“Done,” Inayah huffed in exhaustion, sitting back on her heels and wiping saline perspiration from her forehead.

Her wary gaze scoured the foyer and hallway before her, the wooden floors scrubbed clean of grime and dirt. The wooden bucket beside her sloshed with murky brown contents as she tossed the brush inside.

Her whole body feels sore. The skin of her knees scraped, bruised and bleeding. Her arms numb from the strain of moving back and forth viciously struggling to clean the grime.

She blows away a strand of hair that falls over her eyes, momentarily obscuring her vision, then flexes her fingers, cracking each stiff knuckle.

Her legs ache with the need to rest, to find somewhere warm and cosy, curl up beneath a blanket and let her heavy eyes slip shut.

However, something terrible was keeping her from succumbing to sleep. Her stomach snarled then and from it came the not-so-subtle undertone of pain.

Inayah glanced up at the overhead grandpa clock.

7.03 PM.

Her last meal had been over thirty hours ago. Since then she had slept and worked without a bite and did not know how to ask for food from Mathilde.

Mathilde.

Her hand rises to her cheek, tentatively touching the slight bruise which surfaced from Mathilde’s slap. The pain had subsided but the bruise was sensitive to touch.

Inayah dropped her hand with a drawn sigh, staring at her bruised, scraped knuckles. Her stomach growled again, slow painful waves as though it were intent on digesting itself.

She glanced at the murky water, somewhere at the back of her mind a deranged thought occurred to her— what if she drunk it?

“Don’t be foolish,” Inayah whispered harshly, pushing herself up to her feet. She staggered slightly, reaching out to press against the wall for stability.

She felt drained and empty.

But her chores had been completed.

Gripping the bucket’s handle with two hands, she lifted it with a grunt and hobbled down the quiet hallway and winding stairs, carefully not to splash any sloshing water. Lest Mathilde makes her scrub the walls as well.

“Are you done?” Inayah lifted her cautious gaze to the woman who stood by one end of the kitchen, chopping what seemed to be vegetables.

She had been far too preoccupied to smell the scent of warm decadent food that drifted across the kitchen and lower rooms. Inayah stilled, nostrils flaring as she drank it all in like an addict in need of a fix.

Meat. Curry. Vegetables. Fruits. Rice.

Her eyes flickered from the pots of food still boiling and simmering.

“Hurry up and shower, the master is bringing visitors tonight and the dining table is not yet set.”

Nodding obediently, Inayah bee-lines out of the kitchen and into the small garden that stands between the servants quarters and mansion. The downpour outside is unrelenting, thunderclaps low and heavy and lightning flashes across the night sky, hot and terrifying.

Inayah quickly dumps out the dirty water than races towards her quarters. Once inside, she strips hurriedly, small frame trembling from the exposure to the cold. Half a bucket of lukewarm water had been set above a stool, besides it is a stone and hardened bar of soap.

She begins to scrub herself clean despite the lack of lather on the soap, then uses the rock to clean the soles of her feet and nails. Once she feels raw and fresh, Inayah dries herself off and pulls on another plain clean Oscar dress that falls short of her knees. She combs through her hair with her fingers and uses Sin’s ties to hold it up and away from her face.

Once done, Inayah makes it back into the mansion and sets out to make up the dining room.

“Two visitors will be present.” Mathilde is a storm as she drifts from the kitchen to dining, snatching plates or utensils from Inayah’s hands in disapproval. “This dinner is important.”

Why? Inayah wishes to ask but holds her tongue. Eventually, she steps away and ebbs towards the wall where she stands in silence, watching the flushed woman set everything while cursing her out.

The dining room is exquisite once done. The dining-room was exquisite. The walls were covered with a shimmering gold paper and in the middle of the ceiling above the carved oak table was a candelabra.

Down the centre of the table was a runner with Celtic design woven in gold and green into the fabric itself. At the end of the table were floor to ceiling french doors, left slightly ajar to let in the scented summer air.

The polished silver cutlery was heavy to the hand and shone brightly in the early evening light. At each place stood a tall empty wine glass and there were beautifully folded napkins to match the runner.

All that was missing was the food and the guests.

“When the guests arrive, you will pick their coats and serve them drinks. Do not look at their faces. Understood?”

Inayah nodded, faint anticipation leaping in her throat at the thought of meeting others.

Were they as rich as Salem?

Were they as cruel?

Would they see her state and take pity?

Lost in her own thoughts, she does not hear the approaching voices beyond the large doors. Not until Mathilde snaps her fingers at her, does Inayah realize.

She moves in a blur towards the entrance, reaching for the door handle when it begins twisting on its own. Beyond the barrier, she hears slight deep laughter.

Terrified, Inayah steps back and reflexively lower her head, staring at her bare feet intently as the door swings open. A gust of night air and rain pelts inside, slightly drenching her clothes.

She flinches but does not move, remaining still as the voices die down and the front figure casually approaches her.

A heartbeat later, Inayah feels a large warm hand atop her head.

“Inayah.” Salem’s sonorous voice is calm, welcoming.

She swallows thickly. “Master.” She feels his hand smooth down over her ponytail, giving it a slight tug, gently urging her face upwards.

Her meek gaze rises along with his talk figure, eventually meeting his face. He is as handsome as she remembers but there is a hardness to his sapphire eyes. Tightness along the corners of his full mouth.

For a moment, Inayah believes that she had done something terribly wrong.

A hand lands on Salem’s shoulder, “I see you’ve found yourself a new slave girl.”

Inayah had failed to notice the man.

The man that stared down at her had a touch of inhuman looks about him.

His hair was Achilles-gold and coiffed to perfection. His eyes had the same startling clarity as a mountain stream and the lineaments of his face were in perfect proportion to each other.

He seemed moulded from a different cast as he had an androgynous look uncommon to most people. Lacquered and enamelled by the sun, he radiated energy and brio. His mountain peak cheekbones appeared chiselled into shape by a master craftsman.

They were of such sharp contours, it looked as if they were sculpted and pared to perfection. With eyes as bright and spellbinding as lodestars, they bewitched all those who fell under his steady gaze. They were a-sparkle with mirth and shone like two eternity-blue jewels enwrought in snow.

Bewitched was Inayah as she stared openly, somewhat unable to pull away. It was not until he smiled; the unfamiliar curling of his mouth, revealing a row of sharpened canines, that forced her gaze to the floor.

Her heartbeat in trepidation.

“Huh,” the man spoke amusedly, approaching her from behind Salem. “She’s a normal looking one.”

Inayah flinched when his hand reached up to smooth a stray piece of hair behind her ear. His fingertips skimmed her jawline down to the chin, carefully tilting it up.

Unwillingly, she met his eyes and he smiled sardonically then bowed low whilst taking her hand.

Inayah stilled as he brought her knuckles up to his lips. She felt the softness than a slight prick as his teeth grazed skin;

“Kade Reinhardt,” those mischievous eyes rose to her face, “Salem’s brother.”