Velrik’s paws glided soundlessly over the cool blades of grass, his ears trained for the faintest hint of approaching footsteps. The garden sprawled before him, a boundless expanse compared to the claustrophobic halls of the manor, adorned with meticulously trimmed hedges, vibrant flower beds, and towering trees that reached skyward. The air was perfumed with the fragrance of fresh earth mingling with the intoxicating scent of blooming roses—a welcome reprieve from the stagnant air trapped within the stone walls he had endured for far too long.

  He advanced with practiced caution, weaving among the lush shrubs, his keen eyes scanning for chinks in the surrounding stone barriers. Every hallway of the manor had been explored, every staircase and hidden passage committed to memory. But the outdoors—this wild expanse—was an adventure yet uncharted. Promising.

  In the distance, a section of the outer wall appeared weathered, the stones loosely joined compared to the rest. If only he could discover a way to scale it—

  “Velrik.”

  He jumped, fur bristling, and pivoted on the spot, tail puffing out in alarm before he recognized the voice. Elisa, the redheaded maid, stood a few steps away, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in playful inquiry.

  “What are you looking for?” she asked, teasing lilt to her tone yet underscored by knowing concern.

  Velrik hesitated, his ears flicking backwards in uncertainty. “Just… looking around,” he muttered, a hint of defiance in his voice.

  Elisa sighed, her expression softening as she stepped closer. “Searching for a way out, you mean.”

  Velrik's heart quickened, the tension in his frame betraying the truth of her words. How had she discovered his intentions?

  She crouched beside him, her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “I understand your restlessness, but escaping isn’t feasible.” Her gaze fell upon the collar adorning his neck. “You know what fate awaits those who attempt it.”

  Velrik’s throat tightened, fingers grazing the leather encircling his neck. The memory of the warning clung to him, vivid as the day he witnessed a servant collapse in agony, gasping for freedom only to be seized by the lord’s men and dragged into the depths of the manor’s shadows.

  Elisa’s expression softened further, a motherly concern glimmering within her eyes. “I don’t want you to come to harm.”

  Velrik scuffed his paw against the earth in frustration, emotions roiling within. “I just wanted to see.”

  “I understand.” She rose, brushing dust from her skirt before offering him a small, encouraging smile. “But if you get caught sneaking about like this, it might not be me who finds you next.”

  Velrik hesitated, glancing back at the wall, then at her. Her words were not a threat but a stark truth. With a reluctant sigh, he allowed his tail to lower.

  “Come on, let’s return before someone else notices,” Elisa instructed gently, and Velrik found himself nodding, a shared secret comforting him as he followed her back to the manor.

  The edifice loomed as they approached, its imposing stone walls casting long shadows over the garden paths. As they crossed into the cool air of the estate’s vast halls, the fragrance of fresh-cut flowers faded, replaced by the scent of polished wood and the faint hints of cooking herbs wafting in from the kitchen.

  Inside, the household bustled with quiet efficiency—servants flitting past like shades, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone floors. Velrik had come to recognize many familiar faces over the past couple of months, though few regarded him with more than a fleeting glance of mild curiosity. Over time, they had grown accustomed to the odd little fox-like creature meandering through the halls, yet he could still feel their gaze upon him at times—a stark reminder that he was an unusual sight, garnering both wonder and wariness.

  Elisa led him down a side corridor to a small workroom near the servant’s quarters, a space where she often completed her tasks away from the vigilant gaze of the noble family. The modest room housed a wooden table at its center, papers and ink scattered across its surface, with a handful of candles melted into uneven stubs. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with neatly arranged linens, spare candles, and the occasional potted herb.

  “Since you’re here, you can aid me,” Elisa declared, dropping a fresh stack of linens onto the table. “I need to finish sorting these before evening arrives; you might as well make yourself useful.”

  Velrik hopped onto a chair, casting a glance at the pile of fabric with only mild interest. He didn’t mind helping, but folding linens was hardly a thrilling endeavor. Still, it was preferable to idling around with nothing to occupy his thoughts. He grabbed a sheet, attempting to mimic the way Elisa deftly folded the fabric, smoothing it out meticulously before making precise creases.

