The palace was a maze Isabelle had not yet fully mapped.

By the time she had meandered her way back to the small room allocated to her, she'd already made up her mind. Today, she would explore. Cautiously.

The castle lacked the traditional courtyard in the middle as her family's estate had held. Branching instead, like bird wings, from east to west. It boasted three floors- five- if one counted the spired towers at either end and a large hedged garden that fanned like a long cloak at the castle's back.

Tall hedges and stone paths wound like a maze toward the forest and Isabelle often paused on her way to the dining hall to steal a glance at the swirling patterns of green through the window. The deep evergreen that reminded her of the trees in her family's garden-of home.

Jaqueline had called the castle a modern marvel. Isabelle simply found it confusing.

The blood maids all kept to the second level of the west wings. A floor beneath where the Royalty and high nobility resided in their plush dwellings, lavishly enjoying themselves.

The east end of the palace held the kitchens and scullery maid dwellings—but not like hers. She had heard the women bunked in large rooms together above the latrine pits. Mattresses were laid on cold floors instead of bed frames and the blue-robed scullery maids were afforded a bath once a week unlike the daily washing she revived.

The center of the castle held a library on the third floor and the ballroom on the second. The main floor hosted the throne room, a grand dining hall, and the one she was most curious about: the solarium. She had seen glimpses of the large glass structure from the outside. Whispers caught her ear from the other blood maids, that it was a place plants still grew and where the king spent most of his time. Isabelle was doubtful that anything at all could grow with such little light but it did not stop her from wanting to see inside.

"Come on, Rosie." Isabelle scooped up the tiny mouse from the bed, tucking her gently into her apron's pocket. "Today, we are going on an adventure."

The mouse gave a squeak in response.

"Well, yes, I'm rather nervous myself," Isabelle confessed, "but don't worry, I'll protect you." She patted the mouse's head softly before taking in a deep breath, leaving her room and heading east—toward the unknown.

Isabelle wasn't daft. She knew animals couldn't talk. But chatting with her small friend always helped settle her nerves. She liked to believe that, even a bit, the mouse could understand her. Rosie was, after all, a very smart mouse.

As she walked, pretending to be confident, she quickly realized that all the corridors looked exactly the same, and it wasn't long before Isabelle found herself aimlessly wandering the halls. A concerned squeak came from her pocket.

Isabelle glanced down at her little friend with an anxious smile. "Okay, so we may be a little lost. No matter, I'm sure—oh, stairs!"

A set of stone steps spiraled down at the end of one of the halls, and her footsteps quickened towards it.

"Stairs are always a good sign," she told Rosie. "Perhaps we can meet someone along the way and ask for directions."

Rosie fidgeted in her pocket, and Isabelle cupped her hands round the outside of the fabric. It wouldn't do to have people notice a moving bump in her skirts. Best to not draw attention to one's self.

But there had been no curious eyes to fret over. The palace at midday was quiet. The scullery maids kept their heads to their work polishing the brass or stoking the fire as her red skirts dragged softly past. Most creatures were asleep at this hour along with the blood maids who kept them comfortable late into the night.

As Isabelle continued her descent down the spiraling path, the familiar pungent smell of soap wafted up to greet her from the bowels of the castle. Giddy with recognition, she all but flew down the stairs, below the main floor and pushed through the wooden door of the launder room.

It was a comforting sight, with its freshly hung laundry on a corded rope and inlaid pools of warm liquid bubbling with soap and clothing waiting to be scrubbed. She had only been here once, with Tilly, when she'd first been brought to the castle.

This welcome though, was vastly different. She stood out now, a single red stain against a fabric of blue. Most maids side eyed her with a mix of jealousy and contempt. The rest seemed quite happy to ignore her all together.

Isabelle's dress grew heavy. The long skirt soaping up the wet floor as she weaved through the maids scrubbing in the wash pits while her eyes scanned the room for the stout woman as she murmured to Rosie. "Do you remember this place, Rosie? We came here with Ms. Tilly before. Maybe she could point us in the right direction—"

"Isabelle?"

