CHAPTER 3

—Amaryllis! Amaryllis!

—Yes, ma’am? —replied a young maid with reddish hair and green eyes, hastily appearing at the doorway upon hearing her name.

—Where is Anne?

—Pardon?

—I asked you about Anne Marie! She was supposed to prepare the dining room, but there’s no sign of her—and on top of that, the fireplace is still unlit. Where the hell is that girl?!

Amaryllis hesitated for a few seconds before responding, fully aware of the rising impatience in every word from the head maid.

—I don’t know, ma’am. I haven’t seen Anne Marie at all this morning.

The woman’s brow furrowed severely as she crossed her arms, her stern gaze brimming with exasperation.

—Unacceptable, she muttered through clenched teeth. Go find her right now. Tell her to come here immediately.

Amaryllis nodded quickly and walked away down the hall, feeling the cold of the massive house seeping through her thin clothes. Her steps echoed against the polished marble floor, the sound fading along the tall, solemn corridors.

The head maid, visibly irritated, adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose and turned her gaze toward the rest of the maids, who stood tense and expectant, fearing they’d be the next target of her commands.

—What are you all standing around for? Back to work!

—Y-yes, ma’am! —they replied in unison, scattering at once like a startled swarm.

—Cordiel.

—Yes? —replied a short young woman, spinning around at the sound of her name, clearly startled.

—Go and prepare the dining room. Now.

—Yes, ma’am, she said, giving a hurried curtsy before heading to her task.

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After checking every corner of the mansion and finding no trace of Anne, Amaryllis turned a hallway corner toward the main entrance, when she spotted a figure approaching quickly from the foyer. Her eyes widened as she realized it wasn’t Anne approaching, but a guard, his face distraught, carrying a body wrapped in a blanket.

—What in the—?! —she gasped, bringing both hands to her mouth as she recognized the dark hair of young Cleoh.

—Move! I need space! —the guard barked without slowing down, his voice ragged from exertion.

Amaryllis stepped aside, still paralyzed by confusion, as the guard rushed through the gallery toward the mansion’s infirmary wing. Behind him, the second guard appeared, walking beside Anne—still trembling, wrapped in a coat that wasn’t hers.

—Anne?!

Murmurs quickly spread. Servants, maids, and footmen peeked out from corners, their faces pale. Some whispered the young lord’s name. Others stared at Anne—her cheeks red from the cold, her hands empty and stiff.

The head maid burst out of the dining room like a gust of wind.

—What’s going on?! —she demanded, marching firmly toward the commotion. What is all this noise?

Amaryllis could barely speak. She just raised a trembling finger, pointing in the direction the guards had gone.

The woman spun on her heels and, upon seeing the blanket, the unconscious young man, and Anne half-collapsed against the guard’s shoulder, her expression changed. Her usual severity was replaced by a mixture of alarm and something that could almost be... fear.

—Take him to the east wing infirmary. Now! —she ordered in a firm but tense voice. Then she turned her eyes to Anne.

—And you… as soon as you can speak, I want an explanation. Clear. Complete.

Anne nodded weakly before allowing the guard to lead her away.

---

The flickering oil lamp cast trembling shadows across the walls of the infirmary as chaos settled over the room. One of the younger maids rushed to heat water on the head maid’s orders, while Anne, now wrapped in a dry blanket that barely eased the chill in her bones, approached uncertainly the bed where Cleoh lay unconscious.

His lips, tinged with a bluish hue, stood in stark contrast to the ghostly pallor of his face. A faint shiver ran through his soaked body, and although the guard had laid him down with great care, the wet nightgown clung to his skin like a frozen shroud. Anne swallowed hard, the knot in her throat tightening.

Without daring to hesitate further, she knelt beside him.

—I’m sorry… —she murmured in a broken voice, more to herself than to him.

Her numb, trembling fingers struggled to unbutton the soaked garment. The heavy, waterlogged fabric fell to the floor with a dull thud, revealing the young man’s exhausted body. His skin was marked by cold, bluish at the extremities, and his breathing was barely a whisper that barely lifted his chest.

—We need dry blankets and clean clothes—now! —the head maid ordered, turning toward the door just as another maid entered, carrying a steaming bucket and carefully folded garments.

—Here, this is the warmest I could find, the girl said, placing a thick linen shirt and cotton pants on a nearby chair.

Anne nodded silently. She leaned over the young man and, with a warm towel, began drying his body gently. She avoided looking more than necessary, though a flush rose unavoidably to her cheeks. Despite her discretion, the intimacy of the moment overwhelmed her. Still, there was no room for modesty—Cleoh’s life hung by a thread.

Once dry, she dressed him in the clean clothes and wrapped him in a thick woolen blanket that still held the warmth of the fire. She exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding and remained seated at his side, watching the fragile rhythm of his breathing.

Just then, the door swung open urgently. A middle-aged man stepped inside, his cloak dusted with snow from the blizzard, a leather bag slung over his shoulder, and a determined look behind fogged glasses.

—Where is he? —he asked in a deep voice, not slowing his pace.

—Here, doctor, replied the head maid, placing a hand on Anne’s shoulder to signal her to move aside.

The doctor approached immediately. He dropped his bag onto the nearby table and began pulling out vials, bandages, and a stethoscope with mechanical precision. He bent over the boy, lifted the blanket, and gently felt his torso, monitoring his breathing rhythm.

—How long was he exposed to the cold? Does anyone know?

—About ten minutes, Anne replied tensely. But he ran out barefoot… and in a nightgown.

The doctor nodded, not lifting his gaze, focused entirely on the diagnosis.

—Then we’re lucky hypothermia hasn’t reached critical levels. We’ll need to keep him warm and monitor him through the night. Did he fully lose consciousness?

—Yes, Anne murmured. I couldn’t wake him.

—Good. The main goal now is to stabilize his temperature and observe for any spasms or breathing issues. As he spoke, the doctor raised his hand in a subtle motion.

A delicate layer of amber light, warm and enveloping, began to glow from his palm and surrounded the young man’s body with a soft radiance, like sunlight wrapping around his skin. Anne and the other maids held their breath as Cleoh’s skin slowly began regaining a hint of color.

—This will keep his temperature stable until he wakes up, the doctor explained, eyes still fixed on the boy. Now let him rest. I’ll prepare a tonic to strengthen his breathing.

Anne stepped back slowly and leaned against the nearest wall. Her hands, stiff from the tension, were visibly trembling.

—There’s no need to worry, the doctor murmured, noticing her state without looking directly at her. He’ll be all right.

Those simple words struck Anne like a stone. She lowered her head, finally overcome by emotion. Silent tears ran down her cheeks—warm and salty—slipping between her clasped fingers.

Her first day as a housemaid in that mansion had turned into a nightmare…

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