  “You’re improving,” Elisa noted with a fleeting glance as she sifted through a stack of parchment, likely records of inventory.

  “It’s just folding,” Velrik grumbled, his ears flicking slightly, though a hint of satisfaction edged his voice. He had a knack for absorbing new skills, adapting quickly even to tasks he wouldn’t have chosen.

  Elisa smirked and rolled up one of the sheets, lightly tapping it against his head. “Still, progress is progress.”

  Velrik wrinkled his nose and his whiskers twitched, but chose not to argue. Instead, he immersed himself in the task, folding the linens into neat, compact shapes before placing them in the growing stack. The repetitive nature allowed his mind to wander, considering everything—the fence surrounding the garden, the routines of the guards, and the locked main gate that remained closed except for those of noble blood.

  Elisa hummed softly while she worked, fingers deftly swirling as she sorted records. Occasionally, she would pause to dip her quill in ink, jotting down quick notes in the margins. Velrik observed with curiosity, unable to resist asking.

  “What are you writing?”

  “Just keeping track of supply orders,” Elisa replied, her gaze focused on her task. “Things like candles, soap, fresh fabric—anything the household needs. If we deplete our stores, the steward will have to arrange for more.”

  Velrik tilted his head. “Sounds dull.”

  Elisa chuckled lightly, a spark of amusement in her eyes. “Perhaps to you. But without keeping track, the manor would descend into chaos.”

  Velrik considered her words; every place held its own sense of order, a tapestry of rules necessary for smooth operation. Even if this was not the life he envisioned for himself, understanding that structure held value stirred a sense of belonging within him.

  As they continued their work, the melodic rhythm of folding and notating filled the modest space. Velrik found a comfort in it—at least when it was simply him and Elisa. Her patience never painted him as an object of curiosity; she spoke to him as an equal, like any other child his age, even if the rest of the household merely regarded him as a curious oddity.

  Just as he completed the last linen, hurried footsteps echoed from the hall. A bright, youthful voice rippled through the air, infused with excitement.

  “Is he here?”

  Tension flared in Velrik’s frame, and a shiver ran down his spine forcing his fur to stand on end only an instant before the door swung open, revealing the lord’s youngest daughter. She was around thirteen, clad in fine silks that shimmered like precious gems in the candlelight. Her golden curls bounced as she entered, her face beaming with delight upon spotting Velrik.

  “There you are!” she cried, bounding toward him before he could process her approach.

  Velrik barely had time to brace himself before she scooped him into her arms. He emitted a small grunt, ears flattening as she hefted him off the chair.

  “You shouldn’t just grab him,” Elisa cautioned firmly, her tone cautious yet respectful.

  “Oh, he doesn’t mind,” the girl insisted with a bright smile, cradling Velrik like a cherished toy. She ran her fingers through his fur, twirling and humming merrily as she spun in place. “He’s so soft today! Did you brush him again, Elisa?”

  “Yes, I brushed him earlier today, my lady,” Elisa replied with an exasperated sigh, setting aside her work.

  Velrik remained stiff in the child’s grip, having learned long ago the futility of struggling against such treatment—he knew better. But the sensation filled him with loathing; being handled like an object for amusement twisted something deep within him. His claws twitched at the restraint, but he kept them sheathed, tail drooping in resignation.

  The girl pressed her cheek against his head, a delighted giggle escaping her lips. “I wish I could keep you in my room! You’d make such a lovely little pet to sleep beside.”

  The urge to growl bubbled within him, yet all he could do was endure. He understood the depths of his place in the manor—he was a possession, an enchanting curiosity to be adored in moments of whimsy and ignored when it did not suit their desires.

  Elisa’s gaze locked onto his for a brief moment, her expression inscrutable. She released a small sigh. “Just don’t keep him too long. He was helping me.”

  “I won’t!” the girl chirped, her enthusiasm unyielding as she turned toward the door, still clutching Velrik.

