Chapter 7

ELARA'S POV

Not interested? I rolled my eyes inwardly. Not interested?! Was this dude for real? Did I seem like I was begging for his attention?

"I don't get what you're saying, Sire," I murmured softly, keeping my eyes glued to the ground. Playing clueless felt like the smartest move right then.

Otherwise, I might blurt out something I'd regret for the rest of my life... assuming I even had much of one left.

"Don't play games," he shot back.

I lifted my head. "I'm not," I replied, my voice edging up a notch. "I honestly have no clue what you mean."

He stepped in closer, his stare drilling right through me. "Fine, whatever."

With a hasty dip of my head, I snatched up my pail and hurried off, putting as much space between us as possible. I made a beeline for the laundry area, and when I got there, Martha was perched on a stool.

"Hey," she spun around with a tired grin, "Got a bit clumsy and nicked myself." I eyed the finger she held up—it was a nasty gash.

I looked away quick, fighting the urge to fix it. "You should see the pack doc or grab some herbs at least. That ought to ease it."

"Yeah, I figured. I'm calling it quits for now. You okay wrapping up?"

"Yep, no problem."

She glanced toward the window. "Sky's looking iffy—might rain, might not."

"Better get a move on then."

"Right, go for it."

~

I split from Martha and headed back to keep at it. Laundry was done, so next up was mopping the floors. As I got lost in the scrubbing, some soft women's voices drifted over.

At first, I brushed it off, thinking it was just the usual chatter from the staff, but nope—it was Marceline, Ronan's mistress.

Nosiness won out, and with a heavy breath, I straightened up to sneak a look. I crept down the hall on tiptoe, peeking around the corner. Yep, there she was with those three chatty maids from before. They were deep in some intense talk, the kind nobody else should overhear.

I was about to bail when I spotted the fresh marks blooming on one girl's arms.

Wait, was she punishing them? No whip in sight, though—maybe from earlier?

Whatever, none of my concern. For a split second, I almost felt a twinge of... sympathy, I suppose?

"Nah, not my mess." I spun around and headed off. Those chicks had probably been blabbing about stuff that wasn't theirs to share, just to feel superior.

I dove back into my tasks, which dragged on for nearly three hours, but eventually, I wrapped it up.

On my way to the bathroom to swap out of my grubby clothes, I ran smack into those three girls again. They froze up the second they saw me, shooting each other weird looks, their faces twisted in some odd way, but I couldn't be bothered.

I brushed by them, chin tucked a bit, slipped into a stall, and shut the door.

When I was done washing up and stepped out, the place was deserted. The girls had vanished, but something on the floor caught my eye—a necklace.

Not some cheap trinket. This was solid gold, with fancy, one-of-a-kind detailing. Definitely not for everyday folks... more like something royal.

My pulse skipped. Marceline!

Ah, got it—they were setting me up? That explained the guilty vibes when I showed up. Too bad for them; I'd dealt with nastier schemes from Seraphina.

I'd seen enough of people's sneaky sides to know better, so I just ignored the thing.

I sidestepped it carefully and made my way back to the room to crash for the night.

Pushing open the door, I found Martha on her bed, worry creasing her brow. She had a stash of herbs and wraps spread out next to her.

"You holding up?"

"I'm okay," she said, forcing a grin, "But this finger's killing me. Hope the workload wasn't too rough on you?"

I shrugged it off. "Manageable."

Her gaze dropped to my arms, and she cringed at the faint bruises. "You've been pushing too hard. Take tomorrow off. It's not like we're short on help around here."

"It's day one for me. Not planning to slack off already."

"I'm not saying quit—I'm saying recharge."

"You're preaching to the choir," I teased, nodding at her wrapped-up finger. Her cheeks flushed pink, mouth opening like she wanted to argue, but nothing came out.

"Yeah, fine."

I chuckled at her reaction. It was strange—we'd only crossed paths a day or so ago, but it felt like we'd known each other forever.

We chatted for a bit, sticking to light stuff mostly. I didn't even notice when sleep tugged me under, the fatigue hitting like a wave.

Come morning, I stirred with a pounding head. First thing I clocked was Martha's empty bed.

Weird, right? She struck me as the type to rise with the sun.

I shook it off, figuring she'd popped out early for something.

After pulling myself together for about thirty minutes, I headed out—and immediately collided with a young servant girl. She looked way younger, maybe sixteen tops.

"What's up?" I asked, seeing how rattled she was.

"You're the one rooming with Martha, yeah?"

"Yep," I confirmed. "Everything alright?"

She stuttered, tears welling up. "They... they're saying she stole something! I'm terrified they'll do something awful to her!"

Theft? No way... unless.

"I'm heading to the bathroom now." Martha's words from last night echoed before I'd conked out. Oh crap—she must've walked right into it!

Without hesitating, I bolted toward Marceline's quarters. No clue what my plan was, but I had to do something.

The setup was meant for me, not her—she didn't deserve this. And I knew damn well she hadn't swiped it on purpose.

At the massive wooden doors to Marceline's rooms, I gulped, steadying my nerves. I rapped and called out who I was. The door flew open almost instantly. I dashed in and dropped to my knees.

Marceline loomed over me, her face like stone... so icy it could freeze hot soup solid.

"And what do you need?"

"Martha's no crook," I said, voice shaky despite my efforts to stay cool, but her frosty glare shrank me down. "Please, I swear she's innocent—she didn't take a thing."

"If not her, then who?"

"I..." My brain scrambled—why hadn't I thought ahead? Pointing fingers at those three maids would just boomerang back on me. It was their scheme.

"Well?!" she snapped, louder now.

"Martha was with the healer yesterday, and we teamed up the whole time. No way, milady—she's not the one. Think it over, please."

She stayed quiet, eyes pinned on me. "Defending a stranger you barely know?"

"She's good people. I can tell that much," I stood to meet her stare. "I can't just watch her pay for something she didn't do."

"So who did?" She crossed her arms, and I spotted a tiny smirk flicker.

"How should I know, milady?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"We stick to the lower levels—we're the downstairs crew, don't mess with meals or anything fancy. The real thief's gotta be someone with easy access to your stuff. I bet they ditched it there, and Martha just happened to stumble in."

Her mouth curved into a sharp scowl, eyes flashing hot.

I smirked inside. Bingo—it was her setup.

"You're implying a setup?"

"Nah," I denied, shaking my head. "The culprit knew they were toast, so they bolted, dumping the proof to cover their ass."

She went still for a beat, then paced back and forth a few times before facing me again. "Alright, your logic holds. Martha's off the hook."

"Thank you!" I jumped up, bobbing my head over and over. As I turned to go, her words stopped me cold.

"You're getting away with it this time, Elara."

I grinned over my shoulder. "I know."