With my stomach full and a cool cloth held to my face, I studied my hand. It was new to me. I was familiar with withered, worn fingers, perfect for scrubbing floors and picking through dead bodies. This maiden’s hand was a wonder. I turned it this way and that, marveling at the pink-shell nails, smooth palm, and unblemished skin.

  It was a weapon.

  I'd never thought of it as such.

  Funny, I'd been harmed by it many times, but never thought of it—never thought of my hand as a tool that could cause the same pain.

  “Catherine, come here,” I said, my heartbeat picking up. Although I was nervous, there was a strange calm. It was like I wasn’t in control of my body—or, I had too much control over my body—it was my mind that was out of sorts.

  I focused on the feeling of her standing over that bath, her eyes as she trailed my body. I used to think her kind, a soce in my misery, but she must have been thinking I was filthy. After all those years, always by my side. I'd thought her comments odd at times, but now I knew they were snide, petty things—knives hidden as words.

  A knife under my pillow, encouraging me to die.

  “Yes, my dy?” Her tone was respectful, and her manners impeccable. It reminded me of the past. I'd compared myself to her and mirrored her actions—cking a tutor—she was the best teacher I had, short of asking her for actual lessons. Even now, if you looked carefully, you'd see a shadow of her in me. Catherine never changed, and it made everything harder and easier.

  In the end, it didn't matter.

  I walked to her, taking a moment to get the angel right, keeping eye contact before I pulled my arm back and swung. The entire time, she watched me with her head tilted and a confused look. Catherine didn't see it coming.

  Cp.

  It connected with her jaw. She screamed and nded with a thud.

  I watched on dispassionately as Catherine held her check, blood oozing from her split lip as she looked up at me.

  I fshed my hand.

  It hurt.

  I didn’t expect that.

  It didn't feel good. I didn’t understand why people were so quick to hit others until I saw her on the ground, mouth agape, a mix of fear and confusion on her face.

  Oh, this is what it is.

  I felt powerful.

  I stepped closer, towering over her. From this angle, she seemed so small and helpless. My foot lifted before I stomped it to the floor, staggering back.

  What was that?

  Boot on my chest—gss cutting into my flesh—a cruel smile.

  Did I--

  I looked at her. The pain radiating from my hand was nothing compared to the rush I felt from seeing her on the floor.

  It was easy.

  All of it was too easy. One extra move and I would have gone too far.

  Who decides what's too far?

  The feeling was addictive. I glimpsed the monster I might become, the monster I feared the most. The monster I might need to protect myself. I looked at my hand, rubbing my fingers together.

  It's my due.

  I pushed that thought down. I stared at my feet, remembering how I had slogged through mud, every step an unbearable chore.

  How do I want to live?

  I didn't have an answer, and it didn't seem all that relevant given my circumstances, but the question swept away a yer of dirt, revealing a gaping hole that I needed to fill.

  “What are you doing?” she stuttered, her tone off. "Are you crazy?"

  My head snapped up. Eyes wide, I knew I was seeing her for the first time. This was Catherine —haughtiness, anger, and disbelief. I didn't know if my actions were too unexpected or if she was too young, but she couldn’t hide her indignation. Her tone was disrespectful, and something simmered in her eyes.

  Would she hit me back?

  I almost wanted her to try. I might not be worth much, but I was more valuable to the Duke than a single servant. For now, at least.

  Still, as the euphoria left, something unwelcome crept in. I pushed away a feeling too close to guilt. We weren't friends. She didn't care about me past her own goals. Her kindness meant nothing. Her pity was intolerable.

  I didn't need a reason to hit her.

  I didn't.

  They never had a reason other than they wanted to.

  Not moving, I waited for her to do something. Attack me, maybe. I'd been in her pce. When I hid in the pain, waiting for it to end, I'd imagine what I'd do given half a chance. Was she thinking of scratching out my eyes? Or breaking my hands? Or stabbing me until I stopped moving?

  Catherine got up, fixed her dress, and bowed her head—she readjusted. “Have I displeased you, my dy?”

  I was missing something, but I didn't know what.

  I smiled, something fragile. I walked to the window, staring at the yard below.

  Anti-climatic but expected. I wanted her to get angry—to fight back. I wanted her to be different.