  As she carried him away, he let his body sag, surrendering to the moment, retreating into his mind. It was easier this way, a practiced defense mechanism—waiting for the tempestuous storm of noble play to pass so he could once again reclaim his space.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  The noble girl’s relentless antics and pestering stretched on for what felt like hours. She insisted on holding a tea party, appointing him as her guest of honor, bedecking him in frilly accessories, and forcing him to sip from an empty teacup while she chattered on tirelessly. Eventually, two of her older sisters joined them, and seeing the setup, they decided to participate as well, this time with real tea and delectable snacks. With their attention diverted from him, Velrik slipped out of the parlor the moment the opportunity arose, his fur ruffled from the unwelcome attention he had endured.

  He padded silently down the hall, ears flicking as he listened for any sign of pursuit. Once he confirmed he was alone, he exhaled deeply, rubbing his arms where her fingers had squeezed him too tightly.

  Even now, the sensation lingered—the distinct memories of fingers weaving through his fur, tugging at his tail as she giggled about how soft he was. She draped him across her lap like a doll, pressing his ears back as she attempted to dress him in tiny garments she deemed ‘adorable.’ He bore it all in silence, offering only reluctant nods when she sought his approval. Worst of all had been her cradling him like a child, humming softly as if he were nothing more than an inanimate plaything. The quiet indignation swelled within him, and he shook off the memory.

  His legs carried him swiftly towards the servant’s wing, desperate to distance himself from that room. He didn’t harbor hatred toward the girl—she was not cruel, merely unaware, but none the less annoying. To her, he was nothing more than an exotic toy, an object to be paraded around when it pleased her. He was beginning to grasp that this perception colored much of how the noble family viewed him.

  As he navigated the dimly lit corridors, the scent of burning candles blended with the faint aroma of bread and stew wafting up from the kitchens below. His stomach twisted slightly—he hadn't the chance to partake in the tea and snacks, too frantic to escape. Perhaps he could find Elisa; she always offered him something, even if it was just a piece of bread or a quiet camaraderie. More than that, he thought of her presence almost as his mother's—she made the bleak atmosphere feel familiar, as close to normal as he could find.

  Turning a corner, he nearly collided with one of the older servants carrying a stack of linens. The man shot him a cursory glance before continuing onward, muttering something indistinguishable under his breath. Velrik released a sigh and pressed on, slowing his pace as he neared the entrance to the servant quarters. The gentle hum of conversation wafted through the slightly ajar door, warmth beckoning him after the cold indifference of the manor's upper levels.

  With only a moment's hesitation, he stepped inside. The small common room was dimly illuminated by the warm glow of lanterns, rich aromas of freshly baked bread and faint smoke weaving through the air. A handful of servants gathered, some perched on stools, others leaning against wooden tables, sharing bites of their evening meal.

  His gaze instantly caught Dain Forst, a broad-shouldered dwarf who manned the manor’s forge and maintained things, seated near the crackling hearth. He listened intently as Mira Valen, the half-elf housekeeper, gestured animatedly, careful words spilling from her lips. Not far off, Joren Karr, the lanky human stable hand, lounged on a bench, casually tossing a small apple between his hands. These servants, who were also kept here against their will, were people who acknowledged him, and he considered them friends.

  Velrik lingered by the doorway, tail flicking as he observed the lively camaraderie. In his time at the manor, he had come to know these three in varying ways.

  Mira was the first to notice him, her green eyes narrowing as a smirk crept onto her lips. “Ah, the little fox finally emerges.”

  Velrik's ear twitched at the nickname, but he remained silent as he stepped deeper into the room. He didn’t like that people referred to him as a fox, but he knew his friends always said it in a playful manner.

  Dain let out a low chuckle, a raspy sound. “What, done playing dress-up with the little lady already?”

  Joren snorted, catching his apple midair. “I swear, every time I see you, you've got another frilly ribbon stuck in your fur.”

  Rolling his eyes, Velrik settled on a cushioned stool near the hearth, pulling his knees close to his chest. “You try escaping a determined noble girl who wants nothing more than for you to be her plaything,” he grumbled. “She doesn’t take no for an answer.”

  Mira leaned against the table, propping her chin in her palm. “Sounds like it must have been a grand adventure.”