Isabelle blinked in surprise and turned around, towards where a familiar round face and bright green eyes looked up from the sheet she had been scrubbing. "What... what are you doing here?"

Isabelle shifted from one foot to the other sheepishly. "I, ah, I was looking for the kitchen and... got lost."

A flicker of what looked like amusement flashed across Sarah's face, but it was gone before Isabelle could confirm it. Sarah went back to her scrubbing.

"You shouldn't be here," she warned quietly.

There was silence for a few heartbeats as Sarah continued to diligently clean the laundry. Finally, Isabelle couldn't take it anymore.

She kneeled down by the pile of wet clothes, ducking her head to try and get her friend's attention. "Are you upset with me, Sarah? I'm sorry if I've offended you in any way."

Sarah looked up in surprise.

"No, I—" a flicker of emotions ran across the girl's sweat-streaked face. "It's just better if you don't talk with me." Sarah's voice lowered to a whisper, barely loud enough for Isabelle to catch it, "I wouldn't want to get you in trouble."

Isabelle blinked, confused. In trouble? With who?

Oh...

"Is it because of Jacqueline?"

Sarah stiffened at the mention of the girl's name, and Isabelle knew she had guessed right. She folded her legs under her as she sat down with a huff. "Well then, it's a good thing I told that girl to stick her forked tongue back where it belongs."

Sarah gasped.

"You didn't!" Her mouth dropped wide in horror, but Isabelle didn't miss the twinkle in the girl's eyes.

"Well, I told her she should be ashamed of herself," Isabelle said with a grin. Sarah's lips broke into a wide smile before she snickered.

"She should be ashamed of herself!"

Isabelle and Sarah smiled at each other, rekindling their friendship as they chatted for a while, catching up on all the things they had been longing to share with one another. Isabelle apologized for her part in Dorine's death and was grateful that Sarah seemed to not hold it against her. It was only when Ms. Tilly herself came over to show her out that Isabelle got up to leave. The loud old maid drove her away with a damp sheet, stating the poor girls would never get any work done with all their chatter.

After getting some sensible directions, Isabelle made her way back up the winding stairs and headed towards the back of the castle. Turning left at the end of the hall, she caught a familiar scent and simply followed her nose for the rest of the way.

"That smells good, doesn't it, Rosie?" Isabelle murmured. Rosie gave a squeak of affirmation.

The smell of sizzling meat and dried herbs made her stomach grumble even though she had already eaten.

As she approached the door, she peeked in first to make sure she had gotten the right place, and was just able to make out John's muscular frame leaning over a large cooking pot.

She knocked softly.

"Come in," his warm voice called out. Rosie ducked back into the apron pocket, hiding away.

"Hello," Isabelle offered shyly, pushing the door open with a creak and stepping inside. The large space smelled of aromatic spices and strangely, Isabelle found it quite comforting.

"Isabelle?" John whipped his head around in surprise, his face lighting up. "You came!"

"I did," she replied with a smile, looking around the kitchen.

A wooden table lined the left side of the room, littered with vegetables, cloths of wrapped cheese, and bread baskets. Rows of dried herbs hung from the rafters, and smoke swirled from a massive fire at the very back where a bubbling pot sat stewing.

"Come in, come in," John ushered, wiping his hands on his apron before walking up to greet her. He gestured to the cluttered room that was in dire need of a good sweep. "Welcome to my lair!"

Before Isabelle could respond, another voice spoke up, startling her.

"What poor soul did you convince to help you today?"

She turned around and noticed an old woman sitting on a stool in the corner, peeling potatoes with gnarled hands and a practiced touch. Long wisps of gray hair curled out of her workers' bonnet, brushing against her weathered face.

"Hello child," she greeted, green eyes crinkling with her toothy grin.

