The early morning cry of a rooster woke Isabelle instead of the ring of a breakfast bell. But she found it rather refreshing as she stretched her thin limbs out by the dying embers of the fire. Soot marred her toes and bottom of her nightgown. A stain the laundress would be sure to scold her for. Though she was happy to see that her legs and arms looked plumper and her ribs didn't show as much, though fatigue had increased with every drop of blood her body worked to replenish.

Isabelle offered to help Anna collect eggs for the Nobles breakfast that was prepared in the upstairs kitchen. The gray light had yet to appear. A thin layer of frost coated the grass, wetting her skirts and legs reminding Isabelle that winter was drawing near. She fell into step behind Anna, who walked the familiar path to the animal pens by candlelight.

Eggs were few, only a dozen or so and lamps rotated on and off in the hut to remind the animals of daylight. But it was still not enough. The hens didn't even bother to move from their nesting boxes as Isabelle slid her hand under their warm bellies looking for eggs coming back with nothing or sometimes only one.

Anna said it was the lack of light that had dulled their spirits and for those that stopped laying completely they became a roast or pot of soup. She filled the silence as they milked the cows snickering at her tale of how she would sneak pieces of honey ham and cider meant for the nobles breakfast for herself and John just to spite them. There were so many secrets behind the old woman's eyes that it might take Isabelle a lifetime of stories to hear them all, not that she minded.

Isabelle helped with the large pots of porridge for their breakfast until the other blue dressed maids came to take over.

"You think they'd feed ya better with all the bloody work you do." John snickered at his own joke, his eyes sliding to Isabelle who couldn't quite get the corners of her mouth to lift.

"Why don't they then?" She asked. Not for the first time feeling ire burn hot in her chest. The eggs she'd collected the sizzling ham none of that was shared. How was she supposed to keep her strength to offer her blood? "You think they'd want to feed the ones supplying them with blood a bit better."

"Aye," John nodded, taking the large pot off the stove. "But food is becoming scarce. They have to take from villages further away now."

"I didn't even see a sack of flour for two moons till we got a cart in from Lorraine." Anna cut in, looking up from the dough she was rolling, pointing her wooded pin at Isabelle. "They don't think you'll survive long enough for it to matter dear. So they keep the good stuff for themselves. Now off with you. Go get ready for breakfast!"

Before heading to the dinning hall she exchanged her stained gown for a fresh one with the laundress. Who's stare was enough to remind her to sleep a little further from the fire next time.

"Sleeping in the dirt, are we Isabelle?" Jaqueline scoffed as she walked past the gaggle of girls in the dining hall with her porridge later. Isabelle looked down at her fresh dress puzzled.

One of the girls-Tilly- made a rubbing motion on her nose. Isabelle wiped her own hand, palms coming off with a streak of black. Her face was covered in it.

"I think it's soot," one of the other girls commented.

"Cindersoot!" another girl shouted out.

"Really, you should take better care of your face, Cinderbelle," Jaqueline tossed her pretty blonde curls over her shoulder. "If you insist on looking like a pig, you might as well eat with them." The girls giggled and Isabelle tightened her grip on her bowl. Tempted to toss the whole thing on Jacqueline's pretty little head.

She sat at the end of the long bench. Another blonde maid with freckles and brown hair sat by her, seemingly ostracized from the herd as well.

"My names Isabelle," she introduced, offering her the extra crust of bread John always snuck her.

The girl took it with hungry eyes. Her face sunken and fingers bony.

"Nadine," she mouthed through bites of bread. The two girls giggled and chatted, bonding over their shared distaste for Jaqueline and swapping stories of better days. Nadine was from a little village further south. She had said at first they started coming for food, then women. She had hid in a barrel of salted fish for three days before they found and took her. It was the smell that had caught Jaqueline and her posse when she first arrived. "Fish face," they called her.

Isabelle shared her own cruel experience with the girl and they finished their breakfast on a somber note.

