I woke up feeling I’d done something wrong, but it warred with the feeling that I hadn’t done enough. My sleep was restless, the sp repying in my mind, mixing with a dream about things I hadn’t done. I couldn’t forget the thrill of having Catherine at my feet, but she'd done nothing to me yet, and I had no proof that she’d done anything to me in the past.

  As she entered the room to help me get ready, a part of me wanted to apologize again. This time I'd be sincere—not a practice attempt at manipution.

  I didn’t have a reason to hit Catherine. I wasn’t angry or frustrated. It didn’t even have to be Catherine. She was in the wrong pce at the wrong time.

  I wouldn’t, though. I'd already damaged my image enough and lowered myself enough. I didn't want to make Catherine an enemy, but I couldn't drop my guard or she'd take advantage.

  I shouldn't have apologized at all if I listened to Lady Rintour.

  Apologies were a touchy topic. Nobles never admitted they were wrong because others saw it as a weakness. Not because they didn’t know their actions were wrong. In a society where the strong preyed on the weak, it wasn’t the done thing for good reason.

  I’d spent a lifetime being weak and apologizing for things I didn’t do. My words were as much a weapon as my hand and I'd learn to wield them with a deft hand. Damed if even my apologies weren't knives aimed at the neck of my foes.

  That made me ugh. It was easy to say, but for all my grand procmations, I didn’t know how to save myself and was fumbling around.

  I huffed a breath, trying to ease the stuffiness in my chest.

  Spping her had another effect, other than turning my palm red. Catherine was more subdued. Her speech was careful, and her movements weary. I used to think Madeline was kind to her. But her behavior suggested repeated beatings—her arrogance was as much a defense as mine and she feared getting hit again. It was clear in how she flinched and watched my expression as we spoke. Yet, no matter how scared she was, she didn't forget to remind me how much I needed her or how much she cared about me.

  Still, there was a crack in her armor that I pnned to exploit.

  There was that feeling again—like I was doing something bad. Guilt. I acknowledged Catherine was young, but she didn’t have any care or consideration for me. I was also young. The thought hit me as Catherine helped me dress. I was fifteen, and she was fourteen, a year younger than me.

  No one considered my age, as they included me in their pns. I tamped down the feeling. There were two choices: use or be used.

  Catherine was quiet this morning, and I missed her chattering. It always helped distract me from the daunting task ahead, but human hearts were weak. I watched the way she moved, her tentative steps, and the stiff way she held herself, my heart hurting even as I steeled it.

  I couldn't protect her, so it wasn't my right to pity her.

  Having Catherine stay silent meant it was less likely that I would become attached to her. I also reminded myself that silence was also a weapon. We'd ended on friendly terms st night. Her fear was genuine, but her silence was deliberate and an attack directed at me.

  Alright. The next move was mine.

  "Are you okay?" I asked, looking at her cheek, which was allowed to bruise.

  "Yes," she said, lifting her hand to her cheek, hatred fshing through her eyes. "I'll just use this as a reminder."

  She wasn't speaking to me, and, not for the first time, I felt like I was missing something.

  “What type of magic do you have?” I asked, changing the subject. I should know, but magic was such a touchy subject for me, and I ignored all mentions of it and knew little about the discipline, despite growing up in a household of the most powerful magic user in the kingdom of Sargos.

  The hand brushing my hair paused. “Fire, my dy.” My reputation for screaming and acting crazy when people brought up magic probably preceded me.

  Jealousy burned through me, but I pushed it down. I did that a lot, burying my feelings. “I won't get mad at you." I said, gncing at her cheek again. "Why—Why—Why did you become a maid?” I thought of my first meeting with the Duchess—a blush stained my cheeks.

  She stared at me through the mirror before her expression eased. “After my father died, my aunt helped my mother and me. I respect her. I will do everything to return the favor.” Catherine’s hand started moving—her actions stronger.

  Gratitude. How useless. Wait—I turned the words over on my tongue, tasting the bitterness. I gave a dry chuckle. Yes, she was young and sheltered. Being my maid was as much a learning experience for Catherine as it was for me. I didn’t have enough information to pass judgment, but Madeline's kindness to Catherine had strings attached, and she might not care about Catherine much.

  Who would let a fire mage with unlimited potential and options become a dy-in-waiting for the most unfavored daughter of her employer?

  There was another crack, and I pressed forward. “Did you spend a lot of time with Madeline?” Two weaknesses. I didn’t know how to use them yet, but I was sure it would come in handy.

  “Are you curious about my aunt?” She asked. Her hand shook.

  I nodded. Catherine’s eyes shone. It shocked me to see her weariness ease.

  Too easy.

  Calm down, I warned myself. I used myself and my experiences as a measuring stick. Catherine was afraid of Madeline, but she was calmer.

  Madeline gave instructions to Catherine. There was some message Madeline wanted to pass on to me. If Catherine completed the task, Madeline wouldn't punish her.

  “Madeline saved me too,” I said, pumping as much awe into my voice as possible.

  She cpped her hands. “My aunt is a good person. She’s always helping those in need. My mother’s health has always been bad, and she couldn’t manage after my father died, so she sent me to my aunt. My aunt didn’t feel right separating me from my st living parent, so she brought my mother to live with her. She even arranged for me to work in the castle.”

