Rejected by the Dark Lord(Breeder#6)

Chapter 5 : What Are You Doing in Here?

*Eliza*

It was my third full day at the grand estate of Jared, otherwise known as “His Royal Highness the King of Murderous Criminals," who now employed me as a laundry maid. I thought that title fit him perfectly, and felt rather clever for coming up with it.

I was used to being around men with chips on their shoulders, like the pompous, arrogant assholes who thought their presence at even the most insignificant archeological dig site was a divine gift from the Goddess herself.

Jared was a bit different, though. Everyone here worshiped the ground that he walked on. He wasn't boastful, or rude. But he was standoffish, cold, and looked at me like I was a disease threatening to spread among his people. He was suspicious of me, sure. But I was just as suspicious of him. That man had secrets, dark ones.

And even though I should have been focusing on my imminent escape, I couldn't help but lean into my undying curiosity about not only Jared, but his lands, and his house.

It was bizarre, really. My first full day at his house had been spent on strict bed rest overseen by Miriam. She was sure I'd knocked my brain right out of my skull, and she may have been right. I definitely had a concussion, but the wound had healed nicely, and quickly, much to her surprise. She kept me in bed regardless, feeding me warm, hearty meals and always making sure I had a hot cup of tea next to my bed as I let myself spiral into oblivion.

I'd been sure, at least during that first day, that I would be killed, or worse, by these people. I thought I'd never see my family again, that all of my dreams would be unfulfilled, a life only half lived.

But on my second day, by then fully lucid, I began to shed that fear and the old Eliza sprung back to life, ready to be nosy, searching for answers to the mysteries that seemed to be lurking in every darkened corner of this odd house.

First, I was given clothes–an ankle-length gray homespun dress and a starched white apron. Miriam tried in vain to tame my hair to no avail, eventually giving up after my curls ripped through the third ribbon she'd used to try to tie it in a neat bun.

The house seemed to lack electricity, had very little in terms of running water and other basic utilities, and was no doubt haunted by spirits only the early gods could name. I felt as though I'd been thrust back through time, and had half convinced myself of it before getting my hands on several newer-looking books with the publishing date stamped in fresh ink during a brief stint in the library.

Today was my first day in what Miriam called “the laundry." It was a large, stone room on the lowest level of the house with two wide tubs of scalding water that we were meant to stir with wooden paddles to beat the clothes senseless before wringing them out and hanging them to dry. It was hard work, really hard, and by midday, my arms were trembling with fatigue.

Then came the mending, which was my specialty, according to Jared. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, and the single shirt I'd spent nearly two hours sewing back together showed that clearly. Miriam simply clicked her tongue, shook her head, and did her best to pat down my rogue curls that were now sticking straight up due to the humidity in the room before sending me on my way to deliver the laundry instead.

And that was how I found myself with my back pressed against a wall, holding my breath as Archer and Brandt walked by. They hadn't seen me, or at least they didn't act like they'd noticed my presence.

In my defense, this house was a maze. I had no idea where I was or how to get back to the staircase leading down into the depths of the house where the laundry, kitchen, and communal rooms were located.

Several rooms were built directly in the center of what must have once been a wide, open foyer, an afterthought it seemed, to cram as many rooms as possible into the sprawling manor.

And now I found myself hiding in the shadow of an awkward, off-kilter corner, hugging a basket of laundry to my chest.

I found it more likely that Archer would tease me relentlessly for being lost rather than assault me. Brandt was harmless, of course, at least I thought so. But it was Jared I was worried about, and I watched with bated breath as he slowly turned back into the room that he'd just come out of, closing the door firmly behind him.

I sighed heavily and released my death grip on the basket, letting it rest against my stomach. My arms were burning with the effort of lugging it through the house, searching for a room belonging to someone named Silas. I had no earthly idea who Silas was, or if he even existed. I'd probably have better luck leaving the basket in the middle of a corridor and letting whoever walked by claim it for themselves.

“What are you doing up here?" came a whisper from down the hallway. Scarlett, my roommate and fellow laundry maid, was standing looking somewhat shocked and pale only a few yards away.

I shrugged, pushing off the wall and hurrying toward her as she peered passed me to the door into which Jared had retreated. “You can't be up here unless you're delivering Jared's laundry, not Silas's!"

“I have no idea who Silas is!" I whispered back, handing her the basket.

She sighed, balancing the basket on her hip in a practiced fashion as she motioned me to follow her back through the house. Scarlett was aptly named with her thick, dark red hair. But she was quiet, shy, and a strict follower of the rules. I hadn't been able to get much information out of her at all.

