"Matadre?" I whimpered, my voice hoarse.
Her eyes fell upon my clothes in the sink.
I sank deeper into the water as if the flimsy element could conceal me completely. She didn't seem angry. She appeared calm. Too calm.
A pang of unease tightened my chest and I looked down at the water.
She carried a basket containing a fresh set of clothes. She placed it down before climbing a small platform to slide open a high cabinet, revealing an array of washing supplies, neatly arranged bar soaps, towels, and containers. She selected a bar of soap, closed the cabinet, and descended.
With a few steps, she knelt at the side of the bathtub. Right beside me. I stilled.
Why was she kneeling? She wasn't going to wash me, was she?
"Please sit up," she said, dead-panned. "Lord Fashire requested that I have you cleaned."
I slowly sat up, my eyes still fixated on the water. She took hold of my good arm, and started to lather the soap on my skin.
Summoning the courage to look up, I met Matadre's focused gaze. Before I could utter an apology, she shook her head dismissively.
"Becca is devastated, and the other servants are furious. You made fools of us all..." Her words spilled out in a rush, each one cutting deeper than the last. "How did it feel, deceiving us all?"
A wave of nausea washed over me, twisting my insides. I couldn't bear to imagine what the maids and pets thought of me now.
I wanted to express my remorse and regret, but the words remained trapped within my throat, causing an unbearable itch that begged for release.
Matadre's voice softened slightly. "I can't help but take some pity on you, considering your aunt seems to have dragged you into this mess."
"No. I willingly came to work here…" I started and immediately regretted speaking.
Matadre held my gaze, and I shrank back, unable to look away.
"Are you sure?" she pressed, her voice dripping with suspicion. "Had you even heard of this castle? Who planted those ideas in your head?"
I slowly shook my head, even though I could vividly recall the day I asked my aunt for help. She had offered me the only help she could provide, and Melody had given me more information.
My chest constricted with a suffocating mixture of confusion and betrayal. Had this all been planned?
Why?
Matadre let go of me and glanced down at the water. "With this… It stands to tell that I may never have truly known her." She returned her unwavering gaze to me. "If she isn't human or vampire, I cannot fathom what she truly is. And if you are indeed blood-related," Her last words carried a mix of caution and uncertainty as she cast an odd look at the scar on my shoulder. "Then you aren't entirely human either."
My head spun with overwhelming thoughts.
My upbringing had been relatively normal, and my ageing father had always told me that my mother died when I was born. But could that have been another lie?
Was it possible that my aunt held resentment toward my father for some other reason? He was considerably older when I was born, and her sister had chosen to be with him, despite their vast age difference.
'"Just one drop… they all died."'
Lord Fashire's words made my stomach turn.
With a sudden jolt, I leaned forward, my stomach lurching as I dry heaved. The pain tore through my abdomen, but I welcomed it. I had to expel this sickening feeling from within me, no matter how agonizing it might be.
Those innocent people had died because of me.
Because I had been so careless!
But where had I even gone wrong?
'No. No. It isn't my fault. I didn't do anything to them! Lord Fashire was the one who did that to the villagers. It wasn't me!'
My thoughts collided, and I covered my face, tears streaming down as I shook my head and sobbed, "No..."
Matadre remained silent, and without looking, I could feel her stare burning through me.
The water was drained and replaced to rinse me off, and Matadre proceeded to towel me dry. Before long, I found myself dressed in a thicker clothing.
My hair was hastily gathered into a messy bun, causing my scalp to ache from the rough combing. Perhaps beneath Matadre's composed facade, she, too, was angry over being deceived.
The door slammed open and I flinched, fear taking hold of my startled heart in a tight grip. Lord Fashire strolled in with an air of leisure, completely disregarding my presence as he glared at Matadre.
His stormy silver eyes revealed a foul mood.
Every fibre of my being screamed at me to step back and distance myself from Matadre so his gaze wouldn't inadvertently fall upon me. Yet, I remained rooted in place, paralyzed by the fear that even the slightest movement would draw his attention.
"You're slow," he chided.
With a small bow, Matadre responded in a strangely dry tone, "My apologies, my Lord. I am attending to her as swiftly as I can."
He grunted and rolled his eyes, but then he looked at me. His lips twisted into a sinister smile and my blood went cold.
I was staring at the face of a demon.
"Your things are in the carriage. Come along now."
My body turned to ice. I hesitated. I wanted to run away from all this. The scornful eyes of the pets, the disappointed and perplexed stares of the servants, and worst of all, the furious gazes of the Lords.
But if I were to leave now, I would be one step closer to the dark future that awaited me.
My heart pounded, pumping heated blood through my veins as my pulse quickened. Yet, my legs still remained rooted to the floor.
His eyes narrowed slyly and his smile widened further. "What are you doing?"