Marcella's bare feet left ghostly damp prints on the marble floor as she reentered the Valemont manor. The morning sun, now a cruel spotlight, exposed every grass stain on her nightgown.
Verona hovered at her elbow, her breathing shallow, as if the very air might betray them.
Then-the click of a teacup.
"Ah, there she is," Lady Agnes's voice was a scalpel.
The drawing room loomed ahead, its gilded doors flung wide. The scent of bergamot and lemon polish curdled in Marcella's throat.
She halted in her tracks. Her mother sat rigid on a velvet settee, the embodiment of aristocratic perfection: red hair swept into an intricate braided bun, not a strand out of place, adorned in an emerald-green silk masterpiece.
Lady Agnes held a delicate porcelain teacup in one hand, her nails painted of soft pink, and the other rested lightly on the edge of the tea table.
Marcella's elder sister, Rachel, sat beside her. Rachel's golden-blonde hair, the very image of their father's, fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and her powder-blue morning dress enhanced the delicate fairness of her skin. Her fingers toyed with a sugared plum, her smirk a mirror of Agnes's younger cruelty. Behind them, three maids stood sentinel, their faces blank as death masks.
"Look at you." Agnes's gaze scraped over Marcella's dishevelment. "A Valemont, dressed like a tavern wench." Her frown deepened as she set her teacup down with a sharp clink against the saucer.
Marcella's chest tightened, but she met her mother's gaze, lifting her chin defiantly. The sting of her mother's words was familiar, but it no longer held the power it once had. "Mother," Marcella began, her voice light and almost playful, "you've started your lecture before I've even had a chance to sit down. Shall I fetch a quill so I can take notes this time?" Her lips curled into almost imperceptible smirk. She knew what was coming—and she was ready for it.
Rachel plucked another plum, her voice honeyed poison. "Poor Mother's been ever so distressed. Running wild in your nightclothes, what if the nobles had seen?"
"Don't you dare try to make light of this, Marcella," Agnes snapped, pointing an accusing finger at her youngest daughter. "How could you dress like this and run outside? You regularly disregard your elders and ignore family rules. Fine, I can bear that, but this?" Her voice rose, each word dripping with scorn. "Running through the streets of the capital in your nightgown? Have you lost all sense of propriety? Do you have any idea what people will say? The disgrace this will bring upon our family?"
Marcella stepped fully into the room, meeting her mother's glare head-on. "Oh, I'm sure people will talk, Mother," she replied smoothly, folding her arms across her chest. "They always do. But I imagine they'll be far more interested in what you'll do to cover it up. Perhaps you'll say it was an imposter, running through the streets. People do love a good scandal, after all."
Lady Agnes's jaw tightened. "Enough of your insolence, Marcella!" she barked, slamming her hand against the table. ""You've embarrassed this family time and time again. I must teach you a lesson this time."
Her smirk faltered, her shoulders stiffening as Agnes turned to one of the maids.
"Fetch the stick," Agnes ordered sharply. "She needs to understand the consequences of her actions."
Her mother's fury was familiar, but the threat of punishment was a different thing altogether. She braced herself for it. But before she could react, a figure darted past her.
"Milady, please!" It was Verona, her maid. She lunged, her knees hitting marble with a sickening crack. "Please, My Lady! Punish this old fool instead- She's still a child, and I assure you she will never repeat this again."
"Verona," Marcella called out.
"Silence." Agnes's fan pointed at Marcella. "You've corrupted even the servants. Stand aside, Verona," Lady Agnes commanded coldly, not even sparing the kneeling woman a glance. "She has been coddled enough. It's time she learned her place."
Verona didn't move. She remained kneeling, her voice trembling as she said, "Please, My Lady, I beg you. Punish me instead if you must, but spare Milady."
The words were like a physical blow, and Marcella's heart twisted painfully at the sight of the woman who had raised her with such care and love, now so vulnerable before her cruel mother.
She remembered how she had belittled Verona, shouted at her, treated her as little more than a servant despite the woman's unyielding loyalty.
And now, Verona was here, once again throwing herself into harm's way for someone who had never deserved her devotion.
The head maid returned with the stick—a thin, flexible stick meant for discipline.
Agnes spoke without hesitation, her eyes narrowing. "Very well," she said coolly. "If you insist on shielding her, then you can take her punishment."
The stick whined through air-
Thwack.
Verona's muffled gasp. The stench of blood as her apron tore. Her shoulders stiffened, but she didn't flinch as the first strike came down across her back.
"Stop it!" Marcella shouted, stepping forward as if to block the next blow. But Verona turned her head, her eyes meeting Marcella's with a silent plea.
"Milady, please," Verona whispered. "Let it be. I can endure this."
Her blood boiled as the second strike came down, the sound sharp and sickening in the air.
No. Not this time.
With a sharp inhale, Marcella lunged forward and snatched the stick from the head maid's hand.
"You dare?" Lady Agnes hissed.
Marcella turned to the head maid who had delivered the blows, her dark eyes flashing with fury. "Since you enjoy flogging so much," she said coldly, "let's see how you like being on the receiving end."
Before anyone could stop her, Marcella lashed the stick against the maid's arm.
A shriek. Blood welled beneath the maid's sleeve
"You viper!" Agnes's voice was a shrill crack of fury.
"Mother, calm down. Your health is the most important." Rachel stood from her seat and tried consoling her mother.
"Vipers protect their own." Marcella flung the stick aside. Her head snapped up to meet her mother's furious gaze."Touch Verona again, and I'll burn this house down with you in it."
Agnes's nostrils flared. Her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the table. "Out. All of you."
Marcella hauled Verona up. She extended her hand, her voice now tender. "Get up, Verona," she said softly. "We're leaving."
"Milady…" Verona's voice trembled, but Marcella gently helped her to her feet.
"I'm fine," Marcella replied, though her hands were still trembling with the aftershock of what had just happened. "Let's go."