Hazel's POV
It had been a week since that night Mandy cried herself to sleep in my arms, but nothing had been the same since then.
At first, I told myself that she just needed time and that whatever had happened would eventually pass, but as the days went by, I began to realize that something had changed in her.
I kept asking her what had happened that night.
Every time we were on duty, I tried to catch her eye. "Mandy," I would whisper, my voice barely a breath, "what happened that day? Just tell me. I won't tell anyone"
She would always flinch, her scrub brush stuttering against the floor. She never looked at me. Instead, she'd offer a smile that didn't reach her cheeks—a haunting, crooked thing—and say, "The floor is still dusty, Hazel. Work harder, or you will be give extra duty and punishment."
Then, I became persistent to find the truth about what happened to her that night because it was difficult seeing my only friend in a depressed mood without doing anything. I asked her while we were on duty, scrubbing the cold stone floors or doing whatever tasks the slave masters gives us. I asked her again when we returned to the dorm after a long day. I also asked her during food time.
But each time, she still avoided the question. Sometimes, she even pretended not to hear me. And other times she simply gave me a small smile, one that never reached her eyes, before turning away.
That smile frightened me more than her silence.
Then, things became worse. The slave masters started calling her at night.
At first, it happened only once, and I did not think much of it, but then it happened again, and again, until it became something normal.
Almost every night, someone would come to the dorm and call her name, and without hesitation, she would rise from where she lay and follow them out into the darkness without saying a word.
I would watch her leave, my chest tightening with a strange and growing fear that I could not explain.
Sometimes, she would return before dawn. Other times, she would not return until morning. And every time she came back, she looked worse.
Her eyes would be swollen and red as if she had been crying for hours, her body would look weaker than before, and sometimes, there would be those same white streaks of a strange substance on her face, just like the night I first saw her like that.
The sight of it made my stomach twist every time. I did not understand what it was, and I did not understand why it kept happening to her or why the slave masters kept calling her in the night when we are ought to be asleep.
I only knew that it was wrong.
Each time she returned, I would go to her immediately.
"Mandy, what is happening to you? Please, tell me. I can help you with it." I would ask, my voice filled with worry.
But she never answered. She would only look at me, force a small smile onto her lips, and shake her head slightly.
Last night was the worst. When the door creaked open, Mandy stumbled in, her legs shaking. In the dim light, I saw them—the white, tacky streaks of an unknown substance smeared across her cheek. She looked like a broken doll. Mandy was always a bubbly and cheerful girl but now she looked like a shadow of herself
"Mandy, please," I knelt beside her, reaching out with a damp rag to clean her face.
She jerked away, her breath coming in ragged, wet sobs. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, she wiped her eyes and smiled that empty smile. "I'm fine, Hazel. Really."
I stayed awake long after her breathing leveled out. Something was coming. I don't know what but I have this heavy feeling in my chest that something is come.
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The Royal Castle
Princess Lysandra stood in her room, surrounded by elegance and wealth that reflected her status.
Her room was decorated in different shades of green, from the deep emerald curtains that hung by the tall windows to the lighter tones of the rugs and furniture that filled the space. Green was her favorite color, and it matched her eyes perfectly, making her presence even more striking.
She stood in front of a tall full length mirror as her servant helped her prepare for the day ahead.
Today was important. It was the day of the selection for the new servants for the Lunaretha from the slave camps. Although it seemed like a simple duty, she intended to carry it out perfectly.
When her servant finished assisting her, Lysandra examined her reflection carefully.
She wasn't dressed in the flowing gowns. Instead, she wore sleek black trousers tucked into dragon-hide boots and a fitted black top that gave her a sharp and commanding appearance. With her dark hair cascading over her shoulders framing her face, she looked less like a princess and more like an assassin ready to kill.
Satisfied with her appearance, she turned and walked toward the table where her weapons were placed neatly.
She picked up her bow and slung it over her shoulder with ease, then secured her arrows carefully. She was ready to leave, just some few packings left.
At that exact moment, a sharp knock echoed through the room. Lysandra's face lit up.
Her expression softened slightly, and a small smile appeared on her lips. She knew who it was. She was certain it was her brother, Killian. He had told her he would come to wish her luck before she left, and the thought of seeing him made her feel unexpectedly happy.
"Open the door," she instructed her servant. The servant bowed slightly and moved quickly to obey.
Lysandra turned toward the door, her anticipation growing as she waited. But the moment the door opened, her expression changed completely.
It was not Killian at the door. It was Adrian. The small smile on her lips disappeared instantly, replaced by irritation and anger. Her blood started boiling.
