As much as I wanted to ignore everyone staring unashamedly at me, I couldn't. As I walked, I swept my gaze around the courtyard as if bored, but I noted everything. The large gateway entrances that were carved into each side of the Keep, and their iron portcullis that could be drawn down and block the way into the courtyard—who was coming and going from the wooden doors that led inside the fortress. I met those blatantly staring at me with my own glacial one. Graysen wasn't the only one who could look cold and impassive. I was a godsdamned Wychthorn Princess, a member of royalty within our world.

Amongst the soldiers leaning against the wooden railing of the training pit, there were a few faces that I had a vague recollection of, from the time they'd gathered around me like a nightmarish cloak of crows at my family's temple.

Graysen led me across the courtyard, now deafened with silence but for our footfall ringing against cobblestone and Sage's low warning growl. I followed him into a square stairwell with windows cut into the sides, and we climbed upwards. It wasn't the servants who drew aside to allow us to pass, it was Graysen who shifted aside. They all shot me fleeting glances that darted away before I could hold them.

Staff, not servant.

It was such a strange term. And his mother was right. Staff did seem more inclusive, it did seem as if they were all part of a team.

They greeted Graysen as they descended, and there was warmth inflected in Graysen's tone when he addressed them all by first name basis, which to my shock they returned. He wasn't Mr. Crowther, he was Graysen. He asked about their family or their latest trip off the estate. Or they parried with glib shots that drew out a smile or laughter. One of them even teased him about his latest project down in the garage. If it was still sitting there on blocks and in pieces.

And Graysen looked away, bashful, rubbing the back of his head and feathering his hair.

I blinked back the surprise at seeing him like that.

But when he turned his head my way, jerking his chin to indicate that we needed to keep moving upwards, the warmth was wiped clean from his expression.

While I climbed the stairs my thoughts turned inward. How many servants had I known? Had I really known as a person, not someone picking up after me or serving me meals and refreshments? Our servants had been part of the background and served a purpose, to serve me. I had maids and governesses, but there was still a divide between us as my family held the Great House. I knew all the servants at my home by name, but it was, shamefully, a shock to realize I hadn't really known them at all, not like it seemed Graysen did. And I couldn't say for sure what their lives were like beyond what they could do for me.

We'd almost reached the top floor when I stumbled to a stop to collapse against the wall of the stairwell, needing to catch my breath. My conditioning had deteriorated while being trapped at the top of his tower, and I supposed as well as falling ill to hibernation.

Graysen turned back, a flare of worry shooting through his eyes. "Shit, Wychthorn," he hissed lowly. He quickly descended the stairs.

I held up my hand to stop him from coming too near. Leaning out of the window, my braid swung across my chest as I breathed in cool air to quench the fire in my lungs and the burning in my legs. Sage nudged my thigh with his soft muzzle and gave a low whine.

While my body and lungs calmed, I half-turned my head to find Graysen watching me intently, assessing the rapid rise and fall of my chest.

"Where do you..." and I realized that he didn't live in the Keep, he lived in the tower, and I wondered why he sequestered himself away from his family. I tried again, between puffs of breath. "Where does your family reside?"

He blinked, then turned his attention to the gap in the wall, drawing closer. "Right above the heart of the Keep." He pointed to the southern side of the fortress, near its front entrance. I tried to ignore his body heat by mentally noting what he'd shared. Later on, I'd add it to my growing list of everything I knew about this place in my notepad.

"Maybe this isn't a good idea," he said, frowning down at me. He leaned his shoulder against the wall.

I shook my head, turning to face him. "We're almost there." And I didn't want to cut my time outside of the tower short either. "Come on," I urged, and pushed off on slightly rubbery legs. He allowed me to go ahead of him, and as I walked past our shoulders brushed one another, and a zing crackled through my body. His too, if the molten desire he quickly banked and the way he sawed his jaw was any indication.

I continued slowly upwards until I reached the top floor and stepped onto the outer balcony. It was uncovered and ran from one end of the fortress to the other. Set a little deeper from the walkway was a sun-faded wooden fence with slats that ran horizontally, and tall wrought iron gates.

The walkway's stone railing wasn't as weather-worn as the rest of the fortress either. My fingers latched around the adamere stone as I canted over its side and peered downward. There were four levels in a tiered structure, and each level was set back further from the one directly below. I gazed down in wonder at all the private patios below.

