cutlery."

"Aw, now that's just cruel... You know you can't carry me around so openly," he teased. "What would everyone think? They'd call you some violent woman."

I rolled my eyes, lifting the sacks of grain out of the rats' reach.

"It was a gift from the emperor. Not a soul would dare question it."

"Hmpf. Well, it was nice while it lasted."

"You can forget about it happening again."

"Cruel mortal..."

"Perverted elf."

Once the food was secured, I gathered what little I needed for myself, including a tarnished copper pot, a dented kettle, a single chipped cup, and some ancient tea leaves that looked just usable enough. With the pot perched on my hip, I made my way out of the kitchen.

As I passed the drawing room, faint giggles drifted through the air.

Curious, I stepped inside. It was the only room in the castle that still held any semblance of elegance, though it was a faded, tired kind. A few ladies sat embroidering by the light of the cracked window.

One of the women who I remembered being the ringleader glanced up from her embroidery. Her deep green eyes met mine and a smirk curled over her thin lips.

"Oh, look, the palace finally sent us a maid," Lady Virella said.

The others turned to look and erupted into titters.

"No, Lady Virella," one corrected, her voice dripping with amusement. "That's the princess."

A fresh round of laughter followed, echoing in the room.

"A princess, you say?" Virella twirled a lock of curly dark blonde hair in her finger. "Even the servants are dressed better."

I glanced down at my attire — simple and practical. A dull grayish-green dress suited for a day's work, with one corner hitched up at my hip, revealing boots beneath. A rag I found in the kitchen was tucked beside the dagger at my side. And my messy braids hung loose, a far cry from what Skye used to weave for me.

The laughter grated against my skin, but I couldn't bring myself to snap back at them.

In my first life, I had viewed these women as obstacles on my path to empress.