Samantha, The Scheming Bit**ch!
1003 Words
To the slaves, she was still "the gentle one”—the girl who listened, shared, helped, and never caused trouble.
To Paula, she was “the obedient one”—submissive, unassuming, but oddly efficient. And useful.
Then came her golden moment.
Two of the favored lapdogs had been caught stealing honey from the Slave's storehouse. No one knew who told Paula—but everyone suspected each other.
By the next morning, both twin girls Mira, and Mesa were demoted and reassigned to the waste pits.
And in their place? It was offered to Samantha. Like her usual habit, she rejected it and she was summoned by Paula herself.
Paula studied her with narrowed eyes, as if unsure whether to praise or punish her.
“You’ve got a strange way of surviving,” Paula muttered. “Either you’re smart, or you’re lucky.”
Samantha bowed, hiding her smirk.
“I only want to serve you well, ma’am.” She took the position.
And that was the beginning.
Now, Samantha had her position—close enough to the source of power, invisible to most, and trusted enough by Paula to start delivering whispered truths.
Only… half of them were lies.
Samantha continues to sow distrust among the other maids, planting rumors about rebellion, laziness, and betrayal. Then, just as the fires of gossip were about to explode, she would rush to Paula in secret to "warn" her.
“I heard them speaking ill of your name again…”
“They were plotting to slip food to the rebels in the east sector... I couldn’t stay silent.”
Each time Paula listened, scowled, and took action.
And each time, Samantha gained more of her favor.
The spider had spun her web—and one by one, the other flies were caught in it.
One more threat to dealt with. She aims for the position of the second in command after Paula.
---
Dagger Beneath the Smile
Benita was everything Samantha hated in a rival.
Effortlessly calm. Sharp-witted. Loyal to Paula like a hound to its master. And worst of all—she didn’t like Samantha. She didn’t fall for the soft-spoken words, the false humility, or the occasional tears that swayed others. Benita watched her with guarded eyes, always one step out of reach.
But Samantha knew one thing—everyone had a weakness.
And Benita’s… was her little brother.
His name was Caleb. Barely ten, mute since birth, but bright-eyed and clever. He lived in the lower slave quarters with the orphaned pups and was allowed to visit his sister once a week.
Samantha pretended not to notice the small gifts Benita smuggled back for him—extra bread, fruit slices, or the rare carved wooden toy.
She waited patiently for the right moment.
Then one rainy afternoon, she ‘accidentally’ bumped into Caleb while carrying a tray of apples for the kitchen. The fruit rolled everywhere, and Caleb flinched, clearly terrified he was about to be punished.
Samantha knelt beside him, gently patting his shoulder.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I won’t tell anyone. What’s your name?”
He blinked, then used his fingers to trace it slowly in the dust.
“Caleb”.
And just like that, the first crack opened.
That week, Samantha subtly started suggesting things around the quarters.
“I heard Benita’s been taking extra food supplies. If anyone else did that, they’d be whipped.”
“Why does she get special treatment? Some of us haven’t even eaten fruit in weeks.”
“Maybe if she weren’t so perfect, Paula would give others a chance too.”
She never said anything directly. But she said just enough.
Enough to make others start talking behind Benita’s back.
And while the whispers grew, Samantha visited Caleb again—this time with a small wooden bird in her pocket. One she’d carved herself.
“A gift,” she said with a soft smile. “Don’t tell your sister. She might get jealous.”
—
The Setup
Samantha’s real strike came during the full moon inspection—a time when high-ranking members from the Merchant's court checked every corner of the quarters.
Two days before, she sneaked into the storage room and placed three small sealed pouches—marked with the Merchant’s crest—inside Benita’s private chest. Stolen herbs and high-grade pain balms, meant only for warrior use.
Highly illegal for any maid to possess.
That night, she made sure Paula overheard her talking quietly with another maid near the laundry hall.
“...I just hope the inspection goes well. If they check everyone’s belongings, even someone trusted might get in trouble.”
She didn’t need to say a name.
The look Paula gave her was enough.
So, when the guards opened Benita’s chest and found the stolen supplies, the entire slave quarters fell silent.
Benita looked too stunned to speak.
She tried explaining—saying they weren’t hers, that someone planted them—but even Paula’s face had changed.
Her disappointment cut deeper than any slap.
“You were like a sister to me,” Paula said coldly. “And you brought danger into this place?.”
Benita was dragged out. She wasn’t whipped—but she was stripped of her title and sent to the outer fields to work in the mud and sun with the lowest ranks. The shame alone would rot her from the inside.
That night, Samantha was summoned quietly to Paula’s chambers.
The head maid didn’t speak much. She simply handed Samantha a slate with the new cleaning rota to approve. A task once done only by Benita.
Then Paula looked up and said flatly:
“You’ve got good eyes. And you know when to stay silent. From now on, you're my second.”
Samantha bowed her head politely—but inside, her blood danced like fire. She dare not play her usual style of rejecting it.
Because, finally, another threat gone. Another step climbed.
But she wasn’t finished.
Not yet…
- Writer
