My hands tremble as I adjust the gossamer veil that shields the left side of my face. Even after all these months, the ritual of adjusting the veil feels as natural as breathing. Tuck the edge behind my ear, sweep the folds just so—ensure the scars remain hidden from view.
When I turn down the next corridor, I find Breda, one of the young maids, cowering against the wall, her hand pressed to her cheek. A short, thick man stands over her with his hand raised to strike again.
“Stop.” The word bursts from my throat as I reach them in a few quick strides. “Don’t you dare touch her again.”
A sneer curls at his lip. “This doesn’t concern you. I’m teaching this servant her place.”
Anger tightens around my chest, emboldening me. “Herplaceis to be treated with respect and kindness, not to be beaten.”
His face reddens as he clenches his hands into fists. “You have no right to interfere with how I discipline the servants.”
“I have every right.” Refusing to back down, I lift my chin. “I am a member of this household, and I won’t tolerate abuse. Apologize to her. Now.”
He scoffs. “I will do no such thing.”
“You will,” I insist, my voice hard as steel. “Or I’ll ensure you’re dismissed from your position immediately.”
His eyes narrow, but I hold his gaze, refusing to look away.
After a moment, he stares past me to Breda. “I apologize,” he grits out.
“Good. Now, leave us,” I say.
He shoots me a venomous glare before stalking away.
The moment we’re alone, I turn to Breda, my heart aching at the sight of her trembling against the wall. “Are you all right?”
She nods. “Yes, M-my Lady. T-thank you.”
“Nobody has a right to lay a hand on you.” I grab her arm and guide her toward the kitchen. “Let’s get you something cool for your cheek.”
When we reach the kitchen, I settle her into a chair near the hearth. The fire crackles and pops as I grab a cloth from the counter and dip it into a basin of cool water, then wring out the excess before returning to her side.
“Here,” I say as I hold the cloth out to her. “This should help.”
She takes the linen and holds it against her bruised cheek as I sit across from her.
“I’m so sorry this happened to you, Breda. It’s not right.”
Tears glitter in her eyes as she lowers the cloth to the table. “I...I don’t understand why he was so angry. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Of course you didn’t,” I assure her. “Some people just like to abuse their power.”
A tear slips down her cheek, and she quickly wipes it away.
Her grief fractures something inside of me—the part of me that was locked away, shunned, and verbally abused.
Determined to cheer her up, I stand and beckon her to the door. “Come with me. I want to give you something.”
When we reach my bedchamber,I ask her to wait a moment. Then, I slip inside, my heart quickening as I catch sight of the Phoenix.
“Will you move to the washroom?” I ask, hoping I don’t offend the Phoenix with my request, but I don’t want her to frighten Breda.
The Phoenix regards me for several long breaths, then inclines her head and glides into the washroom.
My heart thrums against my throat as I close the door behind her, cross the room, and let Breda into my bedchamber. She smiles as I walk to the armoire and fling open the doors, revealing a row of cotehardies in various styles and fabrics.
“Here,” I say, pulling out two of my gowns. One is a rich burgundy with delicate gold embroidery along the bodice and sleeves. The other is the color of the sea on a sunny day.
