You took a step inside the room and looked around at the scene before you.

"I hope you have a splendid evening," you heard Nicolas say behind you as he gently closed the door.

As you took steps inside the room, your eyes explored the beauty of the room. Your heels clicked against the carmine red, marble floor. The curtains of velvety red and golden tassels were lifted up, with its neatly frilled ends hanging at the sides of the window pane. Two, symmetrical mirrors were placed on each side of a painting. Crackling, bright flames blazed inside the ivory fireplace below the painting. The golden linings on the walls reflected the light emitting from the chandelier hanging on top of the ceiling.

"Do you like it?" a voice asked you from behind.

You turned around and met two blue eyes. You gave him a small, sad smile. "Very much so," you answered as you looked around once more. "It's quite impressive, if I do say so myself."

"Well, it's not that hard, really," George replied, looking at you dearly. "It's fairly easy if you're doing it for someone special."

You looked down at the floor, suddenly feeling awkward and uncomfortable under his gaze. "I.. I'm sorry. I'm not ready, especially after.. you know."

The young kind gave you a reassuring smile. "I am aware of that. For now, we could at least be friends again."

"I suppose so."

George looked at you sadly. He couldn't make you happy in the slightest bit. "Shall we eat?" he asked as he guided you towards your chair with a faux, happy aura.

You saw through the facade he put on, and couldn't help but feel guilty. You took a seat on your chair and made yourself comfortable on its wine red, upholstery.

Soon enough, after he took his own seat at the other end of the table, the servants arrived, carrying trays of food. Dinner went by smoothly, with the two of you having a small talk here an there. The servants did their job without fault. The food was unmistakably delicious too, despite the lack of spices and antiquity of the dish.

After dinner, the night was awkwardly silent. Neither of you spoke a word over the table. The pin-drop silence was deafening. You wished you could end it with a word, but you really didn't know what to say. No one knew if it will make up for the wasted time or make matters worse.

"(Y/n)," George called, gazing at you from a distance.

You looked up from your lap and gave him all your attention. "Yes?"

"You should go sleep," he said in a soothing voice, a genuine smile on his face. "I've sent the maids to prepare the guest room for you. Nicholas must be waiting for you outside to escort you there."

You nodded, and stood up. "Thank you for this night," you said, bowing your head in respect before leaving the room.

As you closed the door, Nicholas was indeed waiting for you outside. He offered you his arm, which you gladly took.

"How was dinner, my lady?" he asked in a professional, yet friendly manner.

"It was great," you replied, trying to remember the ambrosial taste of the savoury beef and cassis wine. You looked at him, chuckling. "Were you the one who made the food, Nicholas?

The butler let out a small laugh, and went to a halt. "I'm afraid not, my lady, but if you would like, I will prepare tomorrow's breakfast just for you," he replied as he opened the white mahogany door for you.

You unhooked your arm with his and stepped into the room. "That would be absolutely wonderful, Nicholas."

Nicholas smiled. "Alright then. I'll see what I can do. Have a good night," he said, bowing his head in respect.

"You too."

You closed your door. You haven't even realized you were smiling the whole time. Looking at the whole room, you saw a white canopy bed in the middle, with a velvet red duvet and a white wardrobe with golden linings. There was a work desk and a vanity table on either side of the door, filled with necessary objects.

You sat down on the work desk and found a few books laid perfectly on top of each other. You took the one on the top and laid it on the table. It just turns out that it was Hamlet, a play you learned about in high school. You remembered when you played Ophelia, the daughter of the chief counselor of the king, Polonius.

"My lord, as I was sewing in my closet,

Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced;

No hat upon his head, his stockings fouled,

Ungartered, and down-gyvèd to his ankle,

Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other,

And with a look so piteous in purport

As if he had been loosèd out of hell

To speak of horrors—he comes before me."

You furrowed your eyebrows. The fact that Hamlet was madly in love with Ophelia somehow reminded you of your current situation. After Hamlet had killed her father, Ophelia had supposedly gone 'mad' because of her grief. However, you tried your best to keep sane. You knew you would have to trick him soon - anything for escape, even if it means breaking his heart.