As the weeks dragged on, Isabelle settled into a comfortable routine, she learned the path to the animal pens by heart and had befriended many of the women in the Laundry pits with gifts of leftover cookies and tarts as a way of apology for the added burden of her stained clothes.

If Madame Gion had noticed the change in her sleeping quarters, she made no mention of it, and Isabelle was always quick to make sure she showed up at the ring of the bells.

Isabelle looked forward to the days where she read by the daybed with Adam, and she found herself rather melancholy on the days where he was not in his room. She had meant to return his cloak several times now, but it always seemed to slip her mind and when she had brought it up, he told her to keep it.

They had made it through two of the King Arthur tales together already. She noticed he would perk up during a battle or fiddle with the tassels on the pillows when she would read about a love scene, which Isabelle found rather endearing.

And on days when he seemed open to conversation she would inquire, often with the help of Rosie, as to his other interests. Though his answers were always short she had managed to learn he enjoyed archery and hunted quite a great deal in addition to his passion for literature and his horse Philip. He preferred animal blood when he could hunt it, rather than human, telling Isabelle she did not have to fill the cup everyday- of which she was grateful.

Nadine was a warm face at the dining hall. A smile lighting up her freckled cheeks when Isabelle would walk in. They would share stories about their day and Nadine would often recite what gossip she'd overheard from the nobles. Her master, a boar looking creature with bristled hair and large tusks was a supposed duke to the north, who now lived in the castle with the rest. But he often invited other noble women to his chambers who would chatter about what was happening in the nearby villages. Nadine spoke little of her master, fiddling with her thin brown braid whenever Isabelle would inquire.

A few days later Isabelle noticed a scar, like a claw mark on her cheek and then two more the following day. When she asked Nadine about it the girl simply shook her head and kept her mouth shut.

Then the following week, there was no Nadine at all.

"I hear they toyed with her before slitting her throat."

"I heard they ate her alive."

"That noble mans' a true monster. I hear his maids never last more than a month before he gets bored."

The gossip buzzed through the mess hall like the wings of tiny bees passing from flower to flower, girl to girl, till all knew the wretched end of Nadine.

Isabelle hurled her breakfast into the nearest chamber pot down the hall. She excused herself from the reading that evening and not even John or Anna could rouse her from her melancholy as she curled herself by the fire and drifted into a restless sleep. Filled with images of the freckled faced brunette.

There had to be a way to put an end to this curse, this madness. The next day Isabelle resolved herself during her morning walk to the pens with Anna.

"There is a way to break the curse. Is there not Anna?"

"Oh, child." Anna shook her head as she pulled at the cows' teats, the sounds of milk sloshing in the bucket filled the silence before she spoke again. "I told ye, blood magic is not easily undone. The curse has taken on a life of its own now."

"But there is a way."

Anna chewed on her lower lip. "Aye. In the king's chamber, on the wall, it is said that the curse was scrawled out in the sorceress' own blood. Unable to scrub it off, the king had it left there. He sleeps now in the throne room or greenhouse."

"What does it say?"

"Nothing that would help you break it. I should know. He had me examine the damn thing a hundred times and every time I told him the same thing."

"What?" Isabelle set the egg basket down, squatting beside the old woman on the stool to hear better.

"That curse was brought on by the king's own selfishness, so it is only fitting that an act of true selflessness be the key to breaking the curse."

"True selflessness." Isabelle repeated the words, rolling them around in her head. "Then a kind deed, a selfless deed would break it?"

"Perhaps, but it is easier said than done, child. These people-these creatures-are driven by instinct, greed, lust, gluttony. They wear the skin of their sins now. As ugly on the outside as they are inside. The king especially is always hungry for blood and carnal pleasures, using this curse to subjugate others for sport. He has learned nothing," she spat vehemently. "If it was easy, it would be broken by now."

But the witch's words did not dissuade Isabelle's hope. There was a way.

An act of selflessness. She had her answer. And she knew just what to do. If she could just convince the King to set Rosie free, something he wanted, would that not be an act of selflessness?

