The strong sweet and savoury smells of sugar and spices barraged Chrys' nose as she first entered the kitchens of the Lionmane keep. Watching, attentively, the baker carefully pulled out the wooden peel from the steaming furnace. Chrys could feel her tongue wetting her lips almost instinctively and her stomach growled angrily at the thought of the delicacies she could never taste.

Staring at the sugars used to ice the buns removed from the furnace, she longed to bury her head deep into the sweetness that no commoner was meant to have. She could only dream of what various tastes would explode in her mouth as she bit into the various buns housing, what appeared to be, sultanas.

Her thoughts raced, wondering what a sultana tasted like. She had only seen them once before, aware that if she had even touched one, Lord Millandahl Darke would have removed her hand for thievery. Would they be as sweet as the icing being prepared to cover the illustrious bun, or would they be more savoury, like the dough which enveloped them?

"This is the bakery, and don't get distracted why you're here," a voice cut across Chrys' thoughts viciously bringing her back to the tour around the castle. "The last servant that got distracted here is now begging on the streets with two fewer eyes, ordered by the Lady Nimue no less."

As sweet as the room she was standing in, Chrys was reminded of where she was and why she was. As she moved into the next room, watching a butcher slide his knife skillfully along the skin of a deceased deer, carefully peeling back the flesh of the hung upside-down animal, she knew she was surrounded by death and by misery. One false move, one wrong word, and it could be her sharing the same fate as the poor animal being prepared for tonight's banquet.

Forcing back the sickness that was attempting to rise from her stomach, Chrys looked away from the poor animal, once again reminding herself why she refused to eat any meat offered to her. This was once a happy living creature, and now it was a symbol of greed and power, a symbol that will be forgotten moments after it's devoured by the megalomaniacal Emperor.

"Chrys? Chrys?"

The voice of the woman giving her the tour around the kitchens brought Chrys' thoughts crashing back down to reality. She hadn't realised it, but she was staring, gaping her mouth at the butcher's handiwork.

The ageing woman, providing Chrys with the tour, moved in close to the bewildered young brunette.

"Look, the Nightengale said that you would be up to this task to work for the mistress, please tell me, for both of our lives sake, that they were not mistaken?"

Chrys could see the fear in the woman's eyes, how her lip twitched anxiously when mentioning the mistress. Could Nimue, be as cruel as the rumours had suggested?

"I am capable of performing admirably," Chrys said, attempting to put the woman at ease.

"Then we must hurry, for the lady Nimue will be wanting to examine you herself along with the other potential replacements. Please don't forget anything I've told you today, for your sake, and the Nightengale's plans."

If only the woman knew she was speaking with the Nightengale.

"Replacement?" Chrys asked as the two women left the butchers, something that pleased the spymaster's daughter gratefully.

"Jayen should plan to leave the city tonight, for Nimue will not forgive her absence." the elderly woman explained.

Relief filled Chrys' heart as the smell of dead carcasses had long left her nostrils, yet it was a feeling short-lived as the elderly woman explained her anxieties. "But, Jayen is just unwell?" Chrys asked.

"You don't leave the lady Nimue's service for any reason, the last woman who did that was left with Searmundr to be his plaything. Rumour has it that she cries continuously when he's not there and screams continuously when he is. All she did was assist her brothers in laying their father to rest one afternoon."

A lump formed in Chrys' throat. It was her who had arranged for Jayen, one of Nimue's closest handmaidens, to be bedridden by a carefully concocted poison. A decision required to get someone on the inside of Lionmane's inner circle, to be one step ahead of the brutal regime's chokehold on the city. Chrys looked towards her arm, the one that ached with the self-inflicted cuts that plagued her, to ease her mind for the countless lives she had caused suffering, for the greater good of the city.

"Are you ok?" the elderly woman asked.

At that point, Chrys had realised that she had been unnaturally quiet, a woman that could talk endlessly about nothing, in particular, had now become a husk of herself since Hanekin had been killed, and the young boy Ioco had become bitter and twisted.

"Just preparing for the task ahead," Chrys lied.

"I apologise, I place too much of a burden on you," the elderly woman commented, seeing the discomfort in Chrys' eyes.

