Chapter 105: Knowing The Servant’s Name

After the discussion with Qazaethel, Eiravelle return to the eastern palace and when she got there, Saye immediately approach her. The carriage had barely stopped before the servant was at the door, her face pale with worry, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

She had been waiting for hours, ever since Eiravelle had left for the main palace, and the anxiety had been eating at her. The Eastern palace was quiet without its lady, the corridors are empty, the rooms are still, and Saye had spent the afternoon pacing, checking on the injured maid, and praying that whatever Eiravelle was doing would not bring more trouble down upon them.

She had seen the look in her lady’s eyes when she had left—that quiet, determined fire that spoke of a resolve that would not be broken—and she had known, with a sinking feeling in her stomach, that Eiravelle was going to do something that would change things. She just did not know what.

"Lady Eiravelle, the servant is awake. She seems scared, she was cowering in fear so we don’t try approach her because we’re afraid she’ll get even more scared." Saye said, and Eiravelle sigh and nodded. The words were a weight on her shoulders, a reminder of the cruelty that had been done to the girl, and she felt the familiar ache in her chest that came whenever she thought about the beaten, bleeding servant.

She had spent the entire meeting with Qazaethel thinking about this girl, about the law she was going to write, about the changes that needed to be made. But now, standing in the entrance hall of her own palace, she realized that the law was the easy part.

The hard part was this—the girl herself, the fear in her eyes, the damage that had been done to her soul. Laws could be written and signed and enforced, but trust could not be legislated.

Trust had to be earned, slowly and carefully, and Eiravelle was not sure she had the strength for it. She was tired. Her back ached, her feet were swollen, and the baby had been restless all day, kicking and turning as though it sensed her distress. But she could not rest. Not yet. Not while there was a frightened girl in her chambers who needed her.

"Is she still in my room?" Eiravelle asked, and Saye nodded. The servant had been placed in Eiravelle’s own chambers, the safest place in the palace, the one place where no one would dare to enter without permission. It was a small thing, but it was all Eiravelle could think to do.

She had wanted the girl to feel safe, to know that she was protected, and what better place than the chambers of the sovereign’s favorite? No one would dare to touch her there. No one would dare to hurt her.

"Yes, my lady." Saye answered. She hesitated for a moment, then added, "She has not eaten. She has not spoken. She just sits there, shaking." The words were quiet, almost apologetic, as though Saye was somehow responsible for the girl’s condition.

She had tried to help, had brought food and water, had spoken in soft, soothing tones, but the girl had simply stared at her with wide, terrified eyes and refused to respond. It was as though she had retreated somewhere deep inside herself, somewhere no one could reach.

Eiravelle nodded, her expression was softening. "Take me to her." The command was gentle, but there was no room for argument. Saye bowed her head and offered her arm, and together they made their way up the stairs.

Eiravelle went upstairs with Saye’s assistance and got into the room. The stairs were a slow climb, her pregnant belly making every step a labor, but she did not complain. She simply held onto Saye’s arm and made her way up, her mind racing with thoughts of what she would say, what she would do.

She had never been good at this—at comforting people, at making them feel safe. She had spent her entire life being the one who needed comfort, the one who needed safety, and she did not know if she had the words to give to someone else.

But she had to try. She had to try for this girl, for this stranger who had been beaten and broken and left for dead. She had to try because no one else would.

She entered and saw the servant girl cowering in her bed. The girl was pressed against the headboard, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them as though she was trying to make herself as small as possible.

Her bandages were still fresh, the white cloth was stark against her pale skin, and her eyes—wide, terrified, red-rimmed from crying—were fixed on the door as though she expected someone to come through it and hurt her.

The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a single lamp on the bedside table, and the curtains had been drawn to shut out the evening light. It was a room that should have felt safe, a room that should have felt warm, but the girl’s fear had turned it into a prison.

