The True Tale of Thousandfurs

Eight

Katerina stumbled back to the kitchen, hastily tying her apron around her waist and making sure her bonnet was secured on her head, despite her hair still being wet from the bath.

Chef had never seen her without her cloak and neither had anyone else, so her identity was not only secured with the cloak on, but even now without it, she was free to move about the castle and not have anyone question her. She appeared as just another servant to the nobles at least. Madam Louvrey perhaps would be the only one to question who she was if they were to ever cross paths, considering she worked directly with all the maids.

The Chef was out when she arrived back in the kitchen, most likely serving lunch at this time of day. Her entire body was shaking, her fingers unable to even hold onto the match as she swiped it, trying to set the candles alight.

The stool wobbled as she tried to brace her unsteady body against it, her mind unable to let go of the memories of the prince's hands upon her skin. His fingers wrapped around her throat and the water that filled her lungs. She finally managed to set the small stick on fire and lit the candle which was almost completely melted away.

She managed to take in a few deep breathes, not having realized she was still holding it as if her head was beneath the murky water of the bathtub still. She cradled her neck in her hands and sobbed quietly, her heart sinking to her stomach.

She wanted to go home.

She wanted life to be normal once more-

whatever normal meant.

She wanted to be free.

She thought that being here she could be all of those things, but now she was trapped in a cycle of hiding her identity from a man who is determined to figure her out. What had she ever done wrong, to him or anyone else to deserve this?

She fell back onto her small bed and curled into it, her fingers gripping the fabric that lay beneath her. She ran her fingertips over the soft fur and looked down in confusion. Brown and white colors blending together in waves under the flickering candlelight, was her cloak, the one she had left behind in the prince's tower. She thought she may never see it again.

Perhaps his majesty did have a heart. Enough to give back one of the few things she had left in this life.

She held in her tears and closed her eyes, picturing her mother's face or what she could remember about her. She imagined her mother, holding her in her arms, telling her everything was alright. All she could find in her memories was the queen's pale face, her lifeless eyes staring out the window, watching each day pass and another sunrise. A life spent lying in bed unable to perform her duties or care for her only child.

Katerina couldn't stand to think of it any longer and did her best to shake away the thoughts. Thoughts that were intended to bring her comfort, but instead brought sorrow. She tied the cloak of furs around her once more, lifting the hood to hide her now clean face.

A clatter of a pot quickly followed by loud cursing, bounced off of the stone walls of the kitchen. She cracked open the dingy wooden door to her 'bedroom' and peered out.

The chef stood in a pile of soup that had fallen to the floor, covering the legs of his pants and all of his apron. He must have heard the creak of the hinges because his blazing fury turned to her in an instant. He stormed over and flung open the door sending her tumbling to the ground, her cloak covering her body.

"Clean dis up before I beat yah black and blue!" He bellowed pointing to the mess. He ripped off his apron and threw it to the floor muttering to himself as he left the kitchen to clean himself up.