What the fuckis wrong with me?
I purposely needled Annora, and for what purpose? Because she dared to judge me? Judge Asha for her decision to marry me?
Somehow that judgment crawled beneath my skin, fanning my temper.
The door clicks shut behind Annora, and I slump in my chair.
“You didn’t need to be that harsh,” Asha says.
I wave her concern away, but my chest tightens. The way Annora looked at me, like I’m nothing more than the monster under a child’s bed. Like I’m…
“She needed to hear it,” I say after a long while of neither of us speaking.
“Did she?” Asha’s chair scrapes against the floor as she stands. “Or did you need to say it?”
Heat crawls up my neck as I rise, pacing to the window. Below, servants scurry across the courtyard like ants.
But Annora treats them like they matter. Like everyone matters.
I shrug.
Asha’s footsteps fade toward the door. “Just remember. She’s still my sister.”
The door closes again, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Why did Annora’s judgment pierce so deep?
I drag my fingers through my hair and walk out of the parlor. Servants dart out of my path like scattered birds. All except one. Breda stands on her tiptoes, dusting a high shelf.
“If you stretch any further, you’ll snap in half.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
She startles, nearly dropping her duster. “My Lord, I didn’t see you there.”
“Clearly.” I reach past her, grabbing the item she’s been struggling to reach—a decorative vase perched on the highest shelf. “Though, I’m enjoying watching you try to grow taller through sheer willpower.”
Her cheeks flush pink. “I was managing just fine.”
“Of course you were.” I hand her the vase, unable to resist adding, “Though perhaps, we should get you a box to stand on. Or stilts?”
“You’re terrible.”
“So, I’ve been told.” Multiple times today, in fact. “Tell me, does being that short make the world look different? Do you spend all day staring at everyone’s knees?”
Breda swats at me with her duster, then freezes, horrified at her own boldness. But I just laugh, and for a moment, I forget about Annora’s judgment.
“Let me help you finish dusting these shelves,” I say, reaching for another vase. “It’s rather entertaining watching you hop around like a rabbit.”
“I do not hop.” Breda snatches the vase from my hands. “And shouldn’t you be doing something more important? Like running a kingdom or plotting someone’s downfall?”
“Are you suggesting I have ulterior motives for helping a servant dust shelves?”
“Everyone says you always have ulterior motives.” She doesn’t say it with fear or judgment. Just states it like she’s commenting on how many rooms she has to clean today.
“And what do you think?”
“I think you’re bored and avoiding something.” She hands me her duster. “Here, make yourself useful while you procrastinate.”
Most servants would sooner jump out a window than hand me cleaning supplies. “Giving orders to your lord now?”