"P-Please. I... I was wrong, please don’t hurt me, my lady." She said, and Eiravelle shook her head and slowly approach. The girl’s voice was cracked, broken, barely more than a whisper, and it made Eiravelle’s heart ache.

She had heard that tone before. She had used that tone before. It was the voice of someone who had been broken, who had learned that pleading was the only way to survive.

She had spent years pleading—with her mother, with her father, with Kariv, with anyone who might show her a moment of kindness—and she knew how exhausting it was. She knew how it wore you down, how it made you feel small and worthless and pathetic.

"Hey~ Hey~ It’s okay... You can rest assure I am not gonna lift a hand at you." Eiravelle sat at the edge of the bed beside the girl and take her calloused hand. The girl’s hand was small and rough, the skin hardened by years of labor, and it trembled in Eiravelle’s gentle grip.

She could feel the callouses, the scars, the evidence of a life spent serving others, and she held the hand as though it was something precious. "You’re still weak and your back is still battered. Stop moving too much, you’ll only hurt yourself more." Eiravelle’s voice sounded like a mother, she was trying to soothe the servant and make her feel safe.

She spoke slowly, softly, the way one might speak to a frightened child, and she did not let go of the girl’s hand.

"M-My lady... My hand... It’s dirty..." The servant stuttered, and Eiravelle smile and shook her head. The girl was trying to pull her hand away, trying to hide it, as though her callouses and her dirt were something to be ashamed of.

She looked at her own hand as though she was seeing it for the first time, seeing the grime beneath her nails, the rough patches on her palms, the small scars from years of cuts and burns and accidents. She had never been ashamed of her hands before.

They were the only thing she had, the only thing that made her useful. But now, with this omega holding her hand so gently, she felt dirty. She felt unworthy.

"I used to touch the soil and plant flowers before. But because of my pregnancy, I simply couldn’t do it." Eiravelle said, and the servant was a little taken aback. The girl’s eyes widened, her trembling paused for just a moment, and she looked at Eiravelle as though she was seeing her for the first time.

This omega, this noble, this person who lived in a palace and wore silk and had servants of her own—she had once touched the soil? She had once planted flowers?

"Y-You... You used to plant flowers, my lady?" The servant asked, and Eiravelle nodded. The question was so small, so innocent, and it made Eiravelle realize how little these servants knew about her. They saw her as the sovereign’s favorite, as the omega who lived in luxury, as someone who had never known hardship.

They did not know that she had once been like them. They did not know that she had once worked with her hands, had once knelt in the dirt, had once been covered in soil and sweat and the simple joy of growing things.

They did not know that she had once been a servant too, in a way—a servant to her family’s cruelty, a servant to their expectations, a servant to the role they had forced her to play.

"I did. And my hands were often dirty. But I was proud of it. It meant I had done something real, something that mattered." Eiravelle said. She looked at the girl’s hand, still held gently in her own, and she smiled.

"Your hands are not dirty. This hand kept the palace going for years, and you should be proud that you have the strength and ability to keep going. From now on, you don’t have to be scared. You will stay here in the Eastern palace for as long as you want, no one is going to hurt you." She said, and the servant gasp. The girl’s eyes filled with tears, her lips parting as though she wanted to speak but could not find the words.

"But... My lady... This is... Too much..." The servant whispered. She could not understand it. She could not understand why this omega, this noble, this person who had every reason to ignore her, was being so kind.

She had spent her entire life being told that she was nothing, that she was worthless, that she deserved whatever punishment was given to her. She had been beaten, starved, worked to the bone, and no one had ever cared.

No one had ever stopped to ask her name. No one had ever held her hand and told her that she mattered. And now, this omega was telling her that she mattered. That she was safe. That she could stay.

Eiravelle shook her head, "it’s not too much, trust me." The words were firm, but gentle, and they carried the weight of a promise. Eiravelle meant every syllable. She would not let this girl be hurt again.