Graysen stood back and let me drift down the walkway, my wraith-wolf following behind. I realized why each level was set back from the one below when I peered through a gate. The way it had been designed allowed light to flood the small patio right through to the bi-folding doors and banks of windows into a home, an apartment of sorts.

Homes.

These were the residences of the servants and it was set up like an apartment block.

The metal gate was sun-warmed beneath my fingers, the fretting delicate. The metal worker had forged a picture in steel—rolling hills, trees, and a lake. Every gate was individually crafted from the next, yet they all carried a woodland theme.

"My aunt designed these," Graysen said.

My spine locked and my jaw clenched. I jerked my hand away as if the metal burned red-hot and ignored the gate. I didn't care for Valarie and I didn't want to get to know this side of her. An artistic side. A human side.

"We made modifications throughout the centuries to keep up with the times and renovated, adding to the Keep with more family to each house, more staff too. Everyone has their own apartment and private space—a patio of sorts."

I blinked, my mouth falling open. "Every single servant?" I shook my head, adjusting my mind to the term the Crowthers preferred. "I mean, staff?"

Ours were housed in Servant Quarters, set up like all the other Houses. Within the quarters was the Servants' Hall where they all gathered and ate. A Commons Room where they could watch TV or a movie, or simply sit and read. Single servants slept in dormitories split between the sexes, but families lived together. Dormitories were cramped, I realized, as I stared through the ceiling-to-floor glass wall and inside the apartment. Back home they slept in small rooms, sometimes shared with one another. They shared bathrooms with the adjacent room and when I thought about it more, I realized, they had no privacy. There was hardly any place for a servant to be alone.

It was a strange concept for someone who rambled alone most of her day.

But the world of servants wasn't anything that I'd properly considered before. They simply existed to serve my House.

And when I thought upon it further, I realized the Servants' Quarters were situated in the part of our home that got little natural light. Their home life outside of ours didn't take up this much space either, even when our mansion had so many rooms that were hardly used—there to look pretty, or briefly sit in as one drifted throughout the day or for guests to spill into when we entertained. There were so many rooms that were just wasted space that could have been utilized better.

Yet the Crowthers had gone beyond what any of us had done and set their staff up with proper homes. Shame heated my cheeks.

Behind me, Graysen's voice still held its bored note, but his tone was a little faraway. "My mother dreamed of what she wanted for the world of servants when she was younger and working for the Deniauds as a Between Maid. Changes that my father began to implement, and she took on and expanded upon when they married."

To shore myself up against the sting of hearing about his mother, I patted Sage's head, my fingers curling through his misty fur.

The next apartment over, a gate suddenly creaked open. A man in his late twenties, with curly brown hair and dressed in a crisp black suit, left his apartment with a briefcase held in one hand. He looked surprised to see us at first, then a broad smile lit his blunt features as his blue eyes landed on Graysen, then widened when they fell upon my wraith-wolf who bristled and growled lowly.

"Sage," I whispered, warning him to keep his cool.

My wraith-wolf huffed but complied.

"Do you mind if we have a look around your home, Bryant?" Graysen asked the other man as he approached.

Bryant shrugged. "Sure." He looked at me like everyone else had done with open curiosity, and after a moment of hesitation, he bowed.

I rolled my eyes. It seemed like an insincere gesture now I was here and trapped.

"I was just going back to work, anyway," he said to Graysen, as he held the gate open and we stepped through. He closed it behind us, with a loud clank, and then departed.

"Bryant's mother used to work with my mother at your grandparents."

Sanela and Romain, my gruff and aloof grandparents I'd rarely spent time with. Their estate was on the Hemmlok forest, shared by other estates, the Lyons and Szarvases too. My father's fear of my secret being discovered meant I'd been cloistered away from them as well.

Inside the private patio were potted roses and boxed shrubs and plants climbing up the wooden fence separating the apartments from one another. There was even a BBQ and a teak wooden table with deck chairs in bright navy and white stripes and a matching sun umbrella. An empty teacup sat on the table along with a book.

"It's really nice," I said, because it was. "It's a thoughtful thing to do." I wondered just what else Tabitha Crowther had done for the servants.

