FOUR YEARS AGO. . .
The length of Miss Hellveig's cane burned every time it struck me, but especially today, on knuckles where already-bruised flesh guarded bone. I had been too deeply devoted to the letter I wrote to anticipate the hit, and as a result, I caught the brunt of it across my pen hand. I yelped. Loudly. Which only made things worse. Hardly worth the cost, had I known this attempt would fail like its predecessors.
She appeared in front of me like an angry apparition, the only barrier between us; the large wooden table we'd moved my lessons to for the winter. While the dining hall's fire kept us warmer than the library could, it was further from my father's study, and therefore less safe.
"And pray, what are we working on, Princess?" Her eyes peered over the long space between us, narrowing rapidly as I raced to conceal the contents of my stationary. She clawed, nearly snatching one of the pages from me, but I was able to pry it from her and bolt it to my chest, heaving. She frowned; nostrils flaring. "Give it here," she demanded.
I took a labored breath as I flew from the room into the hall, clutching to the paper vigilantly.
I woke to Josie's sweet humming, a beloved ease I'd grown accustomed to after rests like last night's. Still, for as much as it could do, Miss Hellveig haunted me. I blamed my candid moments with Cyrus for her appearance; the dreamy manifestation of my worst fears and doubts.
Did he even want to speak to me? Were his promises of guarding my secrets lies? Had he confessed that night to Sam already? Or was I reading into every look?
"Come on you lazy slug," Josie teased. "You'll be late for the Derby."
"I don't care. I'm not going," I whined, burrowing into the pillow.
She sighed, moving to the wardrobe to retrieve one of the newer dresses I had ordered. "How about this green one? The leaves?"
"Wear whatever you like," I muttered. "I don't care."
"Come." She tore the blanket from my hands, rolling it like dough and tossing it to the foot of the bed. "No time to waste."
"I suspect your children will love you," I buzzed. When I sat up, I glanced at the emerald vested combination laid out for me. "It's too bright. I hate it."
YOU ARE READING
The Ostler's Boy (The Ostler's Boy Book 1)
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