The Debt Of Fate

"No, no, it's not true. It was just a dream," Anastasia repeated to herself, trying to push away the overwhelming fear. No one wants to suffer their whole life. No one wants to die cold and alone. Everyone hopes for a bright and better future. How could she accept such a fate?

"Lady Anastasia," a cold voice called from outside the door, followed by a rude knock. Though the voice addressed her as 'lady,' the manner in which the door was knocked showed how little respect she commanded in the household.

Anastasia usually despised hearing the woman outside, but today it felt like a melody. Leah, the Duchess's personal maid, had come. Anastasia's stepmother would never allow her to have such a good marriage, she realized with a rush of relief. It was impossible. Her dream was nothing more than that—a dream. The crown prince was the ideal match for any lady, but Anastasia knew her stepmother's daughter, just a year younger, was the one vying for him. She shook her head, feeling foolish for her earlier fear.

"Open the door, you damned girl. I don't have all day. You still have to prepare a bath for your sister. Hurry up and fetch the spices needed," Leah commanded sharply, though in a lower voice than usual. Anastasia smiled; the only reason Leah wasn't shouting was that the Duke was still home. Even though there was little chance of him hearing or intervening, Leah and her mistress were careful not to risk exposure in the early hours.

"I am coming," Anastasia answered as she walked to her wardrobe to change. Sometimes, she wondered who the bigger hypocrite was: the Duchess, who always pretended to be a kind and caring mother in the presence of outsiders, or her father, who pretended to be ignorant of what was happening in the house.

She did not understand why the couple played this game. Although Duke Thompson was not always at home, he had his trusted aides around the house. Moreover, whenever there was a royal ball or an important celebration, the Duchess never allowed her to attend, always coming up with one excuse or another.

Each excuse was worse than the last, but he never questioned the Duchess. As a Duke, he was wise and intelligent. The Duchess could not easily fool him, yet he seemed to become a fool whenever the matter concerned her.

Anastasia also knew that her father was aware she had to wake early to prepare spices for her sister's bath. He had seen her serving guests during parties or social events at the house, but he never intervened, even though a five-year-old child would know such tasks were meant for maids—and the Duke's household was not short of maids.

Perhaps he justified it by the fact that she was only the daughter of a mistress, but even then, a mistress's daughter was still a Duke's daughter and should never be reduced to a maid.

"I miss you so much, Mother," Anastasia murmured, looking at the portrait of her mother she kept hidden in her wardrobe.

Knock, knock.

Another loud bang on the door pulled her from her thoughts. Anastasia blinked back the tears in her eyes, changed out of her nightdress, and hurried out of the room.

Pah!

Leah struck her on the back as soon as she stepped out.

"How dare you keep me waiting? And why do you always lock the door? Haven't I warned you not to lock it?" Leah demanded in an authoritative tone. She didn't dare strike Anastasia on the face; after all, the status of a maid and a mistress's daughter was clear. Even the Duchess couldn't protect her if she were accused of hitting the Duke's daughter.

Anastasia kept her head lowered. She had been beaten so many times in the past five years that a single slap no longer moved her to tears. Though her head was bowed, she had no intention of answering Leah's questions.

Leah felt her hand itching to strike Anastasia again. She hated being ignored, but she knew her limits. The girl before her was still the Duke's daughter, and even if the Duke didn't seem to care for her, Leah, as a maid, would never win if Anastasia decided to complain.

"I'll go prepare the spices now," Anastasia said, walking away without waiting for Leah's response. She had long since noticed that Leah didn't dare to push her too far.

"Hmph! What are you so proud of?" Leah muttered, finding Anastasia's straight back an eyesore.

"You know you can fight back, right?" Rosa, Anastasia's maid and friend, said when they crossed paths.

"What's the point?" Anastasia shook her head. Rosa had been assigned to her as a personal maid when she was younger, but after her mother's death, they had become more like colleagues than master and servant.

There were many things Anastasia didn't understand about her family.

Her father, as a Duke, was allowed to marry one wife and keep one mistress. Most men of his rank chose women they loved deeply as their mistresses, but her father never seemed to show much affection for her mother.

Although her mother didn't suffer much, she was constantly oppressed by the Duchess. When Anastasia was younger, she often asked her mother to complain to her father, but her mother never did.

Anastasia suspected her mother had been completely disillusioned with her father and preferred to suffer in silence rather than seek his help. This was one reason Anastasia never complained to her father, either.

She sometimes convinced herself that she endured her hardships because the Duchess was clever enough to hide her wickedness from the Duke.

"My lady, you look pale. Why not rest? I'll help grind and prepare the spices," Rosa offered, noticing how unwell Anastasia looked. Though her skin had lacked the glow of other noble daughters for years, she didn't usually look sickly.

"I'll do it myself," Anastasia replied. She knew Rosa already had too many tasks to handle. Besides, Leah would punish Rosa if she found out she had helped Anastasia. Anastasia didn't want anyone else to suffer because of her. This was why she had stopped Rosa from attending to her altogether.