  Velrik sighed theatrically, prompting laughter from Dain.

  Joren tossed his apple toward Velrik, who caught it instinctively. “Here. Consider it compensation for your suffering.”

  Velrik hesitated only a moment before biting into the crisp fruit, sweetness flooding his senses and invigorating him after the trial of the tea party gone by.

  As he chewed, the conversation shifted back to whatever topic they had been discussing prior to his arrival.

  “—I’m telling you, the steward’s going to cut rations again if the kitchen keeps sneaking food to the lower halls,” Mira stated, her fingers rhythmically drumming against the wood.

  Dain grunted in response. “Can’t blame ‘em. Half the staff here came from nothin’. When they see a hungry kid, they’re bound to feed him.”

  “Doesn’t mean they won’t face punishment for it,” Joren added, idly tossing his apple core into the fire.

  Velrik listened quietly, though he remained mostly silent. He had learned early on about the intricate dynamics of the servants—a hierarchy of their own, woven beneath the noble family’s rule. Some were kind and supportive, others indifferent, while a few matched the cruelty of the nobles they served.

  Mira’s gaze flicked back toward him. “Speaking of rules, how is your reading coming along?”

  Velrik swallowed a bite of apple and shrugged. “Elisa says I’m improving.”

  Dain raised an eyebrow, bushy and questioning. “Means you’ve still got a ways to go.”

  Velrik shot him a look then. “I can read well enough.”

  Mira chuckled lightly. “You’ll need more than ‘well enough’ if you wish to keep up with us.”

  Velrik's tail flicked in soft annoyance. He knew Mira was more than merely a housekeeper—she was sharp, quick-witted, and skilled with her hands. She’d been the one to show him how to move unseen and unheard when he sought to avoid unwanted attention, how to listen without being noticed. Though she seldom spoke of her past, Velrik understood better than to pry.

  Joren rose then, stretching as he prepared to leave. “As much as I love sitting about, I’ve got to check the stables before the steward throws a fit.” He ruffled Velrik’s head as he passed, earning an affronted glare. “Try not to get snatched up for another tea party, yeah?”

  Velrik swatted at his hand too late, grumbling under his breath as Joren laughed his way out of the room.

  Dain stood and rolled his shoulders, a weary sigh escaping him. “I’d best return to the forge before the night bell rings.” He cast a glance at Velrik, nodding slightly. “Stay out of trouble, kid.”

  Velrik huffed, a wry smirk dancing on his lips. “No promises.”

  Dain chuckled softly, clapping him lightly on the back before making his exit.

  Mira lingered a moment longer, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she regarded Velrik. “You know,” she mused, “if you ever do choose to flee, I’d wager you’d get farther than most.”

  Velrik met her gaze, the weight of unspoken understanding settled heavily upon him.

  “I don’t intend to remain here forever,” he replied quietly.

  Mira's smile was knowing. “Didn’t think you would, but be careful, and don’t do anything stupid.”

  With that, she pushed away from the table and sauntered toward the door, leaving Velrik alone beside the flickering firelight.

  He stared into the dancing flames, mind spinning with reflection on the day’s events. The noble girl’s laughter lingered, the warmth of camaraderie shared among the servants, and the constant reminder of the invisible chains binding them all.

  One day, he would find a way to leave this place. But not yet. For now, he would wait. To learn. To endure.

  Velrik curled up on the stool, wrapping his tail around himself as the warm glow of the fire permeated his fur.

  For now, he would play his part.

  The next morning, light spilled through the narrow window, casting gentle rays across the simple wooden walls. Velrik stirred beneath the thin woolen blanket, ears flicking to the muffled sounds of the manor awakening around him. Distant voices murmured in the halls, the clatter of pots resonating from the kitchens, and below, the rhythmic thud of boots against stone signaled the guards beginning their patrols.