  I wanted to be different.

  No. We were different. Catherine could tolerate me to achieve her goals. I'd sat in my suffering, waiting for someone to help me.

  I ughed, a low tinkling sound. It was joyful and light. My hand touched my throat and then my cheek. I couldn't remember ever ughing like that before. “Nothing. I was curious to see how it felt.” Catherine always knew my value. She never forgot what I was worth in retion to her goals. I was the only one who considered me useless.

  I turned to face her, lifting my hand again, and she flinched, tucking her head.

  That’s refreshing.

  I was familiar with that action, too. Be smaller, don’t make yourself a target. If they decide to attack and you make too much noise, they'll get annoyed and hit you more, but if you make too little noise, it would be boring, and they would try to get a reaction out of you.

  This was the second time I saw through Catherine . She wasn't a stranger to being hit.

  I took a breath. Happiness came and left just as fast, leaving me with a hollow feeling and more guilt than I cared for.

  I hit her to feel superior, and she looked down on me to feel superior.

  What a pair we were.

  “You should keep this between us,” I said, not believing for a second that she would. What type of spy would she be if she didn’t properly report everything I did?

  Catherine could tell whomever she liked. There were benefits to being the brutish bastard, cking in decorum. Violent would be another sin added to my long list of bad qualities.

  Preconceived notions were the best shield I had.

  “I'll go to town tomorrow. You should prepare for the trip.” I walked to the vanity, reached for the cloth I’d used to cool my face, and pressed it to my hand. The pulsing was getting worse, and my hand was red. I wasn't sure if I had broken a bone—probably not.

  It was hard to say it was worth it, but I didn’t regret it.

  My guild didn't ease, but it was easier to accept. I also felt the urge to do it again, but I ignored it. Taking my anger out on others was a slippery slope. Like every weapon, it had to be welded at the right time to be effective. Violence had its pce, but if used too much, its effectiveness decreased. My husband taught me that.

  System Initiating.

  Minimum number of revenge points achieved.

  Binding.

  My head whipped around. What was that?

  “Did you say something?” I asked. The voice hadn’t sounded like Catherine's. It was cold, distorted, and unfamiliar—wrong to the ear, like hearing underwater.

  Was it a god?

  I didn't have magic and was even less likely to be a prophet. Was it a demon?

  Catherine ’s gaze was a mix of contempt and concern for a moment before it settled. “No. I didn’t speak, but I want to remind you that you have lessons with Lady Rintour tomorrow.” Her voice was cold, cking that tinge of friendliness from earlier.

  "I am sorry," I said to Catherine . " I did not mean it. My dad hit me and it made me angry, but I should not—I shouldn't take my anger out on you. You have been so kind to me. I don't know what I'd do without you." I'd made a mistake and exposed my hand, but Catherine wasn't skilled enough to notice. The Duke and Duchess would know I was lying if I did that in front of them. I gnced at her through my bangs, gauging her reaction before looking away.

  I let out a relieved sigh when I saw her look of self-satisfaction.

  I moved, halting and tentative, my shoulders hunched until I stood at her side. I hooked a finger in hers, swinging her hand. "Forgive me, please? Hmm? Please!"

  There was a fsh of disgust before a smile bloomed on her face, bright and truly happy, before she patted my head. "Just this time," she said, graciously, like forgiving a misbehaving pet. "I have a lot of respect for you, my dy, and I do not want you to become the type of noble that is obnoxious and cruel. No one will like you if you behave like that."

  I bobbed my head fast. "I won't, I promise." I stuck to her side. "Can we--Can," I said, hanging my head, and digging the toe of my shoe into the carpet.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "Can we be friends? I have—I've never had a friend before."

  "You hurt me today, my dy. I've forgiven you, but it'll take a while before we can be friends. You'll have to work hard."

  I tucked my head, sneering. "Hmm. I promise to work hard!"

  "I'm looking forward to being friends. We'll have so much fun and I can teach you so much." She walked closer, holding my hands and then squeezing them. "Does your cheek still hurt? I'll get you some more eyes for your cheek."

  I'd bet my new life that Catherine was leaving to find her aunt.