"Yeah, well, that was my mother," Graysen said. He rolled back on his heels, raising an eyebrow at me and tilting his chin at the front door.

I opened up the glass door and walked inside to find the apartment modestly spacious with a bedroom, a kitchen, and a bathroom. It was nicely appointed and my stomach fell to see just how big it was compared to the servants' rooms back home. Bryant had six times as much space all to himself, compared to my family's servants.

Bookshelves lined the wall along with a media center, all livened with lush, bold pot plants. There were also paintings by Salvador Dali and Andy Warhol amongst photographs of Bryant: sitting on the edge of a mountain; trekking through a jungle; an arm wound around an elderly woman—his mother judging by the similar features—here in this very living room.

Set into the ceiling right at the back of the apartment and the kitchen, where I imagined the apartment met the outer wall of the Keep, it should have been dark and cave-like with no other windows apart from the one out front. But there was an expansive skylight set into the ceiling and morning sunlight poured through and washed through the open room.

"I'm surprised that you haven't cut windows into the outer wall," I said turning back to Graysen who stood in the middle of the living room.

"It is a Keep," he drawled, still emotionless, stepping closer. "At the end of the day, it is, as you like to call it—a fortress. This is the most fortified home within the Houses. Something we'd like to remain as such."

When I took a keener look at all the furnishings, it stunned me to see how many heirlooms furnished the room. "These are priceless antiques," I gasped. And the servants were using them as our ancestors had once done as dining tables, couches, and armchairs padded for comfort with modern cushions and rugs. There were leafy shrubs in Chinese urns and teapots, and silver dishes as a place to store pens and nicknacks.

Graysen shrugged a powerful shoulder, chewing through the remaining distance so we stood flush, close enough to almost touch, close enough to feel the air stir with the hyper-awareness of one another. "They'd only be gathering dust. What's the use of that? Nice to look at and show off to other Houses," he said with a sidelong glance. That was a dig at me, at my family, at every other House too.

Indeed, what was the use?

I tipped my head sideways to look up at him. "Did your mother like being a servant?"

He toed the tiled floor with the tip of his sparkly boot, thinking for a moment, before bringing his gaze back to mine. "Strangely, yes, she did. She didn't like certain parts of it. The strictness of her world has an established order much like ours, perhaps worse, and one that's hard to break. But here, she could."

"So easily too," I murmured, wondering if my own father would have broken tradition if my mother had asked him to. And Varen Crowther had married a servant, not caring at all what the other Houses thought. "You'd think your family would have protested your father marrying a servant." I couldn't imagine my father taking a servant as a bride.

"My grandfather was opposed. But my father didn't care."

Interesting.

"How did they meet?"

"A long time ago, my father and aunt were invited to the Deniauds for the weekend." The Deniauds, my mother. It was hard to keep myself together and not shatter as the memory of her smiling face flashed across my mind. I pushed the thought of my mother from my head. It would break me if I let myself dwell on my family.

"According to him, he helped her gather flowers. According to her, he was being an ass and refusing to help. He pretended to be a servant, and for a while there she had no idea she was being courted by one of the Upper Ranks."

I smiled. I couldn't help it. It sounded sweet and yet dangerous...

Even I knew it was dangerous for the servants and upper ranks to mix like that.

Anxiously toying with the end of my braid, I hardened my features and pretended to look somewhere else. This wasn't going the way I thought it would, how I wanted it to. I wanted to keep hold of my anger at what was happening to me. Instead, I felt awful.

Tabitha Crowther.

It was just like Penn had said—her spirit was everywhere.

I wanted to remain cold and aloof, and not be reminded that it was either her or me. And she was becoming real to me. Too real.

Graysen shifted his weight, drawing my attention back to him. He shoved a hand into the pocket of his dark-wash jeans that made the plain gray t-shirt pull tight against his biceps. Sunlight glanced off the sparkly pink boots I'd pimped with glitter and gems and a gold gel pen. "There's somewhere else I think you'll appreciate," he said in his low gravelly voice. "It has lots of your favorite things—paper and ink."

The library!

Infused with excitement, I almost jittered on the spot. The rough patch of glitter and gems abraded the sole of my foot as I tapped the toe of his boot. "Show me the way, Mr. Dickface."

A tick in his jaw and a gleam of amusement in his gaze.

He couldn't smile at me, but his eyes could.