“Jared doesn't allow maids in his quarters," she continued, leading me through a door and down a staircase. “He doesn't like us touching his things."

“What things?" I asked, becoming curious.

She shrugged, making a small grunting noise in her throat that told me she hadn't gotten close enough to know for herself.

She set the basket in front of a narrow door, then turned the corner into the laundry room. Well, if Silas was so close, he could've picked up his laundry himself!

“So, Jared," I began a while later, toying with a shirt laid out over our worktable. Scarlett was sitting down with her back to me, her hands back to her ceaseless mending. “What is his deal?"

“His deal?"

“Brandt said he doesn't like being called an Alpha. Why is that?"

“Because he's not one, I guess. I've never asked him."

See? She was giving me nothing.

“Who is the Alpha in this territory, then?"

“No one that I know of. There's Aeris to the south, of course. The settlement of Newcrest had an Alpha, but I think he's dead. And to the east is, well, it's just forest."

Aeris.

I sat down, crossing my legs and picking up a needle and thread as Scarlett eyed me, blinking at my attempts to guide the thread through the needle.

“So, Aeris is the Alpha of–" I began anew.

“Oh, there you are," Miriam chirped as she bustled through the doorway, her brow glistening with sweat. She placed another basket of laundry in front of me, this one looking much heavier than the last. “Run this up to Jared's room for me dear, will you?"

I exchanged a look with Scarlett before rising from my stool, nodding my agreement to Miriam, who beamed at me.

“Such a good girl. I do hope Scarlett is being nice to you. She can be a little shy, unless Archer is around, of course." She winked at Scarlett, who had gone pink on the cheeks, her eyes slowly going back to her lap where her mending was resting.

I raised my brows at Scarlett as I grabbed the basket and turned toward the door, following Miriam out.

At least two hours had passed since I'd run into Jared and his shadows, Archer and Brandt. I'd heard that the crew of bandits liked to drink at the village tavern in the late evenings, so I was safe. Jared would be with them, of course.

I knew there were at least four doors in that hallway, and the one he came out of was likely his bedroom, or office. Either way, I was likely to be successful in delivering at least one basket of laundry today.

***

I pushed the door open without any resistance, and had to suck in my breath out of surprise. I nearly dropped the basket as I looked around and walked blindly toward a couch, dropping the basket there instead of the floor.

Bookshelves full of thick, leather bound novels stretched to the ceiling. Glass cases full of… it couldn't be.

Artifacts… artifacts stacked on top of artifacts, with a mix of fossils and scrolls lining shelf upon shelf.

“Wow," I breathed, the air thick with dust and smelling sharply of pressed paper and leather. It was… stunning, an absolute dream.

I ran my fingertips over a bookshelf, tempted to pull a copy of what I recognized as “The History of the Pritanians," who were early people related to my own realm. I couldn't believe it. Where had he gotten this? And why was it here?

I asked myself those same two questions repeatedly as I walked around the room, peering into the cases and pulling books off the shelves. I was respectful, of course. I knew how to handle these things, especially the books. Some of them, and of this I was sure, were first editions.

“Incredible," I said, barely able to form the word without it catching in my throat from raw emotion alone.

But then I spied the desk, which was covered in books and scrolls and paper. Below the mess, however, was exactly what I'd been praying I'd find since the very day I ended up alone in the Dark Realm.

A map.

I rushed to the desk, then paused, my hand hovering over the books covering the map. Jared likely knew the exact spot of every piece of scrap paper and book in this room. What had Scarlett said? He didn't like maids touching his things?

I slowly pushed a book out of the way with the tip of one finger so I could see a greater area of the map. He marked the location of his house, just like I'd hoped he would. Several other markers were visible, but I paid them no mind. I slowly traced my finger over the map, making a mental note of the distance as my finger moved from the house to the sea.

Something caught my eye, snapping my vision away from the map so quickly that I lost my train of thought. It was a piece of paper that had obviously been folded several times and smeared with lead. I leaned over the desk, tilting my head for a better look.

It was a drawing of… an amulet. Maybe. But it was broken into three distant pieces, as if they were pieces to a puzzle. The center was circular, likely open for a gem to fit snugly inside of it. The sketch was hand drawn, with smaller sketches surrounding it as though he, I was assuming Jared, had drawn it over and over again.

“What?" I whispered, resting my hand on the desk as I leaned down.

“What the hell are you doing in here?"

The door closed with a thud that made the glass cases rattle as I slowly straightened my back and turned to face Jared.

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