"Hello," Isabelle murmured shyly.

"Don't go scaring my guest, you old witch!" John joked, moving over to a brick oven and using a large wooden paddle to pull out fresh loaves of bread, which he piled onto the counter.

"A witch!" Isabelle gasped in surprise, causing the old woman to cackle heartily at her reaction.

"Well, not a very good witch, it seems," the old woman chuckled dryly, setting the peeled potato into a bucket. "Can't even break a silly curse."

Curse?

"If you had, I wouldn't be here in this damn sweat box, slaving away!" John grabbed a cloth hanging off his belt to wipe his brow. His tone was light but it carried a bitter undercurrent. Isabelle gave him a curious glance, her gaze flickering between him and the old witch.

Did they mean the curse of the damned?

The old woman sighed, picking up another potato from the murky water it sat in and started to peel. "Yes, well, at least I'm useful enough to help your sorry hide."

John just let out a little 'hmph'.

"A real witch?" Isabelle repeated, eyes full of wonder. "I'd never met a witch before."

"Only some herbal potions. A few spells here and there, child. Nothing to gawk at."

Isabelle started to open her mouth, intending to ask more, but the woman diverted her attention, yelling at John 'to give the girl a task if she was going to loiter here anyway.' Isabelle laughed, offering to sweep and tidy whilst John finished preparing the meal.

The trio fell into a comfortable silence as they each focused on their tasks, and before long, the room looked like a new space. The floors were cleaned and washed, counters wiped down, leaving a fresh and orderly gleam. Isabelle glanced around, satisfied.

"I should invite you here more often," John teased, appraising the polished glow. "Now, for your reward!" He dipped into the pantry, coming back with a golden-crusted apple pie. Thin slices of baked apple dusted with cinnamon peaked from beneath the patchwork pattern, and her stomach growled greedily.

"My, that looks wonderful, John!"

"I hope you're planning to share," the witch nodded towards Isabelle. "This poor thing looks like she'll wither away into a ghost if you don't feed her."

John laughed at the woman's badgering, and pulled out three forks, beckoning them around a low round table standing off in the corner. He pulled up some crates to sit on, offering the utensils to the women.

"All right, ladies, dig in; you've earned it!"

Isabelle took her first bite of the flaky crust and warm filling, her mouth tingling at the sweetness. John's boasting had not been for nothing, and though his cooking left something to be desired; the pie was divine. It was the perfect balance of sweet and tangy. She greedily devoured her portion in silence until the witch spoke.

"Isabelle, that is your name, child?"

"Yes," she replied, wiping the stray crumbs from her face. "May I ask yours?"

The old woman smiled, her eyes crinkling into half-moons. "It's been a while since someone's asked for my name. They often just call me 'the witch', but you, my dear, are welcome to call me Anna."

"A pleasure to meet you, Anna," Isabelle murmured. She felt Rosie move around in the pocket, so she carefully pulled her out to give her a breather from all the bumping and jostling she'd suffered while Isabelle cleaned. She glanced at the witch and John as she gently set Rosie on the table. "I hope you don't mind if my friend, Rosie, joins us. She's very clean and well-behaved."

She offered Rosie some crumbs from her pie, crumbs which the little mouse scooped up hungrily in her tiny paws.

"What a cute little mouse," John grinned.

The witch was silent for a while, staring at the creature.

"Well, that's a special friend you have there, Isabelle," she finally said. "Not all creatures are as intelligent as her."

The mouse stopped eating, as if only now noticing the cook and the older woman's presence. They stared silently at one another for a while until Isabelle spoke up.

"Well, she is quite smart." Isabelle smiled down at Rosie. "Sometimes I feel like she understands exactly what I'm saying."

The witch slowly tore her attention away from the tiny creature to address Isabelle.

"That's because she is. Mice are intelligent creatures; they understand more than you think." A sparkle came into Anna's eye, "would you like to know what she's saying?"

Isabelle blinked. "Is that possible?"