A soft knock was heard on your door. You closed the book in a swift motion and placed it back on top of the others.

"Come in."

The door opened to reveal your personal maid, Sarah, who laid a white, flowy nightgown. "Good Evening, miss. I hope I'm not disturbing you, but here's your nightgown. I'm afraid the other maids have not organized the wardrobe. Lackadaisical, if you ask me." (Meaning of Lackadaisical: carelessly lazy)

You chuckled. "Thank you, Sarah. Your diligence is greatly appreciated."

Sarah nods before turning back to the door. "Have a good night, miss. Sleep well," she said before closing the door behind her.

Standing up from the furnished chair, you sighed and got ready for bed. You slumped on the cotton mattress, hugging one of the pillows as you went to sleep with no trouble.

~*~

"Hush, hush, no. Oh, goodness!"

"What are you whispering gibberish about, Gayle?"

"Pauline, we agreed on this. We won't wake her up so early in the morning just because it's cleaning hours!"

Hearing all the noises outside of your door, you tossed the bed sheets lazily while fluttering your eyes open. A few more whispers and ushers were heard outside of your door until a familiar voice butted in.

"Oh, please, you two really cannot be trusted," Sarah's voice rung through the wooden door clear as day, "you shouldn't even be doing the cleaning today. Weren't you put on cooking duty?"

"Ah, my brain cells are dying right now."

"Gayle, this is not supposed to be the time for jokes! If we don't cook right now, we're certainly going to have our heads decapitated in front of our beloved families."

You sighed and crawled down your bed. You figured you looked like that ghost crawling out of that TV in that one movie you dreaded watching, but watched anyway. You stretched out your arm, and felt the drawer for your mobile device. Nothing. You looked up. Still nothing. Then, it hit you. Pure white walls, velvet red sheets, tarnished gold window frames, ebony black mat, and a transparent glass chandelier. Putting a hand over your forehead, you thought deeply about your past events, and realized your stupidity.

"Ladies, you need not to worry about your lives," Nicholas said, startling the women. "I have cooked breakfast for Madame (L/n). Honestly, I expected more from you. Nevertheless, I am glad I was able to cook breakfast for my lady this fine morning."

Gayle looked up at him and blushed. "O-oh, well, it was nothing. I'm sorry we weren't able to do our jobs right. You kept distracting me with your handsome face."

Nicolas smiled and replied, "Oh, that's fine. Miss Madeleine wishes to inform the two of you that you have been fired."

The two maids looked at him in disbelief. Their faces turned a pale white as they watched the butler calmly fold the piece of cloth over his arm.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, ladies," he said, putting his hand over the golden knob, "I have a job to do."

He opened the door silently, and saw you sitting on the bed with your back against its frame. Your messy hair, the crumpled dress, and the scattered sheets and pillows; he saw it all. You couldn't have been more ashamed. However, there was no logic in crying over spilled milk.

"Ah, Madame (L/n), were you awake this whole time?" he asked, going over to the side of your bed.

You gently flattened your messy hair while trying to smooth out your nightgown. "I woke up a little while ago." Nicolas nodded and took the thin, white blanket.

"I see. Well, Sarah will come in a moment to get you ready for today. I've prepared a special meal just for you down the hallway."

Your face suddenly brightened up. "Really?" you asked like a little girl getting her favourite Barbie doll on a Christmas Eve.

"Yes, my lady," Nicolas said with a chuckle. "Still, it is a surprise." He gave you a sneaky wink before turning to leave the room.

Shortly after, Sarah entered with neatly folded clothes and a towel. "Good Morning, Madame (L/n)," she greeted, "here are your clothes for the day. The other nosy maids will be here to assist you in bathing. In the meantime, I will prepare the water in the bathroom."

"All right, Sarah," you said, watching her make her way to the bathroom. You sat there, true horror in your face.

Maids.

In bathing.

Exposing yourself.

You suddenly felt tense as you thought of ways to get out of the situation. "[---]!"

~*~

"This is ridiculous," the British soldier sighed as he softly cried in his hands. "I should have let her live her own life. All she wanted was freedom, and now, she has it, with no trouble."