"No need to apologise, pray, tell me your name? I feel with your guidance, today's task will become much easier." Chrys asked, eager to step away from the tormenting conversation of the woman she was attempting to replace.

"Grishild," the elderly woman responded, refusing to display even a glimmer of a smile. "We are here, remember what I told you, and choose your words carefully. Since the lady Nimue lost her last shipment of pomegranates, she has been even more tetchy than normal."

Grishild opened up the door to a room with a deep burgundy carpet surrounded by golden tassels pushing its way from one edge of the room to the other. The room's tall hulking window, the size of three large men, beamed an array of light on three equally young women standing in the centre of the room. The candles flickered endlessly, showing their eager faces, all determined to make a life here within the castle and as Chrys stood next to one, whose smile appeared as endless as the void in Chrys' heart, that void widened further, knowing that these young women did not comprehend the level of depravity that was preparing to walk through the door.

"Isn't this exciting?" the young woman by Chrys' side spoke. "To have the opportunity to live within a castle is the stuff of dreams."

Chrys turned to the young woman, whose freckled eager face shone brightly at the prospect of fulfilling the dream that so many her age desired.

Pity filled Chrys' heart as she smiled back at the young woman. Little would she know that life in a castle was a hard one, that, for one as pretty as her, she would be used and abused in ways unimaginable to the rest of the peasant folk. The wages were always reasonable but for every Loldirr, who treated Chrys with equality and respect, there were ten Millandahl's who treated her as a plaything and less than a human being.

"I know, it's wonderful isn't it," Chrys lied, ensuring her voice remained upbeat as her heart sank.

"Oh wow, I love your voice, it's so calming," the young woman responded, her long blonde braids swinging as her head turned. "Do you think the lady Nimue will come and visit us?"

Chrys nodded, "I believe so, as we will be her handmaiden, I suspect she will have a vested interest in selecting her latest member of staff."

"I do hope it will be me, I've always wanted to look after a queen," the young woman's simplistic voice betrayed her simple mind.

'No you don't, not this one,' Chrys thought to herself.

"Well, technically she is not a queen," explained Chrys, "but the privilege, nonetheless, is still a high one."

"Your so intelligent," the young woman explained, her voice sparkling as she spoke to Chrys.

'As the leader of a resistance network, I have to be' Chrys thought to herself. She was becoming tired and frustrated by the conversation, but was determined not to show her displeasure. Fortunately, before it could drag on any further, the sound of several footsteps could be heard traipsing toward the room where they stood. As some of the steps were harsher than others, it appeared that Nimue was likely arriving with her security escort.

Chrys could feel her heart beating rapidly, as each step grew louder, and each clunk of chainmail called angrily, Chrys hoped her hail mary approach in gaining valuable intelligence for the resistance was not foolhardy and rash.

When the hulking figure with the engraved lions of Sir Searmundr entered the room, Chrys felt like her heart had stopped. What if he recognised her? Would he deem it necessary to connect her appearance at the market and her arrival now as a coincidence, or a threat?

"Oh wow, a real Lionguard," the young woman whispered, "and he's so handsome!"

Chrys refused to look up, instead staring toward the floor in front of her. The idea that if she didn't look at him meant he would not see her was beyond ludicrous, but her fear was starting to dictate her actions.

She was in a very dangerous place, surrounded by the vipers of the Isovine Empire, but to survive this encounter, she needed to make sure that her composure was intact.

Within moments of the blonde-locked Lionguard entering the room, several soldiers, with halberds held high, followed in clumsily behind. Despite the show of force, the weaponry they held was simply useless in such a confined space, yet it was intimidating nonetheless and as the sound of the wooden handles crashed and rattled against their metallic arms, it caused the young women to jump unceremoniously.

Chrys' heart leapt from her chest, eager to escape the confines of her rib cage, but as the woman behind the soldiers flowed into the room, her levels of anxiety appeared to dissipate.

For someone so powerful, the lady Nimue looked so fragile. She couldn't have been any taller than Chrys, who was considered miniature in stature, and her pale white arms almost looked like twigs connected to a sea of blue, a gown that glid effortlessly behind her graceful steps.

