It was a lie. If she wanted Caelith’s attention, she had to stand out. The dress had been buried deep in her closet, untouched since before the War, when her family had been accustomed to such finery… when her family had been alive. Wearing it now was a calculated risk, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And if she was being honest with herself, a small, secret part of her hoped Lady Isolde might see her differently—more peer than servant, more worthy.
“Oh, of course.” A single, unimpressed sniff escaped Lady Isolde, and she folded her hands in front of her. “The cook did mention you’ve been eating more at lunch each day.”
Emmaline stiffened.
“I…” The denial caught in her throat, and despite knowing it was just a petty jab meant to put her in her place, heat still rose to her cheeks.
Lady Isolde’s expression barely shifted, but the smug glint in her eyes said enough. “You weren’t given permission to alter the dress. And we have certain expectations for how servant members of this household will present themselves.”
“My Lady.” Emmaline dipped into another bow as a shiver traced down her spine. There was only so much a person could take. Her teeth clenched, jaw aching with the effort to stay composed.
Blood on stone. The wet sound of it hitting the floor.She squeezed her eyes shut, pushing the image away, but her stomach twisted in excitement. It had been so easy.
Lady Isolde turned, oblivious as her heels clicked against the polished floor, and for one brief, dizzying second, Emmaline had to press her nails into her palms to remind herself where she was. She swallowed against the dryness in her throat and straightened, willing her hands to stay steady.
“Go home until you can manage to show up in the correct attire at the correct size. Unpaid, of course. We wouldn’t want to set a precedent for exceptions.”
Shite. She couldn’t leave now; she had just gotten here and had a ton of work to do, let alone needing to find Caelith. And she couldn’t just murder the old cow. Could she?
“My Lady!” Emmaline stepped forward, pulse hammering in her throat.
Isolde pivoted, one brow arching. “Would you prefer the time off to be permanent?”
“No, my Lady!” Emmaline blurted, wringing her hands. “I just need to process the vendor payments. For the ball.”
Isolde let out an exasperated breath. “I’m sure it can wait.” She turned again.
“No, my Lady. I’m so sorry, but it can’t.” Emmaline forced herself to keep her voice measured, urgent but not desperate. She had never spoken to Lady Isolde in such a way, pushing back like this. “The vendors have strict deadlines, and the other great houses would jump at the chance to steal them out from under you.”
Isolde paused mid-step, tilting her head as she considered Emmaline. “You are certainly determined to inconvenience me today, Bremmeline,” she mused.
“It was never my intention, Lady.” Emmaline bent into a deep bow, nearly overbalancing in her attempt to appear as deferential as possible. She couldn’t upset the woman too much, at least not until Caelith was hers. “I only know how important this year’s ball is to you.”
Lady Isolde let out a long-suffering sigh, her shoulders lifting and falling with exaggerated grace, as if Emmaline had personally burdened her with an unbearable weight. “Oh, very well.” She flicked ahand through the air in a careless wave, her jeweled rings catching the light. “Just… don’t let me see you for the rest of the day.”
Pausing, her eyes dragged over Emmaline once more. The corners of her lips twitched—not quite a smirk, but... “And no lunch, obviously.”
Emmaline swallowed down the retort pressing against her tongue. “Obviously, my Lady. Thank you.”
Isolde hummed in satisfaction and turned away, her shimmering gown sweeping behind her as she glided toward the corridor.
“I really need to start vetting the Lord’s choice in servants,” she muttered, just loud enough for Emmaline to hear as she disappeared around the corner.
Emmaline exhaled, willing her hands to unclench as she turned to go to her small office off the Lord’s study. As much as she loathed Lady Isolde, she did have vendor payments to process, though they weren’t nearly as urgent as she’d made them seem.
One day, she thought.One day, she won’t be able to speak to me like that.Or, perhaps, she wouldn’t be able to speak at all.
Emmaline sighed as she strolled down the hall. As satisfying as it would be to leave a little enchantment that would send the woman pinwheeling into one of the garden’s jagged iron statues—or better yet, sailing out of the castle’s high-arched windows—she couldn’t just go around murdering every obstacle in her path.
Could she?
No! Goddess knew, she was already in hot water with Cassidy. She might have been able to justify the other woman’s death under mate Law, but killing her mate’s mother would be a little harder to explain.
Taking the long route, she veered toward the kitchens. Caelith had a habit of stopping there each morning for a pastry to go with his tea before his daily ride. She’d overheard the kitchen staff grumbling about it more than once—something about interrupting their lunch prep with his ever-changing whims.
As well he should, she thought with a huff. He deserves whatever he wants. The sheer audacity of the staff to complain about serving him. She’d have to have a stern conversation with them once she was Lady of the castle.
As she neared the kitchen, the scent of fresh bread and caramelized sugar filled the air, mingling with a more distinct tang of herbs and roasting meat. The warm, yeasty fragrance wrapped around her, rich and comforting, sending a low rumble through her stomach.