Eini watched him blame himself over and over for his sister's death. She patted him on the shoulder. "Hey, I'm sure wherever she is right now, she's happy and content. What are you going to do now?"

"I don't know... After Corrianne died and (Y/n) taken, I don't think we can live safely here in England anymore," he said, a morose look on his face. "Being witnesses of the crimes, I'm sure the king would not let us go that easily. Our only choice is to move to America."

"What?" Eini asked in disbelief, setting down the cup of coffee on the table. "How about (Y/n)?"

Xalvador sighed as he wiped his face with his handkerchief. His eyes were starting to get irritated. "I know. That's what I'm worried about."

"If His Majesty, the king loves her, would he hurt her?"

The man snickered. "It's not love, Miss Milburn, it's obsession. His mental state is obviously unstable. He could try to hurt (Y/n) at any time, and we wouldn't be able to help her."

"D-Don't say that!" Eini shouted, clutching her gown.

"I'm just saying," Xalvador replied as he stood up. "Still, we must do our best to help her. I will not let my sister's life go to waste. Corrianne died protecting (Y/n), and if I must, I shall do the same."

Eini watched his figure disappear as he walked further down the halls. She let out a soft sigh and organized the teacups.

Immediately, Corylus waved his hands at her, a frantic look on his face. He took his parchment and quill and wrote down in chicken scratch handwriting.

"Please, Miss Milburn, I insist on taking care of the teacups. You may just leave it here."

"Ah, alright then," Eini answered, letting go of the ceramics. She gazed at the slave curiously. "You know, Corylus, I've always wondered why your skin was paler than most slaves. You're not African, are you?"

Corylus looked at the woman in surprise. He wrote down neatly on the piece of parchment.

"It's a long story."

"Well," Eini sighed softly, "we have all the time we need."

She turned to the chocolate-skinned woman, beaming at her. "Phoebe, kindly bring out the Worcester tea set, 3 cups, and come join us after, alright?"

"Yes, Miss Milburn," Phoebe replied, delighted to be treated as an equal instead of a person of low social ranking. She went out of the room to do what she was ordered.

Eini watched her leave, feeling a sense of accomplishment inside of her. She turned to the man with the pen and paper. "Take a seat. I'd love to hear your story," she said, patting on the seat beside her. At the same time, I can share you mine. Is that all right with you?"

Corylus nodded stoically.

"I was from a rich family, the Hollis', specifically. My parents were very much proud of our reputation, especially that our family was known to be connected to the Anglo-Saxon tribes of Britain."

Eini watched until the very end, reading the words silently under her breath. "Ah, I see. Did you have your own family crest then?"

"Yes," the slave wrote, "we did. However, being mute, I was not able to do much for my family, thus leading to them disowning me."

~*~

"Why, of all the possibilities in this world, you had to be mute?" a man asked in a serious tone.

"Arthur, stop it," the woman beside him countered with pleading eyes.

"No, Magnolia." He glared at her, and seized the young boy's cravat. "Listen here, you addle pate, you don't even have any right to be in this family. Don't bring this family's reputation down any further!"

Magnolia took hold of the man's wrists, trying to get him to let go of the neck wear. She pulled her husband away as much as possible. "Arthur, stop this right now!"

With one final shake, Arthur finally let go of the white cloth. He kept his piercing blue eyes on the child. "Know you place, kid. You're worthless, so don't think you have the right to turn down the women who actually want to marry you."

"Arthur!" the pained mother cried, falling down to the floor in her knees. She sobbed while tightly grasping her husband's hand. "He's still your son!"

"Not anymore," he said, glancing at the crying child before walking away.

~*~

"What?" the redhead asked in utter shock. The situation is not different from our modern society, but discriminating someone who's a part of your family, especially your child seems like a very heartless thing to do, Eini thought inside of her head as she softly sighed. "I'm sorry, please continue."

Corylus nodded in return, just as Phoebe entered the room, holding a rectangular, silver tray in her hands. On top was a complete Worcester tea set, with its gold, floral designs. She set the tray down the mahogany table, creating a soft clink sound. After that, she finally sat down beside Corylus, watching him write.

