Chapter 5 Whispers in the Quarters

Janelle

The bandage around my leg felt tight as I limped down the narrow corridor toward the servants' quarters. Each step sent a dull ache through my injured limb, but it was nothing compared to the pain in my chest every time someone stared at me.

And they were all staring.

"Look, there she goes," whispered Martha, one of the older kitchen maids. She didn't even try to lower her voice. "The reject who thinks she's special."

I kept my eyes on the stone floor, counting each step. One, two, three...

"I heard the Prince sent his own medics to treat her," said another voice behind me. "Why would he do that for someone he publicly rejected?"

My cheeks burned with shame. I quickened my pace, ignoring the sharp pain in my leg.

"Maybe she faked the whole thing," came a cruel laugh. "You know how desperate some girls get for attention."

The words hit me like slaps across the face. I wanted to turn around and scream at them, tell them the truth about the bear trap, about how their precious Prince had found me bleeding and broken. But what was the point? They wouldn't believe me anyway..

I finally reached my small room and slammed the door behind me. The thin walls did nothing to block out the whispers that seemed to follow me everywhere now. I sank onto my narrow bed, burying my face in my hands.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since Adrian found me in that trap, and the rumors had only gotten worse. Some said I had been his secret mistress before he rejected me. Others claimed I was trying to win him back by playing the victim. The cruelest ones suggested I was planning to trap another man with a fake pregnancy.

A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. I wiped my eyes quickly. "Come in."

The door creaked open, and Clara's bright face peeked around the corner. She was barely seventeen, with wild curly hair that never stayed in place and eyes that sparkled with mischief. Unlike the other servants, Clara had been kind to me since the rejection.

"Are you hiding again?" she asked, slipping inside and closing the door behind her.

"I'm not hiding," I muttered. "I'm just... resting my leg."

Clara rolled her eyes. "Sure you are." She plopped down on the bed beside me, making the old springs creak. "I brought you something."

She pulled a small piece of bread from her apron pocket, still warm from the kitchen. My stomach growled, I had skipped breakfast to avoid the dining hall whispers.

"Thank you," I said softly, taking the bread.

"The other maids are just jealous," Clara said firmly. "They've all been working here for years, and none of them ever got the Prince's attention. Not even for a rejection."

I nearly choked on the bread. "That's supposed to make me feel better?"

Clara grinned. "Actually, yes! Because I have a plan."

Oh no. Clara's plans were always disasters waiting to happen.

"What kind of plan?" I asked suspiciously.

She jumped up from the bed, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "A plan to win Prince Adrian's heart! You're his mate, Janelle. That bond doesn't just disappear because he says some mean words."

"He didn't just say mean words, Clara. He rejected me. In front of witnesses."

"Details," she waved her hand dismissively. "The point is, he sent medics to help you. That means something."

"It means he felt guilty about leaving me to die in a bear trap."

"Or," Clara said dramatically, "it means he's fighting the mate bond and losing!"

I stared at her. Sometimes I wondered if Clara lived in the same world as the rest of us.

"Listen," she continued, pacing back and forth in the tiny room. "I've been watching the Prince for years. I know all his habits, his favorite spots, his weaknesses."

"His weaknesses?"

Clara nodded seriously. "Every man has them. We just need to use the right... maid tricks."

"Maid tricks?" I repeated.

"Oh yes," Clara said, her voice taking on the tone of a teacher addressing a student. "For example, the classic 'accidental bump.' You pretend to trip right in front of him, and when he catches you, you look into his eyes and thank him breathlessly."

She demonstrated by pretending to stumble, throwing her hand to her forehead dramatically. I couldn't help but smile.

"Or," she continued, "the 'wine spill seduction.' You're serving him wine, and you 'accidentally' spill just a tiny bit on his hand. Then you apologize profusely and offer to clean it up."

Clara mimed pouring wine, then gasped in fake horror. "Oh no, Your Highness! Please forgive me!" She grabbed an imaginary cloth and began dabbing at the air. "I'm so clumsy! Let me make it right!"

Despite everything, I found myself laughing. It was the first real laugh I'd had in weeks, and it felt strange but good.

"Clara, you're insane," I said between giggles.

"Insanely brilliant!" she corrected. "Oh, and there's also the 'mysterious smile.' You catch his eye across a room, give him a small, secretive smile, then look away quickly. It drives men crazy wondering what you're thinking about."

She demonstrated, tilting her head and giving me a smile that looked more like she was constipated than mysterious.

I burst out laughing again. "You look like you ate something bad!"

"I'm still perfecting that one," Clara admitted. "But you get the idea."

My laughter faded as reality crept back in. "Clara, I appreciate this, but it won't work. He made it very clear how he feels about me."

Clara sat back down beside me, her expression growing serious. "Janelle, I see the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching. There's pain in his eyes, not hatred."

"You're imagining things."

"Am I?" she challenged. "Then why did he save you? Why did he send his personal medics? And why does he always seem to show up wherever you are?"

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Haven't you noticed? When you're cleaning the great hall, he finds reasons to walk through. When you're in the gardens, he appears on the balcony. When you're serving in the dining room, his eyes follow you."

My heart started beating faster. I hadn't noticed, but then again, I'd been trying so hard to avoid looking at him.

"You're seeing what you want to see," I said, but my voice lacked conviction.

Clara shook her head. "I'm seeing what's really there. The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

After Clara left, I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling. The whispers from the corridor had finally died down as the other servants went to sleep, but my mind wouldn't quiet.

I couldn't stop thinking about Adrian's words from two weeks ago: "I couldn't bear the pain."

What had he meant? The bond worked both ways, when one mate was hurt, the other felt it too. Had he felt my physical pain when I was trapped? Or was there something deeper?

I rolled onto my side, wincing as my injured leg protested. The medics he'd sent had done their job well. The wound was healing cleanly, and soon there would be nothing but a small scar to remind me of that night.

But the questions remained. Why save someone you claimed to despise? Why care for someone you'd publicly rejected?

Maybe Clara was right. Maybe there was more to his actions than guilt or duty. Maybe the mate bond was stronger than his pride or whatever was holding him back. Or maybe I was just desperate enough to believe anything that gave me hope.

I closed my eyes, but sleep wouldn't come. Instead, Adrian's face filled my mind – not the cruel, mocking expression from the night he rejected me, but the focused, worried look he'd worn when he'd found me in the trap. For just a moment, his mask had slipped, and I'd seen something else underneath.

Could he really feel the bond too? And if he did, what was stopping him from accepting it?

As the night stretched on, one thought kept echoing in my head: "I couldn't bear the pain."

The more I replayed those words, the more I wondered if he'd been talking about more than just physical pain. Maybe, just maybe, he was fighting the same battle I was caught between duty and desire, between what was expected and what the heart wanted.

But if that was true, then why the rejection? Why the cruelty?

I turned restlessly, my bandaged leg aching. Tomorrow I would have to face the whispers again, the stares, the cruel jokes. But tonight, for the fi

rst time since that horrible night, I let myself hope that maybe, just maybe, Clara was right.

Maybe there was still a chance.