She and Adrian had never gotten along. She had always hated Adrian. To her, he was the wedge that drove a gap between her and her brother. Killian treated Adrian like the brother he never had, and that was something she could not accept.
Seeing him standing there made her anger rise immediately.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Lysandra asked sharply.
Adrian leaned casually against the doorframe, completely unbothered by her tone.
"Calm down, fire princess," he said with a slight smirk, his voice smooth and mocking. "Kilian is not coming to wish you luck. He is not even in the Lunaretha."
The news hit her like a physical blow. Lysandra's expression hardened immediately.
"So, where is he?" she asked, her voice sharp with rising anger.
"He went to investigate the plague in the west," Adrian replied calmly.
"He went that far!!" Lysandra's anger piled up.
She crossed her arms over her chest and immediately began asking questions, her eyes flashing with anger. "When did he leave? When will he come back? How many members of his Alpha team went with him?"
Adrian, already expecting her reaction, answered in a flat and steady tone.
"He left this morning at dawn. He will return in about a week. He went with Noah and four members of the Alpha team."
He paused slightly before adding, "Any more questions, Lysandra."
She exhaled deeply, clearly irritated. "I am not Killian," she said sharply. "So you will not address me by my name, but by my title."
She lifted her chin slightly. "And yes, I have two more questions."
"Okay, Princess Lysandra. Your loyal servant will answer your questions." Adrian gave a dramatic, mocking bow that made her knuckles turn white.
"Why didn't he just send someone else to investigate?" she asked.
"The reports were getting worse," Adrian explained, his tone shifting slightly to something more serious.. "It appears that those using the public water in the west are the ones being affected. He went to inspect it himself and issue orders."
He paused briefly. "And to confirm his suspicion about witches using magic and—"
"Enough," Lysandra cut him off sharply. "I understand."
She turned back to her packing, her heart heavy. Her voice softened slightly, though there was clear disappointment beneath it. "He does not want to see me."
She then began shoving extra bowstrings and a silver dagger into her leather hip-pack. When she looked up, Adrian was still there, watching her with a strange, unreadable expression. "Why are you still here?" she asked coldly. "You know where the door is."
Adrian's smirk returned. "Me? I am going with you to the slave camps."
Lysandra stared at him in disbelief.
"You?" she said. "Why? I am going with the guards and the head servant."
"Kilian ordered me to accompany you," Adrian replied calmly. "He said it is an apology for not being here today. He doesn't trust the guards alone with you."
"Bullshit!" Lysandra snapped, her anger flaring instantly.
"You cannot go with me. I cannot even stand being around you. Killian knows that. He would never send you with me."
As her anger rose, the aura of a pureblood vampire spread through the room, heavy and suffocating.
"That's what he told me," Adrian said, his voice suddenly dropping into a cold, commanding register. "You can give him that boring speech when he gets back. He might actually listen."
He straightened his posture, looking down at her with a chilling calm. "Finish packing. We leave in ten."
Lysandra felt a lump in her throat. Even as a pure-blood, there was something about Adrian's presence that made her feel small—an authoritative edge that demanded obedience.
"Okay," she whispered quietly. As Adrian walked away, she quickly added, trying to maintain her pride, "I am going with you, but not because you said so."
Lysandra froze briefly.
There was something about Adrian's tone that unsettled her, something that made even her feel a slight chill.
"Okay," she said quietly.
As Adrian walked away, she quickly added, trying to maintain her pride, "I am going with you, but not because you said so."
Adrian didn't stop. He simply raised a hand in a peace sign, smirking as he vanished down the hallway.
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The SlaveCamps
Preparations were already underway, though none of the slaves knew the true reason behind it.
The entire camp was being cleaned thoroughly, far more than usual. Every building, every corner, and every surface was scrubbed until it shone.
The slaves were forced to work harder than ever, moving from one task to another without rest.
However, there was one noticeable difference. They were being fed more.
Instead of their usual single meal a day, they were given more food, sometimes even twice. To the slaves, this felt like a miracle.
As they worked, they whispered among themselves, their voices filled with curiosity and cautious hope. "What do you think is happening?" one maid whispered to the others, her eyes wide as she chewed a piece of actual bread.
"Are they finally starting to treat us well?" another replied. They were happy, unaware that this 'kindness' was merely a way to make them look more presentable for a sale.
Hazel, however, remained silent. Even though she noticed the extra food and the lighter mood among the others, she could not bring herself to feel the same excitement.
Her mind was elsewhere. As she scrubbed the floor, her movements slow and distracted, her thoughts kept returning to Mandy.