Avery didn't sleep that night. She couldn't.
Every time she closed her eyes, she heard his voice again calm, cold, and final in a way that didn't leave room for argument. I don't like you. It wasn't said in anger, which made it worse. If he had been angry, she could have understood it, could have blamed it on something she had done wrong. But there had been no emotion behind it at all, just quiet certainty, like he had already decided what she was worth. The memory lingered longer than it should have, settling somewhere under her skin where she couldn't ignore it.
She scowled, a knot tightened in her chest. Draping an arm over her eyes, she tried to shut him out, but his cold blue gaze remained burned into the back of her eyelids. She turned to her side. She wasn't alone. She shared the female servant attic quarters with 3 other maids in the room. It was a small room with a single window that allowed the moonlight to spill out.
Her eyes settled on a certain sleeping girl. Her little sister, Kaia was dead asleep in the corner on a narrow cot as well. She was a year younger than Avery, only 18 years old. Like her sister, she has the same light brown skin as Avery, but hers carries a softer glow—less worn, less tired by the world.
Her hair falls in thick, dark curls, slightly looser than Avery's, often left half-tied or messy like she never quite finishes fixing it. A few strands are always out of place, framing her face in a way that makes her look younger than she is.
Her eyes are warm—golden-brown, not as sharp as Avery's amber, but brighter. They catch light easily, giving her an almost hopeful look… something Avery lost a long time ago. She's slightly shorter than Avery at 5'6 feet tall while Avery was 5'8 feet.
Avery's face softens instantly. Born in a big family of 7, Kaia was the baby and the light and pride of the family. She was the opposite of Avery. Outspoken, emotionally expressive, rebellious, impulsive. Something that doesn't belong in Blackthorne.
Her eyes flew to the window, it was still dark out. Morning will come soon. All she needs to do is stay invisible, stay away from him, avoid another day of torture, and focus and work.
In the morning, she was already exhausted, not from work, but from thinking too much about something she should have forgotten. By midday, she felt it. Something was off. The castle felt different. Servants moved faster, quieter than usual. Heads stayed lower. No one spoke unless they had to. Even the air felt tighter, like something unseen was pressing down on everything.
Avery ignored it, she kept her focus on her task. She carried a bucket of water down on the corridor, careful not to spill a single drop.
Don't get distracted.
Don't trip.
Don't-
"Avery" said a voice behind her.
She looked behind to find Immanuel or "Manny" the under- butler. He was older than her by two years. His dark eyes were on the bucket of water in her hands, his smooth dark hair was slicked back. He was handsome in a way, she didn't get why her sister liked him or in fact found him "attractive". She found him really annoying, he was rude and bossy.
"Manny...what do you want?" Avery said with a blank expression.
"In the North hall. Now" he said, his eyes darted to the window. He seemed nervous which was so unlikely of Immanuel.
"I was assigned to-"
"Now"
"Alright" she said, rolling her eyes.
As soon as Manny was out of her sight. She made a decision, a stupid one. She isn't going to the North hall. She didn't care, it felt wrong to go. Instead, she turned down the west corridor. Her heart pulse a little bit faster. Not from fear of being caught but knowing she choose to disobey. The castle felt the same.
Dark. Watching.
The crows lined the high arches again, silent and still, their eyes always watching. She looked at them, they are everywhere, the servant quarters were a haven away from their watching eyes. "Quit looking" she muttered under her breathe.
Footsteps echoed. She stopped, her eyes widen. She cursed herself immediately.
"...you're either fucking stupid" his voice said calmly, "or you think I am".
Her stomach dropped. She turned. He stood at the end, he wore a black feather cape, bandage covered his hands. He looked calm but she knew he was pissed. He stood there like he was already watching her, like he had been there longer than she realized.
"My lord!" Avery said and she bowed.
"He gave you a motherfucking order where to go. Where I told you to go". His tone was raised, it didn't need to be.
"I-"
"Shut up"
She knew was cooked.
"You disobeyed me."
It wasn't a question.
Avery swallowed. "Yes, my lord."
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then he smiled. Barely. And that was worse than anything else.
"Good," he said quietly. "I prefer honesty to excuses."
He stepped closer, slow and measured, each step closing the distance in a way that made it harder to breathe. Avery forced herself not to step back, even as every instinct told her to. His gaze stayed fixed on her, sharp and unrelenting.
"Now explain," he said, "why you thought you could ignore me."
Her pulse raced. "I thought I could finish faster here—"
"Wrong."
The word landed clean and immediate.
"You avoided it."
Avery didn't respond.
"Say it."
Her fingers curled slightly. "…I avoided it."
"Again."
"I avoided it."
"Louder."
Her chest tightened. "I avoided it."
Then he stepped closer.
Too close.
"You don't get to choose," Corbin said quietly. "Not where you work. Not what you do. Not what you avoid."
"I understand."
"No," he said. "You don't."
Before she could react, he grabbed the bucket and tipped it. Water crashed across the floor, spilling over the stone and soaking everything. The sound echoed sharply, filling the corridor, and Avery flinched hard, the reaction slipping out before she could stop it. "Oops. Looks like you gotta clean it." he said, without a care.
"Bitch" she said, the word left her mouth under her breath.
Silence.
Instant.
Dead.
She frozen and her eyes flew to the ground, her heart dropped, she bit her tongue. Her blood ran cold as the realization hit her all at once, sharp and unforgiving. She hadn't meant to say it out loud. She hadn't even meant to think it that clearly. But it was there now, hanging in the air between them, impossible to take back. Slowly, just very slowly, Corbin stilled completely.
"What..." he said quietly, "did you say?"
"Nothing-" she replied fast.
"Don't...."
