It was a day like any other.

The whip makes sharp noises every time it meets bare flesh. The victim's screams sound through the room, but they don't make her flinch as they used to, which makes her somewhat proud. Alicia has her gaze averted to the ground to give the woman some dignity in her last moments.

She was young, only a few years older than her and had quite a pretty face. If she wasn't so stupid and stubborn, she could have been one of Prince Victor's many women. Unfortunately, she offended him, and in a blink of an eye, his whip struck at her pretty face.

It was a day like any other.

Every day, one to three girls would mess up and draw their last breath. The palace is a terrifying place, she realized that when she was just six. It became a part of her routine to drag the bodies away and burn them. Alicia doesn't have time to bury them and give them a proper funeral, even if she wanted to.

After all, she was just a slave like them and had her chores to do.

"Look at her," he mutters, "isn't she just pathetic?"

His voice was as quiet as a whisper, but she heard every word. She lifted her head up, and the sight made her blood run cold like that day.

His hair is free, and the feral look on his face reminds her of the men who hide in the alleys at night, waiting for a pretty little thing to walk by. Gone is the gentle prince, in his place is now just a wild animal who calls for blood.

He stands in front of the almost dead girl, his weapon still in his hand. By his choice of the whip, Alicia knew that the girl has angered him very much. He took his favorite, the one with the blades at the end. Her exposed back was beyond repair, blood oozing out of the wounds quicker than light itself.

If she is going to survive this, she is going to live with the scars for the rest of her life. In a world where appearance is everything for a woman, it'd be better for her just to die.

"What do you want?" he demanded, shifting his full attention onto Alicia.

The fourteen-year-old tries not to buckle under his gaze and gives a deep curtsy, averting her eyes to the ground again.

"Good morning, Your Royal Highness," she greeted, her voice monotone and face void of any emotion, "I'm your new personal servant."

She hears him snort and heavy footsteps coming nearer. His expensive white shoes are now in her sight, and Alicia takes in a deep breath to calm her nerves.

"The girl is not even dead, and yet there is a replacement for her?" she heard him ask, while he steps closer. The young girl holds her breath as his gloved hand moves under her chin, making her look up.

"Well, at least you're pretty," he said more to himself.

As he steps back, Alicia allows herself to breathe again. She observes him as he moves to his dressing table, stepping over the girl, and descends himself onto the expensive furniture.

"Won't you do my hair?"

 The Palace is a dark place.

She understood that the moment she stepped in. The older servants tried to protect them, but it wasn't their fault that the Queen was in a bad mood. It all happened to fast, and nobody saw it coming.

Alicia steps around the broken woman, ignoring the puddle of blood, which starts to form beneath her. She slows her pace the nearer she came to the Prince but made it behind him. Alicia doesn't really want to test his patience, after all, she is not suicidal.

"Then I will do as his highness request," she stated. Her voice was a bit jittery now, but she still holds herself together. The girl doesn't allow herself to show emotion, especially not in the presence of The Royal Family.

With shaky hands, she picks the expensive brush up. It has exaggerated cravings on the sides, which doesn't surprise her. On the back, engraved in elegant letters, stands; Only the best for my dear Son.

It was no secret that His Highness, Prince Victor, spoiled from birth, was the Empress favorite child. Everybody knew that, but nobody spoke about it. Apart from said person, who rubs that fact in his brothers' faces every chance he gets.

Alicia starts brushing at the ends, working her way up from there. As she untangles and smoothens the hair, the girl makes sure to brush gently and not tug at his hair. A frown marks her face as she suspects a knot.

The-Girl-Who-Is-Not-Ready-To-Die dares to peek inside the mirror. Fortunately, he has his eyes closed and seems to be resting. Longer than necessary, she lets her eyes admire his features before she turns back to the hair.

She has no doubt that she is currently sweating. Maybe it was not a day like any other. After all, the Housekeeper announced to her twenty minutes or so ago, that she is now the personal maid for the Fourth Prince of Cloaria, Prince Victor. Apparently, Martha is very impressed with her skills and performance and promoted her because of that.

Alicia suppresses the want to laugh as she inspects his locks again, trying to find a solution. She knows that Martha can't stand her ever since the verdict years ago, which is very understandable. If she was Martha herself, she would also try to kill the girl who caused her dear sister's death.

When she thinks about it, she realized that they have actually more in common than not. But Alicia knows that she would've succeeded in killing the cause of a sibling's death.

The Palace is a dark place, it's every man for himself in here. But she is one of the few slave girls, who survived more than six years here. And it would be laughable if she didn't have a few tricks up in her sleeves.

Besides, she can't allow herself to die yet.

Alicia grabs the hair ahead of the knot, so he wouldn't feel the tugging on his scalp as she brushes the annoyance out. She lets her fingers run slowly through his blond hair, making sure that there are no knots.

She decides to let him wear his hair over his shoulders and put some braids, so it doesn't look to plain. She actually had no idea what to do after she untangled his hair as he was still resting, but it doesn't look bad, and hopefully, he is going to see it the same way.

"Not bad."

Alicia flinched lightly as he made himself known with his clear voice. She hears the sound of clothes rustling and immediately steps back to give him some space. The girl watches his back while he strides with elegance towards the door and wants to break her composure but quickly saves herself as not quite left the room.

He pauses in the doorway and turns his head towards her, eyes glistening with interest. Not a good sign.

"What is your name?" he demanded. His voice was as sharp and clear as ever.

"I'm called 052729, Sir," she replies with her pretense as the perfect servant still up. Once you enter the Palace, you're nobody anymore. You're going to be stripped from your name, your rights, your voice, your family, your past-anything that makes you-you.

"From now on," he announced, bringing her out of her thoughts, "your name is going to be...Lucy."

"Thank you, Sir."

Yes, definitely not a day like any other.