Dancing with the Devil

The Count

Kalista's eyes darted around, trying to locate the staircase and examine the decor above. Suddenly, a shrill female voice echoed through the empty hall, interrupting her thoughts: "Did everyone bring in?"

The girls around her immediately dropped to their knees, and Kalista was roughly forced down by the attendants as well. She dared to glance at the speaker and saw a tall woman in a satin uniform, adorned with luxurious jewelry from head to finger, who appeared to be the housekeeper.

At the top of the stairs stood a man who, though not adorned with the gold and finery of a butler, clearly held a higher status due to the costly fabrics of his attire. The butler-like figure peered through a monocle at the teenage girls kneeling before him, as if assessing a line of merchandise. "Look up," he commanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

The hall was filled with an eerie silence as the butler, armed with a pen and a ledger, recorded details on a piece of paper with each girl who passed. He offered comments such as "decent appearance" or "ugly."

When it was Kalista's turn, she too received this cold assessment.

The feather at the end of the pen swept across Kalista's cheek, and she knew she had no choice but to endure the objectifying gaze from above.

"What's your name?" the butler asked.

"Kalista," she replied, each word feeling like another blow to her face, causing her to gasp in pain.

The butler, after a momentary examination of her face, frowned in disdain. "It's swollen like a pig's head and bruised," she said, her voice dripping with scorn. "It's disgusting."

The butler's towering figure cast a shadow over Kalista, obscuring much of her view. She could only hear the snide remark from the man of higher rank.

A quill pen was roughly brushed against the sides of Kalista's hair, and she learned that most of the girls sent to Avaloria were sold into s*****y by their families, or were girls who had committed their first theft. Kalista didn't understand why she had been brought here, but she knew that she was no longer a princess. She was now just a slave in a foreign land, where everyone could trample over her.

The housekeeper did not tarry long in Kalista's presence, swiftly registering all the girls and assigning their duties. As a matter of course, Kalista was assigned to the utility room, which had the worst environment and the most work, and was responsible for the daily inventory and sorting.

Meanwhile, the man on the stage, or rather "the Count of Vladimir," took three beautiful blonde girls and, without any qualms, put his arm around one of them for a kiss. Perhaps his behavior was too sudden, and the girl pushed him away with a forceful shove.

He was not angered by the girl's reaction, but rather seemed to relish it, and once again took the girl on his shoulder before proceeding with his deceitful act. The viper-like hand reached under the girl's skirt and roughly ripped open her stockings, despite her cries of protest. The pale skin poured out like milk, and the people below, men and women, had a panoramic view of the landscape.

Several hisses of disapproval were uttered by the two knights and a senior handmaiden. The count glanced at them, raised his palm gracefully, and motioned for his knight to descend the stairs.

The sword fell, and several heads fell immediately, their blood staining the carpet. The master of the castle, who had ordered the execution, strolled back to his room in complete silence.

Kalista lowered her head, trembling as she gazed at the pool of blood, her broken fingernails digging into her palms. The master of the castle was a madman, driven by his own whims, and the Count of Vladimir cared nothing for the lives and dignity of others.

Kalista was no longer a princess; she could not afford to be impulsive. She needed to be patient, to lie low, to wait for the right moment. Her survival was the key to any hope of retaliation.

She vowed to reclaim every drop of blood that had been spilled.

The housekeeper did not let the drama stop her, she warned everyone: "Do not think of disobeying the count." Oh, and one more thing to keep in mind - this castle has an underground palace, and it's not dirty enough for you to set foot in. If you do not listen to this advice, you will die without a burial place."

The butler glanced around at the slave with a sneer and then walked away. Several ladies led them to the workplace.

Kalista, head bowed in submission, trailed the maids to the utility room. The space resembled the kitchen, and her responsibilities included managing the inventory, which encompassed food supplies. Among the housekeeper's tasks was the arduous chore of carrying large bags of potatoes or vats of flour to the kitchen, relying solely on her bare hands. Fortunately, Kalista possessed considerable strength, which ensured she would not grow weary or breathless after just a few steps.

Kalista is not some weak princess. She has been a naughty child since childhood, climbing trees and rolling in the mud is a daily routine, sometimes dragging the good boy Andrew into the water. She clenched her teeth at the thought of Andrew. She wants to defeat Andrew, and the Knights with whom he committed his crimes, by any means necessary.

First, she needs to survive in this weird castle, and then, find a way out.

Kalista spent a week trying to figure out the layout of the castle by sending groceries around. To her surprise, the first floor of the castle was very similar to the Serafinia castle she knew well.

The underground palace remained uncharted territory for Kalista. She disregarded the butler's ominous warning that "there is no place to die" and began her investigation. In the castle where Kalista once resided, there was a tunnel that led to the exterior. As a child, she had played with Andrew and Lancelot in the underground palace, and thus knew all the secret paths and hidden doors.

If the castle in Avaloria mirrored much of Serafinia's structure, it was plausible that the underground palace also housed a secret passage. This could one day serve as her means of escape.

Following a week of exploration and observation, Kalista had a general understanding of the guard rotations on the castle's first floor. The guards at the entrance to the underground palace were more vigilant than elsewhere, but it was not an insurmountable obstacle to infiltrate.

As long as......

"Kalista, what are you thinking?" Mabel's voice broke the silence of the night.

It was the middle of the night, and a light rain was falling outside the window. Kalista lay on her back in her bed, her eyes wide open, staring up at the ceiling as she plotted. She had been assigned to the smallest and most dilapidated room, sharing it with a roommate named Mabel.

Mabel leaned over and gently shook Kalista's shoulders.

Kalista's eyes flickered back to life, the dancing candlelight casting a warm glow in their blue depths. "I wonder if I delivered today's new onions to the kitchen," she mused.

"Don't worry, they can't figure it out themselves," Mabel reassured her, her voice laced with nonchalance. She easily trusted Kalista and rolled back to her bed, beginning to comb her blonde hair. Her hair was lighter than Kalista's, cascading down to her shoulders, and could only be styled in a low updo.

Mabel ran her fingers through Kalista's long hair with admiration, "Your hair is stunning, like a cascade in the sunlight, so long and sleek." She pondered aloud, "You know, there's a recent trend among wealthy ladies to wear wigs. I've seen them discreetly at balls, and they don't compare to your natural locks."

Kalista chuckled, "It seems that if I ever find myself in need, I could consider selling my hair." She then remembered something and asked, "Do you recall the three blonde girls who were specially chosen when the handmaid duties were assigned? Have you seen them since?"

Mabel scratched her chin thoughtfully, "The Count favors attractive young girls, especially those with fair hair. They were selected to serve as the Count of Vladimir's personal attendants, but I haven't seen them since."

Kalista felt a sense of unease. She had noticed attendants and knights sneaking things into the entrances of the underground palaces at night. It was too far for her to discern whether it was cargo or bodies being transported.

The Count of Vladimir's exploitation of the handmaids was quite brazen. Kalista couldn't help but wonder, " Doesn't the countess have any objections to this?"

"The Count is the master of this castle, and no one can defy him," Mabel replied.

Kalista sighed, "I detest people who only look out for their own interests."

Mabel quickly signaled her to be quiet. "You mustn't say that to anyone."

Kalista smiled and nodded in agreement.

The two girls extinguished the candles and settled down to sleep.