"I didn't mean it, your majesty". She began to sweat nervously. Her heart was beating so fast she could hear it, her blood ran cold, she couldn't move.
But his icy gaze made her repeat the word.
"I-I said Bitch, accidentally.."
He exhale softly. "I see...." he said. That was it. No shouting, no punishment, no visible reaction. His face was set in a expressionless manner.
For a long moment, he said nothing at all, and that silence stretched until it became unbearable. Then, without warning, his hand struck her, the sound sharp and controlled as it echoed through the corridor. It wasn't wild or uncontrolled; it was precise, measured, like everything else he did, and that made it worse in a way she couldn't fully explain. Her head snapped to the side, the sting immediate and burning, but she didn't move to touch it, didn't react beyond the initial flinch, because she knew better.
"You don't respect me," he said.
Her breath faltered. "I do—"
"You don't... "You fear me. That's different."
Her chest tightened.
"And even that," he continued, his voice lowering just slightly, "is inconsistent." His eyes lingered on hers for a moment too long. "You hesitate," he said. "You think. You choose when to obey." A pause. "You speak when you shouldn't."
"And now," he added quietly, "you've decided to test me."
Her head was still turned from the slap, her cheek burning like fire, but she refused to touch it. Refused to give him that satisfaction. He gripped her chin roughly.
"You've got some nerve," he said flatly.
Avery swallowed. "Yes, my lord."
His gaze sharpened slightly. "Don't say that shit like you didn't just call me a bitch."
Silence.
Her fingers curled at her sides.
"You think I didn't hear it?" he continued, voice still level. "Or you just didn't give a shit?"
"I didn't mean to say it out loud."
"That's even worse."
Her brows pulled slightly. "…why?"
"Because it means you're dumb enough to think it," he said coldly, "and careless enough to let it slip out like you've got no control over your own mouth."
Avery's jaw tightened. "I was frustrated."
"And now you're learning why that doesn't fucking matter."
"You don't get frustrated," he continued. "You don't get pissed off. You don't get to have an opinion about me at all."
Avery forced herself not to look away. "Everyone has opinions."
His expression didn't change.
"You don't."
Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
Then—
"Say it again."
Her stomach dropped. "What?"
"Don't play dumb," he said quietly. "Say it again. Or are you only bold when it 'accidentally' slips?"
Avery's pulse pounded in her ears. "…you're a bitch."
This time it wasn't just a slip. She meant it.
He let out a slow breath, like he was almost bored.
"Fucking gosh, " he muttered. "You really don't know when to shut the fuck up."
Avery didn't respond.
His eyes flicked to her cheek again, still red, then back to her.
"And the worst part?" he added. "You're not even doing this to be brave."
A pause.
"You're just reckless as hell."
That hit harder than the slap.
"I won't say it again," she said more boldly.
"I know," he replied instantly.
Her brows furrowed. "…you do?"
"Yeah," he said. "Because next time, you won't be stupid enough to risk it."
"You don't get to disrespect me," he said quietly. "Not with your words, not with that look on your face, not with whatever the hell you think you're hiding."
"I'm not—"
"Shut up."
Her lips pressed together hard. "You're here because you're useful," he continued, voice calm again, like nothing had happened. "That's it. Not because I like you. Not because I tolerate you. Because you do your job." There was a pause. "Don't get that twisted."
His gaze dropped slightly, then came back to hers.
"Because the second you stop being useful," he added, "you're gone. No warning. No second chance. Just gone."
Her breath caught.
Then he reached out, grabbing her chin again, forcing her to stay still, to keep her eyes locked on his.
"You don't get to hate me," he said quietly.
Her chest tightened.
"You haven't earned the right to feel shit about me."
He let go like she was nothing.
"Now clean this shit up," he said, glancing at the water on the floor. "Without the bucket."
"Yes, your majesty."
"And then go where I told you to go the first time."
"Yes."
He turned to leave but he paused. "And Avery?". She froze. "Next time you run your mouth like that," he said, voice low and cold, "I won't stop at a slap." Then he walked away like it meant nothing. But it pissed her off more than it actually scared her.
Avery stayed where she was long after he left.
The corridor had gone quiet again, the kind of silence that felt too heavy, like it was pressing in on her from all sides. The water still spread slowly across the stone, reflecting the dim light above, distorting everything just enough to feel unreal. Her cheek still burned, the sting lingering, but it wasn't what stayed with her the most.
It was his words.
You don't get to hate me.
Her jaw tightened slightly.
Avery pressed the rag harder against the floor, her breathing uneven now, frustration slipping through no matter how hard she tried to contain it. He didn't get to decide that. He didn't get to decide what she felt, what she thought, what she was worth. The thought came fast and sharp, almost reckless, she didn't care about his threats, he couldn't control her.
But the fact that she still thought like that after everything.
Above her, a crow shifted along the archway, its dark eyes fixed on her like it had been watching the entire time. Avery stilled for a moment, her grip tightening around the rag as she slowly looked up at it.
Watching.
Always watching.
Just like him.
"Tch..." she said and she stood up and kicked the bucket. The crowd made a "caw-caw". She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Shut the fuck up you stupid bird".
Her gaze dropped back to the floor, her movements slowing as the weight of everything settled in.
She should stop.
She should learn.
She should do exactly what he said and nothing more.
That was how people survived here.
But instead, she dropped the rag. And under her breath, quiet enough that no one else could hear it.
"Fuck him."
She picked up the empty bucket, not bothering to look back at the mess she had only half-cleaned. Her body still tense, her cheek still stinging, but her expression is more controlled now, more guarded. The North hall was waiting and this time she'll go. But not because he told her to. The crow let out a quiet, low sound, watching Avery stormed off towards the North hall as if it already knew she hadn't learned a thing.