3. Lily

3

LILY

I feel Enoch’s gaze on me more often now. When I scrub the floors or haul buckets of water, I catch him leaning against a wall, arms crossed, watching with that unreadable expression.

His crimson eyes seem to pierce through the haze of grime and despair that clings to this place like a shroud. A flicker of something crosses his face before he quickly masks it with that usual arrogance.

“Why are you staring?” I mutter one day, pushing the heavy cart of stones across the courtyard. It grates against the cobblestones, and I can barely lift it on my own. But I refuse to show weakness.

He straightens, smirking as if my words amuse him. “Just trying to figure out how you keep your head up while carrying all that.”

I grit my teeth and keep moving.

Mistress Bethana senses something amiss too. She glares at me when she catches me resting for a moment too long, sweat drenching my clothes and my muscles screaming for reprieve.

Her punishments grow harsher. I've recently been assigned to hauling large stones meant for the castle wall, massive blocks that feel like they could crush me under their weight.

“Get to work, human!” she snaps, her voice dripping with disdain as she watches from her throne-like chair in the shade, two smaller demons holding her drink and a platter of food.

The sun beats down on me relentlessly as I struggle under the burden. Each stone is a testament to my exhaustion and desperation, a reminder that every effort feels futile against the might of demons like Bethana.

Enoch steps forward, a shadow looming over me as I kneel in the dirt, catching my breath after shifting another stone into place.

“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” he says, though there’s an edge of mockery in his tone which I'm sure pleases Bethana. And yet…

I don't dare look at him in front of Bethana so I keep my eyes fixed firmly on the dust around my knees.

“Do I have a choice?” I ask.

“No. But I'd like to see how far you can bend before breaking.”

He tilts his head slightly, studying me as if I’m some kind of puzzle he’s determined to solve.

I force myself back to my feet but can’t shake off the feeling of his eyes on me, even as sweat drips down my back and fatigue clouds my mind.

I drag the next stone toward the wall, my muscles screaming in protest. The heat of the day wraps around me like a suffocating blanket, each breath a laborious effort. Sweat trickles down my brow, and I can barely see through the haze of exhaustion.

“Come on, human! Is that all you’ve got?” Mistress Bethana’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and relentless.

She stands with her arms crossed, eyes narrowed as if she’s waiting for me to crumble under the weight.

“Just a little faster!” she snaps again.

I bite back a retort, pushing my limits even further. The rough stone digs into my palms as I grip it tighter, determined not to show weakness. With a grunt, I hoist it up once more.

The stone feels heavier today than it ever has before. I know I'm strong. But each step feels like I’m trudging through mud, and I can feel the fire in my muscles threatening to turn to ash.

“You’re pathetic!” Bethana shouts, stepping closer now, her eyes alight with malice. “Is this what your kind is made of? Weakness?”

My heart races as shame floods my veins. It ignites something deep within me—anger mixed with despair—but all I can do is focus on lifting the stone again.

Then something shifts in the air around me—a subtle change that catches my attention.

Enoch appears at the edge of my vision, watching with that inscrutable expression he wears so often. As Bethana’s laughter rings cruelly in my ears, I feel an odd lightness tugging at the stone in my grip.

“What’s wrong? Can’t handle a bit of labor?” Bethana jeers again.

But I can handle it. Or at least, I can now. Somehow, against all odds, it feels like there’s less weight pressing down on me now. The stone shifts more easily in my hands.

I look up at Enoch—his gaze steady and intense—and for a moment, disbelief washes over me. His lips curve into a faint smirk as he subtly gestures toward the heavy block with his fingers tucked against his side.

“You should try harder,” he says while his eyes flicker with something deeper than mockery.

I don’t know if it’s magic or simply an illusion created by fatigue, but for now, the burden lifts just enough for me to keep moving forward without collapsing entirely under its weight.

Each day, Enoch’s presence becomes harder to ignore. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to him than the cruel facade he wears.

When he watches me struggle, something flickers in his dark eyes.

I focus on my tasks, burying myself in chores and avoiding his gaze whenever possible. But the moments when our eyes meet spark something and I have to remind myself of the chasm between us.

He’s a demon, and I’m just a human servant. Any softening in his expression is just a fleeting curiosity, nothing more.

“Why do you keep looking at me?” I snap one afternoon, my voice sharper than intended as I kneel to scrub a floorboard.

He leans against the wall, arms crossed and that damn smirk playing on his lips again. “Because you’re entertaining.”

“Entertaining?” I scoff, scrubbing harder as if my anger will erase any trace of what’s building between us. “I’m not a circus act.”

His laughter rumbles low in his chest, sending a shiver down my spine.

I need distance from him—from whatever this strange connection is blossoming between us like an unwanted weed among fragile flowers.

“Stop being such a coward,” I chastise myself quietly while scrubbing away grime and dirt, desperate for clarity amidst the chaos of emotions swirling inside me.

But even as I attempt to create barriers between us—physically and emotionally—I find myself drawn back into those moments of stolen glances and charged silences where uncertainty lingers like smoke in the air.

The ache of longing flares up with each shared glance or accidental brush of our fingers while reaching for tools. A reminder of what could never be, a human and a demon intertwined in anything other than hostility or servitude.

But part of me wants to push through those barriers, to explore this wild curiosity Enoch stirs within me. To uncover the truth behind those crimson eyes that hold both danger and allure.

As I scrub blood stains from a carpet, my hands aching from the repetitive motion, Griselda’s voice slices through the air like a knife, sharp and relentless from the next room.

“Why are you so soft on her?” Griselda hisses at Enoch, her tone filled with contempt. I freeze, straining to catch every word. “She’s nothing but a human servant, not worth your time.”

“Maybe she’s tougher than you think,” Enoch replies, his voice low but firm. The way he defends me sends warmth blooming in my chest. “You’re pushing her too hard.”

I can hardly believe my ears. Enoch, who has always seemed like a cruel specter looming over my work, is standing up for me!

“She doesn’t need your pity,” Griselda snaps back, disbelief dripping from her words. “Letting her off easy only makes her weak.”

“No,” Enoch insists. “She has proven her strength. You are foolishly running her to a quick death rather than letting her sustain a lighter workload for us for longer. It's a smart use of a resource.”

I bite my lip, a mix of emotions swirling within me—gratitude, confusion, and something that feels dangerously close to hope.

As Griselda mutters under her breath and stomps away, I gather my courage. This moment could be my chance, a fleeting opportunity to bridge the chasm between us.

“Lord Enoch?” My voice wavers as I step out of the shadows where I’ve been scrubbing away dirt.

He turns, surprise flickering across his face before it morphs into that familiar smirk. “You are addressing me, slave?”

“Pardon me, lord, but I wanted to thank you.” My heart races as I approach him cautiously. “For defending me.”

He raises an eyebrow, amusement glimmering in his crimson eyes. “Is that what I was doing?”

“Griselda makes this place unbearable.”

Enoch nods as if he understands far more than he lets on.

“I heard about the rose garden,” I venture cautiously, remembering the tales whispered among servants about its beauty hidden behind high stone walls. "And that some humans are allowed to work there."

His expression shifts slightly, curiosity dances across his features.

“Beautiful blooms and thorns alike,” he muses softly, almost lost in thought.

“You like it?” The question slips from my lips before I can rein it in. "Forgive me, but roses don't seem very demonic."

“We can grow the most beautiful things,” he replies quietly. The honesty catches me off guard. "It's all in how we use them."

“I wish I could see it,” I confess before realizing how open I'm being.

He smirks again but this time with less malice, a glimmer of something softer shining through those deep crimson eyes.

“Maybe one day.”