“Milady, your husband sent you a message. He apologizes for his absence and asks you not to wait for him tonight,” May whispered.
Why? What happened? Why wouldn’t he tell me what was going on? Was it a clan business? Or had he found something more exciting to do elsewhere, just like many men before him?
The blood drained from my face and I could physically feel Augusta watching me again.
I nodded, releasing her.
I looked at my hands as memories from long ago filled my head.
I was five or six. My stepmother stood by the window. Her hand clenched a damp piece of cloth. Tears rolled down her sallow cheeks. She wore makeup that was supposed to conceal the bruises on her neck. Splotches of rouge still remained on her face, but her tears smeared the paint on her skin. I gripped the hem of my skirt, I always tried to be invisible when she was in one of her moods. At times like these, I felt like something in her was tearing apart at the seams.
“It’s the fate of a woman, Alina. Men are not like us. They forget their promises and then they leave.”
Those words stayed with me for years.
“Is everything alright?” Augusta’s voice broke the silence.
It was the first time she addressed me.
“Yes. Thank you, Lady Augusta.”
Her lips settled into a pleasant smile. As if she knew what was on my mind.
“Did they catch the person responsible for the breach?” Augusta took a sip of her wine.
“I’m afraid it’s too early to share their findings.” I made sure that my face did not betray any emotions.
She watched me without saying anything else. No doubt she was prying to see how much I was involved in the daily affairs of the black clan. She could never know that I was kept in complete darkness.
“I’ve heard so much about you. Raised in the human world, taken here to be disposed of in a marriage by the strongest clan. It is fascinating,” she calmly observed.
I touched the goblet, but did not pick it up. The sour scent of wine made me nauseous.
“It seemed, however, that the third son from the clan of traitors was lucky to solicit your hand,” she continued.
I looked up at her, noticing the dismissive way she talked about my marriage. “You are quite fortunate that the old, obsolete, tradition of bloody duels agreed with the unrefined upbringing of your husband,” she continued, a thin smile appearing on her lips.
“You are absolutely right. I appreciate my luck very deeply. I was able to carve out my own destiny, free from the whims, wishes and wants of my family members.” I met her gaze.
Augusta’s mask of cold civility cracked and her nostrils flared. Contrary to what she tried to portray, she was not intimidated by the situation she was in. I could physically feel the resentment, the anger that boiled deep within her. Her father had deemed her unworthy of his position, and she clearly has not reconciled with the fact that she was never even considered.
“When can we expect your father to join us?” I asked.
“Lord Rutherford is unwell.”
“Lady Augusta, you probably know that the effects of the sacred water can be beneficial in fighting common illnesses.” I patted my lips with a napkin.
“My father’s condition is far from common. He has all the help he needs.” She turned away.
I played with my fork. There was something I was missing. There was strength and power that was buried underneath her delicate skin and cool eyes. Augusta was protecting her father, that much was obvious, but deep down I knew there was something else. She was forced to play her part, and she was not happy about it. Augusta’s lips pressed tightly together, the light of the torch accentuated her slightly crooked nose and long, pale eyelashes. And then it became plain as day. Augusta was a proud woman. She wanted to be distinguished by her clan, but she never had the chance to show her worth.
As it turned out, we had a lot in common. Both of us were women in a world where women were often overlooked, expected to compromise and be convenient.
I looked straight ahead. The rest of the dinner was spent in complete silence, broken only by clinking of silverware.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
FRID