Her most outspoken feature, her satin blue hair, was beautiful to behold and seemed to stream its way down her right shoulder to her almost exposed breast and her glistening red lips seemed to brighten her pale white smooth soft skin.

"Wow, she's so beautiful!" the young woman gasped silently next to Chrys.

As Chrys looked toward the mistress of Isovine, she could see the beauty, but as her eyes locked with Nimue's blue sapphire eyes, she could see that there was no beauty, no remorse or morality, but the woman behind the facade was grotesque inside.

"Is this all there is?" Nimue commented harshly to no one in particular.

She appeared to huff as no one responded to her rhetorical question, her dark blue eyes looking in disgust at the four women presented toward her.

Stopping at the young woman who stood beside Chrys, there was only contempt from the blue-haired mistress as she examined the young woman's curtsey.

"You call that a curtsey?" Nimue scoffed ensuring she could see the young woman's smile gradually disappear. "I've seen Sir Searmundr curtsey with more poise than you! Your name girl?"

"Eme..."

"Actually, I realised I don't care," Nimue responded abruptly, causing the young woman to stop mid-sentence. "Have you been a handmaiden before?"

The young woman blushed unexpectedly, clearly not used to the way the mistress of Isovine spoke to her. "I have some experience, milady."

"I have some experience milady," Nimue mocked, screwing her face up as she imitated the woman. "Who brought these women to me today, are you trying to waste my time?"

Chrys felt a rage build up inside her, yet as she focused on the small dainty feet of the blue-haired woman, she was determined to restrain her anger. As she glanced over to the angry features of the daunting Sir Searmundr, her rage was the last thing she wished to unleash.

"Let's see your hands girl," Nimue commanded the young woman.

Raising her hands for Lady Nimue to see, the young woman looked toward the floor, desperate not to allow the Emperor's concubine to see how tormented she felt.

"These hands are far from being handmaiden's hands, they are coarse and brittle. Are we simply grabbing anyone off the streets to fill my latest void?" Nimue commented.

All eyes in the room were facing the floor, except for Sir Searmundr's and Nimue's. As a cruel grin seemed to flash across her face, she turned toward the Lionguard, instantly causing him to stride toward the helpless young woman.

Removing his gloves, Sir Searmundr took a hold of the scared woman's hand, unsure why his vice-like grip dwarfed her dainty little fingers.

"I do not tolerate incompetence," Nimue spoke for all the girls to hear, "I do not tolerate tardiness, I do not tolerate imperfections and I do not tolerate insubordination. Those who are welcomed into my inner circle represent me, and any blemish on my reputation will be rewarded with life-changing alterations to remind you of the pain you caused me."

Nimue turned her dark blue eyes toward the young frightened girl, "This, this thing is simply nowhere near the standard that I expect within my retinue, and to simply waste my time having her in my presence is an insult. Sir Searmundr, break her god's awful fingers."

Before the girl could react to the order, Sir Searmundr had a hold of her index finger and pulled it back viciously into an unnatural position.

The young woman screamed, piercing the room with her unnatural cries, desperate to remove her hand from the grip of the uncaring Lionguard.

As her tears leaked down her face, Nimue looked at her with no remorse, instead placing her fingertip on her damp cheek, almost savouring the feeling of her discomfort.

"If you make a sound, I'll make sure he breaks another finger."

Chrys felt like she was enduring the same pain that the young woman was experiencing, and all she wanted to do was to ignore all around her and embrace the poor woman tightly. She had heard rumours of Nimue's depravity, yet to experience it made the rumours pale in comparison.

"I am the right hand of the most powerful man in the realms of men, remember that to even be in my presence is a privilege! You girl, why should I choose you?"

Chrys' heart almost lept from her mouth as the voice of Nimue spoke in her direction, and as she looked toward her, Nimue's dark cruel eyes were focused on her.

Chrys had endured much, even in her limited time on the earth, yet she had always remained confident, steadfast in her ability as a handmaiden and now as a resistance leader. She was not shy and had plenty to say, but as the sniffles of the girl in agony beside her continued, and as Sir Searmundr's grip remained steadfast on her delicate fingers, Chrys hesitated with no words leaving her mouth.