"Thank you, Phoebe."

The African-American nodded in response, her lips twitching into a slight curve. "It's no problem, Miss Milburn."

"They left me in the streets. Coincidentally, an old man happened to pass by and took pity on me. He suggested I work for him, so I did. He treated all of us nicely, so I would consider myself lucky. Still, it didn't last long, as my first master soon died."

~*~

"Father!" a young woman cried out, holding the old man's wrinkly hands tightly. "Father, don't leave me, please!"

The old man smiled at her, putting his hands over her daughter's. "Hush, Czarina," the old man said in tears, "don't cry."

"How am I supposed to stop crying when you're right here dying in front of me?" she cried out. So many thoughts ran through her head, yet she knew she had to make the most of her time with her father, and tell him everything she had in her head.

"My little girl... it has been a pleasure to play an important role in your life, but we all know that nothing lasts in this world," the father replied, brushing his daughter's golden locks. "Death will come, even to you, and when it does, you'll realize just how equally painful it is to lie down here, doing nothing, while your children are crying their hearts out in front of you."

Czarina kept bawling out her cries, despite what her father told her.

"I love you..." her father trailed off as he finally closed his eyes and slept.

The woman stared at him in shock. She refused to move or even talk, and stayed there, hand-in-hand with her father while her last tears fell down her cheek.

~*~

Phoebe was staring at him, listening intently to what he had to say. Saying she was intrigued would be an understatement. "What happened to you after?"

"His daughter had no choice but to sell the whole estate, together with us, slaves," Corylus continued.

~*~

"I'm selling the house," Czarina said, breaking her voice mid-sentence.

The lady in front of her scoffed. "Czarina, dear, why would you do that? This mansion has been passed down through the whole family of Eastaughffe's since the 16th century and now, it's going to be gone in a snap of a finger?" she asked in such a proud voice. "I knew your grandfather should've gave me the house, because you were going to throw it all away anyway."

"Aunt Aubree, if you want the mansion, you could just buy it," the young girl replied, "I put it up for sale in a reasonably cheap price."

"Do you really think I'm that desperate? Why are you even selling it?"

Czarina sighed, sitting down on the stone bench in front of the magnificent garden. "I'll be moving to Boston with Emory for the time being, just to forget about the woe brought to us by father's death, and try to live a normal life with my husband and my kids."

"Ah, well, I can't say I didn't ask for the same when I was your age," Aubree replied with a small smile on her face. "I want the mansion because of its sentimental value, but I know it wouldn't save us from bankruptcy."

"Pardon?"

Aubree shrugged as she took a seat beside her niece. "Your Uncle Damon is drowning in debt. All of your father's endowments were given to you, as well as the title for this property."

"Well, if that's so, then you can get this whole estate. I'm sure father would've wanted to give it to you, especially after you helped him with his hospital bills and all," Czarina replied in a genuinely kind voice.

~*~

"After that, I've had all different kinds of owners," the slave wrote, "some stoic, some considerate, but most were heartless."

"Oh, you poor child," Eini whispered as she went to hug the young boy, "even though I'm probably younger than you. How [---] pathetic of them to mistreat you like that. Those [---], I swear to the gods."

Phoebe smiled as she watched the scene unfold. She placed a hand over Corylus' shoulder. "Don't worry. You have us now — Master Xalvador, Miss Milburn and me."

"She's telling the truth, Corylus," Eini said as she pulled away from the hug and looked deeply into Corylus' eyes.

"You have a family."

====[Author's Note]====

Psycho: Hi, guys! Sorry for the late update and a short, not-proofread chapter. This is what I was able to do in the span of 4 months. Thus, for the next update, I will be taking about 3-5 months to get a chapter out. I got my grades for the first quarter and, they're very very low, so I'd like to take a short break for a while to focus on my studies, if that's alright.

Another note I'd like to leave is I made a mistake last chapter. Thank you, ѕмαll, for correcting me. So, it turns out, King George III actually had a red auburn hair color, and it lightened in his age. I did some research on it as well and it's true, so, uh, I'm sorry for the confusion. :)