The servants’ quarters in Darkhowl were built to be forgotten.
Low ceilings, narrow beds, thin walls that let in the draft during winter and the murmurs of passing footsteps year round. The corridor outside smelled faintly of soap, damp stone, and boiled cabbage. A scent that clung to fabric no matter how many times it was washed.
Giselle preferred it that way. People overlooked places that felt small. They overlooked people who lived in them too.
She closed her chamber door gently and slid the bolt into place. The click was soft, almost apologetic. For a moment, she stood still, listening.
Footsteps passed somewhere down the hall, laughter echoing. Then came utter silence.
Only when she was certain no one lingered did she cross to the small wooden desk tucked beside her bed and retri