  I thought of that odd voice. Maybe it's nothing. A lot had happened recently, and it wouldn’t be strange if I had a few hallucinations after starving for a few days.

  I turned my mind to a name that was both familiar and vague. Lady Rintour, a name I hadn’t heard in a while. A scandalous one that fell out of favor soon. I cataloged everything I remembered about my etiquette teacher and started pnning how to use that information to my benefit.

  I couldn’t always have spies around me. I needed to build a network. If I couldn't find allies, then at the very least, I had to find competent partners who were bound by mutual benefit.

  Which category did bckmail fall under? The dy, who many considered the social butterfly of the north, second only to the duchess and her two daughters, was pulled down and shamed, losing everything before being sent to a nunnery, where she died of 'illness' after a year.

  When Catherine returned, I'd tell her to move my pns to leave the keep until the day after tomorrow. I'd also have to inform Typhon. Excitement filled my chest. It was my first time exploring the town. In my past life, I never went out because I was ashamed and I had even less freedom after marriage, so I couldn't explore the capital.

  After I calmed down, I thought back to the meeting with the Duke.

  *

  I wondered how to end my father’s nagging. My cheek was numb, and I wanted to spsh some cold water on my face and get something to settle my stomach. In my past life, he shooed me out of the room after the gss cut my neck.

  I'd almost prefer that to this.

  I didn’t dare interrupt him and wasn't skilled enough to lead the conversation in the desired direction. It would be even better if I could make it seem like letting me leave the keep was his idea, but that was an even taller order.

  The words hovered on the tip of my tongue, looking for the best opportunity to come out. It would be best to make it look like I was just curious, having never left the castle—that would be normal for someone my age.

  “Are you listening?” he asked, his finger tapping his knee.

  “Yes, D, Father,” I said, sounding strange. I don’t know when he changed from ‘father’ to ‘the duke’ in my mind.

  “Were you about to call me dad?” he said, spitting the words. Anyone listening would think I'd said an expletive. “How pedestrian.”

  Pain nced through me, and I flinched. Selena called him Dad. Why was it offensive when I said it? “Sorry.” I was useless, so simple, and I almost screwed up. If I lowered my head anymore, it would fuse with my chest, and I wouldn’t be able to lift it, but I couldn't lift my head. I wondered how he would feel if he knew what I pnned to call him. He’d probably prefer it. “Ahmm. Sorry—I apologize,” I said, fumbling through my words. His gre didn't help, and the more nervous the harder it was to remember what to say.

  It didn’t seem the best time to ask, but the most he could say was no, and I was running out of time.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  I didn't know I was fidgeting until he spoke. I stilled, then thought that was unnatural, so I started fidgeting again, feeling lost and uncertain about the whole thing. “Can I go outside?” I asked, my words whispered and stuttering. I wanted to find a hole and bury myself.

  “Your punishment has ended, and there are no restrictions on your movements within the castle.” He said. He raised his left eyebrow, looking at me like I was an idiot.

  I swallowed a scoff. There were no outright restrictions, but I knew they expected me to stay in my wing and make my existence as small as possible. I wanted to see his face, but couldn't lift my eyes from his feet.

  My head felt weighted, anchored to the ground, but I forced my head up, just to prove I could. From beneath my shes, I saw him un-holster his wand, waving it towards his desk before a paper floated over and nestled in his hand. To him, our conversation was over—he'd said what he needed to, and I'd have to hurry if I didn't want this opportunity to pass. I wasn't sure when I'd speak to him next.

  I stood to leave before stopping, wondering why I'd reacted that way to his silent dismissal. I hadn't finished what I wanted to stay.

  I watched him, searching for the words and battling through the fear. This wasn't my ex. This wasn't the capital, but more than that, I needed to change. “To the town. I’ve never been. I want to go and see it for myself.” My words came out in a rush, so fast I bit my tongue and stumbled over the letters, chewing them up. My fingers twirled in the frills of my skirt. I plucked a loose thread and dropped it to the floor, liking how it ruined the perfectness of the room. A little, ugly, out-of-pce piece of me left behind.

  I stood there frozen, not knowing if I should leave the room or try again. As I was about to say more, the door burst open, and a man dressed like a butler charged into the room.