The witch gave a wicked smile. "Of course."

"Oh, come off it, Anna, no more of your silly tricks leave the girl be," John interjected, picking up the empty pie dish, and throwing a scowl in Anna's direction.

"It's not a trick," the witch huffed in response, turning her attention back to Isabelle. "It's a potion called Beast Tongue. I can make it for you if you like. A swig of that and in a few hours, you'll be able to understand what she's saying. Now, the duration of the spell varies depending on the strength of your bond. Would you like to try it?" she paused, "consider it a gift from this old witch."

Isabelle nodded in earnest, awed by this offer, and on the table Rosie squeaked excitedly.

"Wonderful!" Anna clapped her hands together, and with a pep in her step, she rose and disappeared into the pantry.

John gave Isabelle a glance. "Are you sure about this?"

"Oh, yes." She nodded, glancing down at her little friend. "I would love to communicate with Rosie."

From the pantry, there was clinking of glasses, rattles, and items shuffling from inside as Anna rummaged in there. "Now, I know I put that darn thing som—aha! Leave a spoon, John!"

John shook his head with a sigh and walked off with the plates, obediently leaving behind Isabelle's spoon.

Anna emerged with a small vial of bluish liquid in her hand. Popping the lid, she poured some into the spoon and laid it in front of the mouse, offering Isabelle the rest of the vial.

"Will it hurt?" Isabelle asked nervously as she accepted the strange liquid.

"Oh heavens, no, child," Anna laughed, "it's only a little bitter, that's all."

Isabelle stared at it for a moment before closing her eyes, bringing the vial to her lips and tilting her head back to drink it in one large gulp. Bitter was an understatement. The liquid burned her throat, leaving behind a sharp sour aftertaste that clung to her tongue. Rosie took a tentative lick and then scampered around the table, squeaking.

"It's okay, Rosie." Isabelle picked her up, stroking her small body to provide comfort.

The witch watched them for a moment, expression unreadable before looking out the window, toward the darkening sky. "Time for you to get going, child. The bell will be ringing soon."

Isabelle glanced at the window, quickly climbing to her feet. "Thank you both for your kindness."

The old woman chuckled. "The palace is lucky to have you two kind souls here. I believe it may bring about some change for the better. Why, look what you've done to old John here. The man's had a pep in his step ever since the day you arrived!"

"Anna! That's enough out of you," John groused. His ears turned a furious shade of red as he focused intently on stirring the stew, avoiding Isabelle's gaze.

"You come back and visit now," the old witch wagged her finger at her. Isabelle's smile, in return, was as good as a promise. She scooped Rosie up from the wooden table and left the kitchen, waving to John and Anna, before turning to navigate her way back down the long, winding halls, her cheeks warm.

It had been the happiest day she'd had since arriving at this dark, dreadful palace; a day filled with laughter, reconciling with old friends and making new ones, and she was saddened to see it come to an end.

Isabelle jaunted toward her room, hoping for a short nap before the evening fully set in. She opened the door, still musing about whether she would have enough time to—

"Where have you been!"

Isabelle jumped back in surprise at the furious dark eyes glaring at her out of the pale, feathery face.

The owl stood in the middle of her room, winged arms crossed over her chest in a waterfall of white plumage.

"I—" Isabelle started, feeling Rosie shift slightly in her apron pocket.

"Never mind, there's no time for that," Madame Gion's feathered hand snapped out, grabbing Isabelle roughly by the arm and dragging her down the hall. "We must get you cleaned up immediately. There's no time. No time."

"No time fo-for what, Madame?"

No one had fretted about her before. What was happening?

There was a flare in the bird's eye as she spoke, her sharp gaze turning to Isabelle. "His Majesty, wishes to see you."

"Is Prince Ada-"

"That half blood is hardly Royalty," Madame Gion's beak snapped with an annoyed click. "You are to serve your king tonight. His majesty Henry the Fifth."