An unsatisfied grunt left Nimue's lips, her face scrunched into one of anger. Chrys realised that her opportunity was quickly slipping away from her.

"I'm sorry, my queen," Chrys answered confidently, "to be in your presence is such a privilege that I find it hard to speak."

As Chrys' soothing voice reached Nimue's ears, a smile crept onto her face.

"I have considerable year's experience as a handmaiden and servant in the household of Lord Millendahl Darke. While I predominantly provided services for the Duke himself, I, on many occasions, assisted the ladies that entered his presence. I feel I can provide you with a service that is suitable for someone of your stature." Chrys explained, curtseying as she finished.

Nimue raised her hands and laughed, carefully clapping as she watched Chrys in action. "I am impressed! Where did you learn to speak so eloquently for one so simple?"

"Lord Millendahl provided me with the necessary schooling to fulfil my tasks expected of someone of his household."

Nimue watched Chrys as she walked around behind her, "Yes, I've heard of Lord Millendahl's schooling. I can imagine that he has made you a woman too," she chuckled.

Chrys remained quiet, eager not to recall the various time's Lord Millendahl had taken advantage of her.

"It matters not, as long as you perform well for me, no man will abuse you here," Nimue responded.

Once again, Nimue stood in front of Chrys, almost ignoring everyone else in the room. Placing her soft hand onto Chrys' chin, she lifted it so that their eyes connected once more. "I like you girl, however, you have one more question that must be answered."

"Anything, my queen," Chrys replied.

"What should I do with this useless peasant?"

Chrys turned to the poor woman next to her who was now white with pain, her sniffles seemed to fill Chrys with anxiety that reminded her of the scars on her arm. Today, she did not want to be responsible for another person's death. "I could not presume to pass judgment, my queen."

"Come now, girl, do not disappoint me," reacted Nimue.

Once more, Chrys glanced toward the woman, whose eyes appeared fearful at the direction of the conversation. If the ground could swallow Chrys up, she would have been grateful, instead, the fate of someone else was now in her hands.

"I..." Chrys stuttered. She took a deep breath, desperate to regain her composure, "my queen, my role is to simplify your needs so that you can make decisions that matter without the concern for things that don't."

"Hmmm, indeed. You're smart girl, though I expect your skills as a handmaiden to far exceed the smoothness of your tongue. Gather your things, you begin your work in a few hours."

Chrys exhaled extensively as she curtsied once more.

"Sir Searmundr," Nimue commented as she turned toward the exit, "snap another finger."

Before anyone could react, the snap from the girl's middle finger was sickening and as Sir Searmundr exited the room followed by the other guards, the young woman collapsed on the floor trying to hold her deformed hand. As she cried, desperate to keep her screams inside, the turmoil in her mind was plain to see.

As soon as Nimue's retinue had left the room, Chrys raced to the young woman's aid, comforting her in any way she could, yet aware that the pain she was experiencing would be unbearable.

"Get this girl a physician, she needs one immediately," ordered Chrys, her eyes, not moving from the deformity.

"Physician? This girl can not afford a physician!" Grishild responded bluntly.

"Do not worry of coin, if this girl does not see a physician immediately, she will no longer be able to use her hand!" a wave of anger blistered its way from Chrys.

As the women lifted the poor pained girl to her feet, watching as she was carefully escorted from the room, Chrys held her head in her hands. Nimue was far more twisted and sadistic than the rumours had suggested, and her lap dog Sir Searmundr fulfilled her bidding with ease and glee. She was now in the mouth of the lion, and any poor decision could end her life, or worse.

Yet despite the despair of the predicament that she was in, a small smile then flashed its way onto Chrys' face. Nimue was cruel and sadistic, but she was also a narcissist, and her belief that she was the right hand of the Emperor was misguided and foolish. Emperor Arnaud III was an Emperor who was widely known as a misogynist, therefore, surely an opportunity would arise that could tear the Lionmane keep apart.

As the cries from the young woman started to die down the hall, Chrys could see the pieces that were needed to prepare for Loldirr's arrival. With the narcissistic Nimue, the evil Sir Searmundr and the misogynist Emperor Arnaud III, she knew that today the fight for the heart of Lionmane had begun.