The subtle smell of food rouses Emelia from the deep depths of her subconscious.

"Tea?" She hears an unfamiliar voice ask. It's airy and feminine; a woman.

"Yes please," another responds, sweet and soft, the sound spreading relief through Emelia's body. This voice she recognises instantly. Sofie!

Her lids flutter open and the first thing she sees once her eyes have adjusted to the light is a flowing canopy of fabric. Confused, Emelia frowns and tries to sit up but is struck by intense pain at the back of her head. Taking in a sharp breath, her hand flies to the tender area and meets clumps of hair stuck together by dry blood over a shallow gash on her scalp.

"Oh, good, you're finally awake." A woman wearing a black-and-white maid's uniform appears suddenly at the side of the bed. "Perfect timing too. Breakfast is served."

Emelia leans away from the woman, taken by surprise by her sudden appearance. Who the hell is-?

"Emmy!"

Disoriented, she looks away from the stranger just in time to see Sofie springing up from a seat at a small round table across the room and rushing over.

"I'm so glad you're okay," she exclaims, jumping up onto the bed and enveloping Emelia in a fierce hug.

Emelia is unable to return the embrace, shock immobilising her limbs, and so she just sits there, blinking while the cogs in her mind slowly start moving again. I'm okay?

"That's enough, Sofie," the unknown lady prompts. "Go finish your breakfast."

"Who are you?" Emelia manages to recover her voice then. Her eyes refocus suspiciously on the woman who is smiling at her.

"My name's Marie-Claire," she says primly. "I'm the housemaid here."

Housemaid. Emelia isn't sure how to respond to that so she simply doesn't. Her eyes survey her surroundings and she realises that they are back in the château. The same room they escaped from, in fact.

Muted light shines in through the window from outside, letting her know that many hours have passed. She looks down to see a bandaged wrapped around her wrist, proving that the last thing she can remember was anything but a nightmare.

"I hope you like croissants," Marie-Claire says, moving toward the table once Sofie has scrambled off the bed and reclaimed her seat. She appears to be generally unharmed and is even wearing a clean set of clothes that definitely aren't hers, causing Emelia to be even more confused by the situation.

"Do you take sugar?"

Emelia glances back over to Marie-Claire, the frown on her forehead deepening.

"What?"

"Sugar," she repeats, pouring hot liquid from the decorated teapot. "Do you take it?"

"I, er..." Emelia flounders, taken off-guard by the question. "No. I don't."

Marie-Claire brings her the tea in a bone china teacup that is balanced on top of a dainty saucer. Steam rises up from the beverage, smelling fresh and absolutely divine but despite being in great need of some quality caffeine, Emelia resists taking a sip. There's no way I'm drinking anything this lady gives me, she thinks.

Emelia places the cup and saucer down on the bedside cabinet and slides out of the bed. A wave of dizziness hits her once she's upright, the corners of her vision darkening for a moment, and she collapses back down onto the mattress.

"Careful," the maid chastises. "You have a concussion from bumping your head last night. Don't worry, though, it isn't serious."

"I didn't bump my head," Emelia mumbles, although her tone is unsure. Rubbing the bleariness from her eyes, she tries to remember the events of last night, her body stiffening and stomach sinking when the confusion clears and the memories come back all at once in high definition.

Gingerly this time, Emelia stands and moves towards the table where a two three-tier cake stands piled with croissants sits, along with a glass jug filled with orange juice, and a number of silver jars containing butter and different kinds of conserves.

"Help yourself to breakfast," Marie-Claire encourages her. "I've placed some fresh clothes on the nightstand for you to change into. The en suite is through there," she adds, pointing to a door that Emelia had not noticed before. "I'd suggest freshening up. You don't want His Grace assuming the worst about you by the way you smell."

Her nostrils flare then in a manner that disturbs Emelia immensely and she stares at her, wondering just how far up the crazy-scale this woman is. Nothing she is saying is making any sense and Emelia wonders for a brief moment whether the hit to the back of her skull is making her hallucinate.

"Eat up now, girls," Marie-Claire says. "I have some other errands to run but Frederick will be up to collect you shortly."

She then leaves the room, closing the door softly behind her. When they are alone, Emelia looks at her cousin and says, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Having breakfast," Sofie replies in an obvious manner.

"Yes, I can see that," Emelia snaps, the shock of their situation finally wearing off and being replaced with frustration as she snatches the half-eaten croissant from Sofie's hands and asks, "But why are you just sitting there - eating - as if nothing is wrong and it's just some other ordinary day? Do I have to remind you where we are or what's happened to us?!"

Sofie flinches away from the sudden harshness in Emelia's voice, a look of guilt flashing across her face.

"I'm sorry, Emmy," she mumbles. "It's just that you wouldn't wake up when they brought you back in, and I was scared - but then that lady came and she was nice to me and she brought all of this food. What else was I supposed to do?"

Closing her eyes, Emelia breathes in deeply, realising that taking her fear and frustrations out on Sofie isn't fair. They are both in this predicament and the only way they are going to find a solution is by sticking together.

"Emmy?" Sofie asks worriedly after a moment of unsure silence. "Are you okay?"

"As okay as I can be," Emelia grumbles, reopening her eyes. "This isn't exactly a lovely set of circumstances we're in, is it?"

"Do you think anyone is looking for us?"

"Of course. We're probably frontpage news by now."

This statement doesn't have the reassuring effect that Emelia expects because her cousin gasps, clutches her face and wails, "Oh no, I don't want my picture to be in the papers!"

Wondering how her cousin can be so concerned over the most unimportant things, Emelia rubs her aching temples and sighs.

"That should be the least of your worries right now."

A loud knock on the door startles them both. They stare anxiously as the butler, Frederick, enters.

"Good morning," he greets them blandly. "His Grace is waiting to meet with you downstairs. I'm here to escort you to him."

His Grace? Emilia thinks. Who the hell he?

Hesitantly, the two girls follow Frederick out of the room. He takes them through the house, down a set of winding halls, before coming to a stop outside the door of an unknown room.