Despite sleeping late, Florence woke up exactly at 5:50, right on time. Breakfast for the maids was served at 6, so she had to hurry before it was too late.
She threw off her blanket and opened the window to let the morning air in.
That's when she saw it, the black rose.
She picked it up carefully. Someone had trimmed the thorns, but the petals remained somewhat closed, as if shy.
"Is this from Claude?" she muttered. "But… why black?"
Her eyes shifted to the pink glove lying beside it. Without hesitation, she whispered a spell, setting the glove on fire.
"If someone saw this silk, execution, no questions asked," she grumbled to herself. Careless. Stupid.
She yanked the sleeves of her nightgown off her shoulders and tossed it onto the bed, then reached into the drawer for her folded undergarments and changed quickly.
Layer by layer, she dressed: first her chemise, then she pulled her corset tight. She slipped into her petticoat, and finally, over all of it, a simple brown dress that reached her ankles. A white apron was tied neatly on top.
Her eyes landed on the black rose again. She opened the top drawer and cursed. She'd forgotten to hide the jewellery, too.
Clothes could be burned. These couldn't.
Left with no choice, she tucked the jewellery deep into her undergarments. No one would search there. Not her maid friends, at least.
She tied her hair into a braid, put on white socks and the same old leather shoes, and made her way to the kitchen.
Like always, she was the first to arrive. The only other person there was the head maid, an older woman who'd worked here for decades. Kind, firm, and always fair. She was nearly at retirement, but still moved with a lot of determination.
Florence gave her a small bow. "Good morning, Head Maid."
"Good morning," the woman replied with a rare smile.
"Congratulations," she said, handing over a slip of paper. "Your hard work finally paid off. Starting today, you'll be working inside the main castle."
Florence's breath caught. This was what she and Claude had been aiming for. despite how risky it was. The higher the risk, the bigger the reward.
"Oh god, thank you!" Florence said, bowing again. She pressed the paper to her chest and even jumped a little with joy. Not because she was truly overjoyed, but because that's what people expected.
The cheerful, hardworking little maid. That was the mask she wore.
After breakfast, she rushed to the main castle. The Head Maid had already explained her duties.
But this… this wasn't what she had imagined.
She wasn't just cleaning halls. She had been chosen to serve as the personal maid for important guests, or even the king himself.
Maybe it was because of her unique features. Something to impress visitors.
But the idea sickened her. To be nothing more than decoration? It felt like a slap to her pride.
She remembered the Head Maid's warning:
"The king will be out training with his guards from 8. He always returns before the sun's at its peak; he hates the heat. Clean his office neatly before he gets back. And remember—peasants should know their place."
Florence knew Edrik's schedule better than anyone.
He was always on time. Always perfect.
But today… Something felt off.
What if Edrik was in the office? What if he'd already found proof that she was a witch?
With her thoughts racing, she grabbed the cleaning basket and hurried to the king's office.
It was empty.
She exhaled sharply, almost laughing from relief.
She'd been here for over a month, but had never seen the king—only heard the rumours. How cruel and cold he was. That's what her kingdom said. What the other maids whispered. What Claude warned her about.
Setting the basket down, she paused to take in the room.
She opened the curtains, letting bright light pour in.
"I thought vampires would die in sunlight," she muttered, remembering the stories.
Witches hunted vampires in daylight. Vampires killed witches at night.
But this king… he trains in the sun.
The office was bigger than she expected.
There was just one large table, buried in stacks of paper—neatly sorted. On top sat a glass paperweight shaped like a raven, just like the one on the empire's flag.
A feathered pen lay beside a spilt ink pot. Behind the table stood a cabinet packed tight with folders. Probably nothing important. Or maybe a test.
A painting of the former ruler hung on the side wall. Across from the desk was a single armchair and a long couch, with a blanket folded on top. A huge wall clock stood behind it, ticking slowly, its pendulum swaying side to side..
Unlike other rooms, there was no grand chandelier here. Just a lot of small lamps scattered throughout.
"Alright, let's start," Florence whispered to herself.
She cleaned the balcony first, then the windows, then everything else.
All that was left was the table.
The papers were mostly complaints and reports. Public stuff.
Since the ink hadn't touched them yet, she carefully wiped around the mess, being extra cautious.
Then—
Click.
The door creaked open, and Florence turned, startled.
And there he was.
Her mind screamed: Act scared. Act scared!
Her eyes met his—and her thoughts stuttered.
That... was the king?
He looked nothing like the monster they all talked about. No red eyes. No bloodstained smile. Just a man.
But not just any man.
He was tall, his white shirt slightly creased, with the sleeves, a golden sword hanging at his side. His hair was black, pushed back, with a few loose strands falling perfectly over his forehead. A mole sat quietly beneath his left eye, drawing her gaze to the sharp lines of his face.
He was handsome. Too handsome.
Florence blinked. She hadn't expected that.
Florence froze. So did he.
She quickly bowed, swallowing down her thoughts.
It doesn't matter how he looks. He's still dangerous.
"I-I'm sorry, Your Majesty," she stammered, bowing so low her braid slipped off her shoulder. "I didn't know you'd be here."
A few baby hairs clung to her face, maybe helping to hide her wide, nervous eyes.
"How much longer will it take?" Edric asked, leaning against the doorframe.
He never broke the schedule. Never let anyone interrupt his routine.
But today, he'd come back early, just to see her.
He'd spent the entire night blaming himself for giving in to lust.
He thought after tasting her, he'd forget her, so he was here to test his theory.
Florence kept her head down. "Just cleaning this ink, and I'll leave, Your Majesty."
He stared at her.
She looked… smaller than he remembered.
He walked forward. Towered over her. Her head barely reached his chest.
"Stop bowing," he said. His voice wasn't loud, but it was enough.
He caught sight of another mole, this one behind her neck. His eyes darkened slightly.
Without another word, Edric moved past her and sat down behind the desk, crossing one leg over the other.
"Be quick," he said. As his eyes continued feasting on the sight.