Prologue
Asterelle, was not a home–It was a cage gilded with lessons of servitude and submission, wrapped in the illusion of purpose.
The girls of Asterelle were chosen, or so they were told. Orphans, foundlings, or unwanted daughters–delivered to the towering estate like lambs to be raised for slaughter.
They arrived at its grand iron gates without memories of the world beyond, without names that mattered, without any worth except for the service they would provide. It was here that they were molded into the perfect maidservants, trained to obey, without question, to speak only when spoken to, to know their place beneath the boots of nobility.
Amelia had known no other life.
She had been left at the gates of Asterelle as a swaddled infant, nameless and forgotten, her origins a mystery even to Mistress Elva–the woman who rules Asterelle with a strict hand and a sharper tongue. It was mistress Elva who gave Amelia her name, who shaped her from a timid girl into a refined servant, and who reminded her, time and time again, that she was nothing more than a tool meant to be used.
“Obedience is the Highest virtue of a maidservant, Amelia,” Mistress Elva had told her, the woman’s fingers cold as they adjusted the stiff lace of her uniform. “You are not to think. You are not to want. You are to serve.”
And serve she did.
For years, Amelia carried trays of silver, polished floors until her reflection shone back at her, memorized the silent language of curtsies and glances. She learned to become invisible in the presence of nobles, to mask her thoughts behind a placid expression, to hold her hands still even when they trembled. She watched as girls she had trained beside were summoned, chosen by noble houses to serve lords and ladies in distant cities, never to be seen again.
Amelia had never once considered that she, too, would be among them.
Until the day the letter arrived.
The seal was unfamiliar–an intricate crest of silver and emerald. The paper, thick and elegant, bore words that sent whispers through the halls of Asterelle. House Belgravia has requested a maidservant. Not just any house, but one of the most powerful in the Kingdom.
The Belgravias were whispered about in hushed voices, their name laced with both reverence and fear. They were warriors, strategists, and above all loyal to the throne.
And now, they had called for a girl from Asterelle.
That girl was Amelia.
She did not question why she was chosen–her place was not to question. She did not ask what awaited her in the halls of Belgravia–her duty was to obey.
The night before her departure, Mistress Elva had one final lesson to bestow.
“The world beyond these walls is cruel child,” she murmured, pressing a necklace into Amelia’s palm–a simple silver chain with no pendant, cold against her skin. “Your purpose is to serve. To be useful. Never forget that.”
Amelia bowed her head, fingers tightening around the chain. She did not know what lies beyond the iron gates of Asterelle, but she knew this much–she belonged to House Belgravia now.
And the fate of a maidservant was never truly her own.
