"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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"You did not listen to me," Isabella's cold voice echoed through the dark hall. The red-haired maid stopped dead in her tracks, a trickle of fear running down her spine. She did not turn to face her Lady. Instead, she spoke into the darkness.
"I have no idea what you speak of, my Lady," Eliza replied.
"Then why do you run?" Isabella countered, stepping in front of her maid. "And since when do you lie to me?"
Eliza's shoulders slumped, her resolve crumbling. She should have known better. Isabella, like her mother, could sense a falsehood before it was even fully formed. "My Lady, when I told the Lord Baron and Lady Baroness, it was with nothing but your well-being in mind."
Isabella's gaze hardened, her voice like steel. "Spare me your excuses, Eliza. Your words ring as hollow as your loyalty appears to be. Let this be the final time you entertain the thought of deceiving me. There will be no leniency next time."
Eliza knew well why her Lady's fury burned so intensely. It wasn't that the Baroness or Baron would tell the Duke, nor the two trusted guards; both girls knew they'd never breathe a word. Isabella's true disappointment lay in Eliza's lack of restraint—an inability to control her anger. No one harboured more resentment over the Duke's choice than Isabella, yet she kept her fury carefully contained, measuring her every move. Who was Eliza to presume to act on her behalf?
For Eliza hadn't acted solely for Isabella. She had acted for herself. Punishing Zayd had been her own grim desire, unrelated to the Duke's decisions. The sight of his blood mingled with Adelia's torment had brought not just satisfaction to the Baroness, but to Eliza herself, whose smirk lingered in the shadows, unseen by all but her Lady.
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
When Adelia awoke, it was deep into the night.
She walked blindly in the dark, her feet shuffling softly against the floor until her thigh hit the writing table. Fumbling in the dimness, she kindled an oil lamp and eased into a chair, her gaze fixed on the dancing flame.
Adelia sat, waiting. Though she was uncertain of what exactly she awaited.
Amidst the numbness, a dull ache of unease settled deep within her. It was the same feeling of dread she'd felt as a child, playing in the gardens though not fully able to enjoy it, knowing the looming responsibilities of her studies awaited her inside.
Her mind struggled to grasp coherency. Thoughts would slip through her fingers before they had a chance to take shape, elusive and formless. Tiredness clouded her thoughts, trailed closely by guilt. Her fatigue felt like a betrayal, though the reason why eluded her. Even so, the guilt gnawed at her slowly, like a worm burrowing deep into her spirit, consuming her inch by inch.
By dawn's light, there was nothing left.
Adelia turned her weary eyes to the door of her chamber. The faint trace of blood stained her vision, though she was almost certain it was all just a bad dream. Outside, morning birds sang their cheerful tunes, their melodies weaving through the peaceful stillness of dawn. A gentle breeze wafted in through the half-open window, carrying with it the scent of dew-kissed gardens and distant fields. The echo of the whip seemed too harsh, too discordant. It was jarringly out of place in the peace she now sat in. It had to have been a nightmare.