  I listened to the excited lilt of her voice. Catherine was afraid of Madeline and, to some extent, hated her, but she was also grateful. I don't remember if she told me this in my past life, but in this life, her words held different meanings. Catherine's mother was basically a hostage to control Catherine. There were also notes of fervency that rang like brainwashing. Catherine desperately wanted to convince me her aunt was a 'good' person. “Who was your dad?”

  “Viscount Mallot,” she said, her voice a mix of pride and sadness.

  The blurry image in my mind took shape. “You are the Viscount's only child?”

  She nodded, her eyebrows pinching together. Where is this going? Her face seemed to say.

  “So, who is managing his position?” I stared in the mirror, marveling again at Catherine’s ability to make any outfit she chose for me look as ugly as possible.

  “My cousin is managing the position. I didn’t think it suited me since I hadn’t been good at studying since I was young. Aunt Madeline says it’s my responsibility, so she thought it would be good for me to enter the castle and serve the duchess so I could learn.”

  That was the prettiest bullshit I’d ever heard. It was hard to tell if Catherine believed what she was saying.

  Sargos was a cognatic primogeniture favoring the firstborn to inherit, regardless of gender. The only situation where the firstborn didn’t inherit was when their younger sibling was overwhelmingly more magically powerful. I was curious about what happened to Catherine in my st life. Madeline needed Catherine dead or married to another titled noble—that way her son would become the viscount.

  If Catherine was half as smart as I thought she was, she knew that.

  “You're lucky Madeline’s willing to help you with so much.”

  "So lucky," Catherine said with her head down.

  *

  Viscountess Rintour wasn’t beautiful, not like Selena or I. Her eyes were a little too small, her forehead a bit big, and her chin so sharp she could slice you with it, but she was captivating—no denying that. You might not notice her when she entered the room, but it was hard to look away once she had your attention. If I had to pick a word, I'd call her charming.

  I gnced in the mirror, assessing myself. A dress that was one size too big, not enough to make the wearer uncomfortable, but apparent to the trained eye of a gossipy noble. The color was a deep burgundy that aged me ten years and cshed with my hair, which was another disaster. Hands clenched, I resisted the urge to tug at the riot of tight ring curls that only toddlers or dolls wore.

  At the bottom were bck kitten heels, three seasons out of style, a worse fashion crime than the too-rge dress. At least my posture was good, standing tall with my shoulders back.

  I’d have to work on keeping my chin up, having never grown out of keeping my head down when faced with anyone with a peerage. It was hard not to ugh at my stupidity. I only showed my arrogance to servants before time and circumstance wore it out.

  All around, I was a joke.

  Those same servants I lorded over likely ughed and cursed me behind my bck. Even if they couldn’t afford luxuries, they served by the side of those who did. With Selena by my side for added comparison, even I found my behavior ridiculous.

  My eyes turned to Catherine, who stood at the back of the room, pretending not to watch, but never looking away.

  A dark and acidic thing bubbled at the back of my throat and gut. A dy's maid was more aware of the trends than anyone else. Her eye for what was in style was probably sharper than her mistresses.

  Head down, I swallowed. I'd stayed silent when Catherine dressed me, aware of her goal. I wanted her to—looking and acting silly was the best form of protection for now, but standing here dressed like a fool didn’t feel good.

  Sigh, it was so nuanced. A maid trained to serve the Duchess had to leave that coveted position to tend to the arrogant, useless, illegitimate daughter. The set-up was fwless. Catherine only needed to act young and py a petty and small-minded character, which would cause problems in the future. They turned her into a blunt bde and sent her to my side. With that character, she wouldn’t think the fault y with her, but bme and take revenge on me instead. It was something a fourteen-year-old girl might do if serving an ignorant dy. She didn’t take it too far, and it was something the surrounding adults would have to notice and stop. Everything was neat and had a logical expnation.

  A spark—a thought—maybe they wanted her to take it further. What action was too far? If the Duke killed Catherine for interfering with his pns, they'd get a tidy ending.

  I looked at my hand. I felt sorry for her situation, but I still wanted to sp and stomp on her. In her mind, it was easier to target me because disrespecting me had no consequences.

  “Are you listening to me?” Viscountess Rintour asked. I didn't know what that look in her eye meant—it wasn't disgust, but I felt like a roach about to be squashed.

  I looked at her, signaling her with my eyes and a slow uncurl of my fan, lifting it to my mouth.

  She arched her brow, amused and curious. “You there,” she said, pointing to Catherine. “Go get three heavy books from the library.” Viscountess Rintour tapped her ruler against her palm while looking at me with dark eyes. It looked real. I thought the viscountess was about to hit me. Catherine suspected nothing as she left the room.

  The viscountess watched. That perfectly arched brow turned mocking somehow. “Now that we are alone?”

  I steeled myself. I’d never tried bckmailing anyone, but how hard could it be?

  “How is Bradbury? Or was it Bradley?” I asked, knowing full well what his name was. “Ah, no. How is Brandon?”

  Oh.

  It was the same, seeing Rintour stagger, her mouth gaping, and her famed composure gone.

  The tiny rush and racing heartbeat were the same as when I spped Catherine.

  No, it was different.

  My heart threatened to leap out of my chest. My palms were cmmy, but I did my best not to make it obvious I was nervous. I started pacing the room to hide the slight tremble in my leg and arms.