"𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘣𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘪𝘵?"
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂જ⁀➴
Born into servitude, Zayd finds his place as the stablehand for the illustrious Fitzwilliam family. It is there that he forges a...
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"Adelia," Abigail implored, trailing her mistress like a devoted shadow as Adelia moved about her chambers. "Please, let me accompany you. At the very least, allow me to stand guard at the stable doors to ensure no one is near."
"You will remain here, Abigail," Adelia instructed with a firm resolve. "Your duty is to watch over my chambers in case anyone should come searching. This is no different from any other night I've slipped away."
"But the Baroness has been especially vigilant of late, vocalizing her disapproval of him," Abigail reasoned, her voice laden with concern, striving desperately to make Adelia comprehend the rationale behind her logic. "With the recent discord at dinner involving your sister, and the Baron inviting him to your name-day celebration against the wishes of the Baroness, I fear the timing is too precarious to risk anything."
"There is no more risk than any other night. In truth, there is even less. My name day celebration has brought the lords and ladies to our manor, keeping the guards preoccupied. Moreover, the merriment has left everyone drunk," Adelia argued, her voice trailing off as she searched for something. "Abigail, where is the rope?"
Abigail hesitated, wringing her hands. "Adelia, I beg you to reconsider. I have a most uneasy feeling about this. The Baroness has been particularly watchful."
"Abigail, where is the rope?" Adelia repeated, her tone more insistent.
Abigail's face contorted with worry as she reluctantly retrieved a long, carefully rolled bundle of fabric from behind a tapestry. "Here it is," she whispered, holding it out but not letting go.
Adelia reached for it, but Abigail tightened her grip, her eyes beseeching. "Please, Adelia. I am worried for your safety. What if something is to happen? What if you are caught?"
Adelia's gaze softened, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes as she regarded Abigail's worry. "Your concern moves me, Abigail, but nothing will happen. If I am caught, I will claim that I am visiting my mare. Trust that I will be careful, as I have been on all previous occasions."
Abigail let out a heavy sigh, her exhalation carrying the weight of resignation as she felt Adelia's unwavering grip on the linen. With a defeated slump of her shoulders, she relented, relinquishing the rope into Adelia's insistent grasp.
Adelia examined the cloth, feeling its weight and strength. A year ago, when she had grown weary of slipping past the guards at the front door during her nightly escapades with Zayd, she had devised a more daring plan: climbing out of her window and traversing the gardens directly to the fields and stables. She had stolen the canvas and linen from the seamstresses, and Abigail had painstakingly stitched and knotted the fabric together, fashioning it into a makeshift rope.
"We tested this, and it will hold," Abigail murmured anxiously, her words a prayer as much as a reassurance, directed more to calm her own fears than to offer solace to Adelia. Together, they affixed one end about the base of a sturdy chest, pulling it taut with determined hands to confirm its position.
