The Master’s Servant

The manor courtyard smelled of wet stone and hot bread. A line of servants stood under the archway, hands folded, eyes down, waiting for the day’s orders. My silver collar sat tight at my throat, cool until it wasn’t, like it was listening for the right moment to wake.

Lady Seraphine walked the edge of the crowd as if she owned the air. Her perfume followed her, sweet and sharp. Every time she passed a servant, she smiled like she was choosing who would be embarrassed first.

Lord Cassian Vale stood near the steps. He didn’t look like a man who would enjoy cruelty, but he also didn’t look like a man who would stop it. His gaze moved over us once, quick and dark, then settled back on the courtyard like a lock.