Sterling leaned forward, voice low and grave. "Lolita, your staff deserve decent rooms in the castle." Kacy threaded between chairs, balancing a bin of empty glasses, every clink echoing the unspoken tension.
Lolita shrugged. "I'm not giving up my private offices."
"Lolita, you never used them. You're just making up excuses. Why not relocate your staff to better quarters?" Sterling asked.
Lolita narrowed her eyes. "You don't even live here. How would you know what gets used?"
"I hear it straight from the servants. Two tattered blankets and mouldy walls aren't a home—they're a sentence."
Lolita took a sip of wine, brushing damp strands of hair from her face. "I can't store my valuables down there. Mould would ruin everything."
Sterling pressed on. "You're providing a roof over their heads, yes—but basic comfort? Heat? Privacy? That's your responsibility, too."
A flush crept up Lolita's neck. "They're fed, clothed, and housed. They have nothing to complain about."
Kacy's chest tightened. Her hands trembled as she set the bin on the table.
Nothing to complain about? she thought. The cold seeped through the concrete every night. The mould made her skin crawl. Two blankets did nothing against the winter chill.
As Sterling opened his mouth to reply, Kacy quietly turned and slipped from the boardroom.
The heavy door closed behind her with a soft click. Exhaled sharply, shoulders slumping, and made her way back through the castle's winding corridors towards the warmth of the kitchen, where at least, steam rose from pots and the hearth crackled with fire.