She would not let anyone in this palace be hurt again. She had seen too much, had experienced too much, and she was done with the cruelty that had been allowed to fester for so long. She was done with the rules that said some people mattered and others did not. She was done with the silence that allowed suffering to continue unchecked.

There was a moment of silence before the servant finally calm down and ease up. Her tensed shoulders then relaxed against the headboard and she sigh. The girl’s body, which had been so rigid with fear, seemed to soften, and she looked at Eiravelle with eyes that were still wary but no longer terrified.

"May I know your name?" Eiravelle asked, and the servant was dumbfounded. The question was so simple, so unexpected, that the girl did not know how to respond.

"W-Why—" The servant began, but the words died in her throat.

Eiravelle gently cut her off, "because you have a name. And I call Saye, Jily, Baley, and Ana by their names." She explained, and the servant glance at Saye and the other three servant with a bathed breath. The four servants stood near the door, watching the scene with expressions of quiet wonder.

They had been called by their names. They had been treated as people, not as furniture, not as tools, not as invisible things that existed only to serve. And now, their lady was extending that same courtesy to a girl she did not even know. She’s not trying to cry so she was averting her gaze from Eiravelle.

The girl’s breath hitched, her eyes darting to the side, and she bit her lip so hard that Eiravelle could see the indentation of her teeth. She did not want to cry. She had cried enough. She had cried until her eyes were dry and her throat was raw, and she did not want to cry in front of this omega, this kind, gentle omega who was looking at her as though she was worth something.

"J-Just... Gale... My name is Gale, your majesty." She said, and Eiravelle gently pull her in a hug. The girl stiffened at first, her body going rigid with surprise, but then she melted into the embrace, her arms wrapping around Eiravelle as though she was holding onto a lifeline.

The omega’s body was warm and soft, and she smelled of jasmine and something sweet, something comforting. Gale had never been hugged before. Not like this. Not with such tenderness, such care.

She had been grabbed, shoved, dragged, but she had never been held. She had never been embraced. And now, this omega was holding her as though she was something precious, something worth protecting.

"Welcome to the eastern palace, Gale." She said, and the girl burst into tears as she hugged Eiravelle. The sobs were violent, wracking her entire body, and she clung to Eiravelle as though she was afraid the omega might disappear. She can’t explain this feeling but all she knew is that this is what she needed.

This kindness, this warmth, this acceptance—it was everything she had never had, everything she had never dared to hope for. She had spent her entire life being told that she was nothing, and now, someone was telling her that she was something. Someone was telling her that she mattered. Someone was telling her that she was safe.

"My lady~ please... Don’t be this nice, please." She pleaded, but Eiravelle held her tight. The words were muffled against Eiravelle’s shoulder, and the omega could feel the wetness of the girl’s tears soaking through her robes.

She could feel the trembling of Gale’s body, the way her fingers clutched at the fabric of her dress, and she knew that this was not just about the beating. This was about years of pain, years of neglect, years of being told that she was nothing.

"Shh~ everything’s gonna change from now on, I promise." She said, and the other servants approach and also give their hugs. Saye, Jily, Baley, and Ana surrounded the bed, their arms wrapping around Eiravelle and Gale, and for a moment, they were not servants and a lady.

They were just people, holding onto each other, sharing in a moment of connection that none of them had expected to find. Saye’s hand rested on Gale’s back, her touch gentle, and Jily was crying openly, her tears falling onto the blanket.

Baley and Ana stood on either side of Eiravelle, their arms around her shoulders, and for a long moment, no one spoke. There was nothing to say. There was only the warmth of the embrace, the sound of Gale’s sobs slowly quieting, the feeling of being held and protected and loved.

Eiravelle closed her eyes and let herself be held. She was tired, so tired, but she was also filled with a quiet sense of hope. She had done something. She had made a difference. She had saved a life. And for the first time in a long time, she felt as though she was exactly where she was supposed to be.