The weather was unbearable. Even inside the stone castle, the heat was oppressive. Yellow haze poured through the high, narrow windows, and the occasional speck of dust caught the light like a falling star. The stone floor stayed cool underfoot, but the sharp beams of sunlight felt like punishment.

  Minnie was late again. She meant to move quickly, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. Her feet were swollen, her breath shallow beneath the weight of the air, and sweat slicked her fingers as she gripped the metal tray.

  She turned a corner, and tripped.

  Just a misstep. Her ankle twisted, and she lurched forward. She barely managed to stay upright and keep the tray from flying. When she straightened, she found herself staring into a pair of brown eyes.

  For an eternal moment, she was frozen, mesmerized, like a mouse caught by a snake. And when her senses returned, she knew without doubt: she was staring directly into the eyes of the captain of the guard, in a very brazen fashion.

  She became aware of the rest of his face. The long, thin nose. The elaborate moustache. The unpleasant smile. He looked, she thought dimly, almost pleased.

  With the smallest motion, a flick of two fingers, he gave a signal.

  Two guards appeared beside him, as if they’d been waiting. They took the tray from her hands and turned her toward the courtyard. Minnie didn’t resist. Her knees were weak, but not from fear. Not exactly. It was something deeper. Something like impending doom.

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  The courtyard blazed with late-afternoon sun. The stones shimmered. The air smelled of dust, dried sweat, and something faintly metallic.

  They brought her to the centre. The captain followed, slow and deliberate, his boots clicking against the sun-baked stone, like a funeral march.

  A bucket was fetched. A rag.

  “Wash the yard,” he said. “I’ll be watching.”

  Then he stepped into the shade.

  And watched.

  Minnie knelt without protest. The bucket was warm. The rag, stiff with old use. She dipped it and began to scrub.

  The stones were uneven, thick with dust. The cracks were packed with sun-hardened mud, baked to the consistency of brick. She worked in silence. Her breath grew ragged. Her shoulders ached. Her knees screamed every time she shifted her weight.

  The captain said nothing. A chair was brought out for him, and he sat comfortably in the shade, eyes never leaving her. Each time she dared glance up, he was still watching.

  She scrubbed harder.

  Time blurred. Her mouth went dry. Sweat stung her eyes. Every patch of exposed skin was burning. There was no end to the work.

  At last, as the shadows lengthened and the worst of the heat began to fade, the captain rose. He strolled toward her, slow and satisfied.

  “You are absolutely useless,” he said, looking down with contempt. “Look at this. Just as filthy as it was.”

  Minnie didn’t look. She didn’t need to. She knew it was true. No one person could make a difference in the state of that courtyard.

  “You can go,” the captain added. “I’ve no time to listen to the Head Cook’s complaints. Back to the kitchen with you.”

  He dismissed her with a flick of his hand and turned on his heel to leave, boots clicking.

  Minnie rose slowly. Her legs shook. Her hands were raw. She made her way back to the kitchens without a word. She didn’t cry, but something in her chest pulsed with inevitability.

  She had said no to the pull.

  And this was the result.