Isabelle was sure she could do it and so with high hopes she made her way down the hall to pick up Rosie. A set of spears blocked her path.

"Horace? Maurice?" Isabelle offered a questioning gaze. She had bothered to learn their names after picking Rosie up a few times. Slipping them sweets where she could and they seemed to warm a little more at the sight of her, offering to even open the door on some occasions. Today, though, the air was frigid with tension and guards shook their heads when her hand went for the door, bulbous eyes shifting as she moved.

"The kings' in an important meeting right now." Horace removed his spear from her path but kept a watchful eye.

"A meeting?"

"Gaston has assembled the council of advisors, with instructions that they are not to be disturbed."

Gaston was the head Royal Advisor and aid. She had seen him a few times in the throne room with the king. A fox-like creature, with a monocle and a cunning gaze. Hypnotic yellow eyes that burrowed into hers, as if trying to pry secrets from her lips.

"That fox Gaston is up to something I can smell it!" Maurice chimed in, scratching his scaly nose as if the offending smell was right there.

She was a little sad that Rosie would not be joining them for her evening reading. She had wanted to share her plan with her, but perhaps it could wait till tomorrow.

Making her way up to the blood maids quarters she was blocked by a sea of red that pooled like a splotch of blood in front of the dining hall towering above them at its center, was a very uncomfortable looking prince Adam. After all, it wasn't everyday a Royal came to the blood maids quarters and curious eyes were everywhere.

His ruby eyes darted back and forth looking for an exit as the woman bombarded him with questions.

"What brings you here, your Highness?"

"Are you truly the king's brother?" another giggled.

"Wait, is he really the Black Prince then?" another asked in a hushed tone and the mummers continued as they fluttered around him like buzzards looking for a meal.

The Black Prince was the title they had given him. Not just for his monochrome attire, that seemed to blend into his black fur; or his elusive tendencies. But black for the black stain that he was on the royal family's lineage with his mixed blood. She was sure Jacqueline had a hand in the founding of such a title. She had given hers as well, after all.

"Oh, look, Cinderella's here to feed her prince charming." And there she was. Jacqueline, who was leaning against the door frame to the dining hall, was the first to notice Isabelle approach. Heads swiveled backward like owls eyeing their new prey. Adams' gaze followed suit, ears swiveling forward and she could almost swear she heard a sigh of relief. How endearing.

He pardoned himself through the sea of curious women, who scuttled back with a healthy fear as he made his way, stopping in front of her. The girls hushed to a buzzing whisper behind them. He scratched the back of his black furred head with a pawed hand.

Away from the backdrop of red she only now took notice of the change in attire. He was no longer wearing his usual simple dark tunic and coat. He wore a red doublet that matched his ruby eyes, with long sleeves and gold buttons that ran from navel to neck. Tufts of black fur poked out from the tight-fitting garment tucked into a pair of black breeches that cut above his large pawed feet.

"I know this is rather sudden," Adam spoke, interrupting Isabelle from her impertinent gaze of his person "but I was wondering if you would accompany me to the stables this evening?"

"The stables?"

"Yes. I was planning to go for an evening ride and wondered if you wished to accompany me?" The murmurs behind them grew louder.

Isabelle's heart fluttered at his kind gesture, that he would be the first to ask her on an outing. And she couldn't help but recall the recent tale they'd read together of Sir Lanval and the fairy woman he rode with through the woods. Could she even refuse a request from the dark prince? Her stomach protested a growl at the idea of leaving the dining hall.

Adams' eyes darted to her belly. Did he hear that? She flushed.

"I packed some food." He held up a tied satchel of cloth she just noticed had been clutched at his side. He most certainly heard.

"Thank you." Isabelle dipped her head in gratitude and to hide the embarrassment that blossomed across her face. "A walk to the stables sounds lovely."

Surprising her once again, he offered an arm, and she placed her hand atop his, allowing him to guide her down the hall to a cry of giggling fan-fair before Madame Gion swooped in, shooing the onlookers back into the dining hall.