  Elisa was already awake, her movements careful as she prepared for the day. She hadn’t roused him—she never did. Velrik appreciated that. He was not given his own quarters, the Lord only put a pet's bed in the servants common room; thankfully Elisa was kind enough to share her space. For a moment longer, he nestled within the lingering warmth of slumber, before finally mustering the strength to rise. He stretched, tail curling briefly before flicking free, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  “Morning,” Elisa greeted him softly, setting a small bundle down on the table.

  He mumbled a reply, still groggy, but gratefully accepted the bread and apple she had prepared for him. As he nibbled, she tied her apron and gathered her supplies for the day ahead.

  They fell into a comfortable rhythm with ease. Velrik trailed after her through the halls, lending assistance wherever possible—fetching linens, carrying small loads, and occasionally helping with minor tasks. The other servants had steadily acclimated to his presence, though some of the newer faces occasionally regarded him with curiosity as he passed.

  As the morning stretched on, he found himself lingering near the open archway that led to the gardens. The crisp air carried the scent of damp earth and fresh greenery, a refreshing change from the enclosed confines of the manor.

  “Elisa,” he murmured, glancing toward her. “I’m going to step outside for a bit.”

  She raised an amused brow at him from her folding task. “Just stay within the walls,” she warned, repeating her usual sentiment.

  Velrik nodded, slipping outside.

  The gardens lay quiet this early in the day. The noble family seldom ventured out at such an hour, and the groundskeepers had already completed much of their morning toil. Velrik navigated through the hedges with practiced ease, sharp eyes scanning pathways and stone walls, taking note of every detail. Though he’d long since relinquished the notion of escape, old habits compelled him to explore—memorizing routes, testing shadows, marking spots where he could disappear from sight if fate demanded it.

  He moved toward the far edge of the garden, where the stone walls rose high, ivy creeping along the edges. It was the most secluded spot, surrounded by dense, trimmed hedges. Crouching by the base of the wall, he ran his fingers over the cool stone and paused.

  Something felt different.

  The ivy displayed signs of disturbance, pulled back as if brushed aside recently. His fingertips traced a faint groove in the stone—a section that seemed slightly looser than the rest. Pressing against it experimentally yielded no results. His curiosity ignited; someone had passed this way. But for what reason?

  A voice drifted through the air, carried toward him from a nearby window.

  Velrik’s ears perked, catching the distinctive cadence of Lord Edric Veldoran. Tension gripped him as he inched closer to the wall’s base, seeking shelter in the shadows to eavesdrop unnoticed.

  “…still need more time,” the lord’s clipped tone reached his ears.

  Another voice, calm and measured, responded—Lucien Dreymont, the lord's accountant.

  “You cannot delay much longer,” Lucien cautioned, his voice gravely serious. “Questions will start surfacing. You know it as well as I.”

  “I am well aware,” Lord Veldoran muttered, a pause following. “I hadn’t anticipated things to unravel so swiftly.”

  Lucien exhaled softly, the sound barely detectable. “Then perhaps you should have been more diligent.”

  A long silence enveloped them before the lord spoke again, his voice lowering to a menacing growl. “I have always been cautious, just do what needs to be done.”

  Velrik’s fur bristled; what business lingered in their discussion? His instincts warned him that this was not mere talk of finances. He crept closer, ears straining, yet the conversation faded into hushed tones, elusive and impossible to decipher.

  Minutes later, footsteps retreated from the window. The discussion was concluded.

  Velrik remained motionless for a heartbeat, heart racing with intrigue. He recognized Lucien; their exchanges had always been polite, but distant. Yet, now he pondered the depth of the knowledge the half-elf man possessed about the dealings within the estate.

  Slowly, he turned back toward the open pathways of the garden, a whirlpool of thoughts swirling in his mind. He had no clarity about what the lord and his accountant concealed, but he felt an undeniable urge to uncover the truth.

  Over the rest of the afternoon, their conversation echoed throughout his thoughts, intruding on his usual routine. When he returned indoors, Elisa occupied the laundry room, deep in conversation with Dain. Velrik slipped in with them, eavesdropping as they chatted about the day’s duties, though his mind remained focused elsewhere.

  Even as the hours passed and the manor settled into its evening routine, a singular thought clung to him.

  Something was amiss.

  And he was determined to unveil what it was.