The cottage door swung open without a knock, framing the three Blackthorn women against the fading afternoon light. They stood there, a vision of calculated elegance in their silk gowns and perfectly arranged hair, their presence sucking the warmth from the newly cleaned room.
Lady Jane led the invasion, her eyes performing a slow, dismissive sweep of the humble space. A hand fluttered to her chest in a pantomime of shock.
Oh, dear Layla, she breathed, her voice dripping with a syrup of false concern. I had no idea the condition of this place was so… austere. I would never have allowed the staff to bring you here. You must forgive me. The apology was as insubstantial as cobwebs, designed to entangle, not comfort.
Behind her, Eleanor and Margaret offered tight, pleased smiles. Their gazes lingered on the bare floorboards, the simple mended furniture, the clear evidence of their niece's reduced circumstances. It was a living confirmation of her place beneath them.
You are doing well making the best of it dear, Eleanor said her voice a frost-kissed blade. If you require anything, you must let us know. The offer hung in the air, hollow and meaningless, a courtesy uttered only to highlight the power dynamic.
Jane's attention, sharp and seeking, turned to Layla. And child, are you still considering the games tomorrow? I recall your cousin extending the invitation. Her tone suggested the idea was as ludicrous as a sparrow attending a hawk's conclave.
From across the room, Livia shot a look of pure, undiluted disgust toward the women. These people are pretentious to the core, she whispered, her voice a venomous thread meant only for her sister's ear
Lucia gave a slight, grim nod. Every word is a weapon.
Jane's gaze then shifted beyond Layla, through the oped doorway to the small yard where Silas supervised the young laborer, his own sleeves rolled up as he helped clear the last of the wild grass. She glided toward him, her expression morphing into one of mild, bureaucratic disapproval.
Silas, she began, her tone implying a great burden of necessary unpleasantness. You must understand, your frequent visits here may become a topic of… discussion. They are women alone, after all. I hope you see the need for more discretion.
A deep, displeased frown settled on Silas's face. He stood his ground, his posture straightening from its workman's stoop into something resembling a solder's.
My apologies, my lady, but I cannot comply with that. My duty is to her ladyship. I served her father, and I will serve her, regardless of circumstance. I will not abandon my post.
Oh, but she isn't asking you to abandon it! Margaret chirped, misunderstanding the subtle command in Jane's word. She only suggests you visit less for proproiety's sake!
Jane did not bother to look at Margaret. Her eyes remained locked on Silas, cold and unblinking, before she dismissed him with a slight turn of her head, her attention returning to Layla like a hunter re-sighting her prey.
Are you certain about the games, dear? Jane pressed, her smile a tight, lipless line. It a formidable affair for someone so new to our ways.
Layla, who had observed the entire exchange in silence, lowered her gaze to hands, feigning a demure uncertainty she did nit feel. I…I do not know, Aunt, she murmured, letting her voice waver. I have never attended such an event. Perhaps it is too soon.
Eleanor's smile became genuine for a fleeting second, a creack in her icy facade. Yes. Dear. A period of rest and observation would be the wisest course. You must learn our customs before throwing yourself into society. What do you think, Jane?
I think, Jane said, her voice oozing a false, matronly warmth, that you are a sensible girl. Come to me anytime you need guidance. We cannot have you venturing to the market, handing your own coin. People would talk, and such talk reflects poorly on your uncles. We must protect the family's reputation above all. She moved forward and patted Layla's cheek, a gesture that felt less like affection and more like a brand of ownership. Good child. I will have the kitchen send your dinner.
With a final, sweeping glance that took in the cottage's enduring shabbiness, the three women turned and left, their perfumes leaving a cloying trail in the clean, simple air.
The moment the door closed, the placid mask melted from Layla's face, replaced by a sharp, cold clarity. They are actively building a fence around us. They want to stop me from going to the games, and now they seek to cut us off from Silas.
Yes my lady, Lucia agreed, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. They fear you. A pretty face in a pretty dress is one thing, but a pretty face with a mind of its own and a loyal guard at her back? That is a threat.
Livia paced, her anger a live wire in the small room. But why did you tell them you weren't sure? Why not declare you were going?
Layla turned, her emerald eyes gleaming with a newfound shrewdness. Because now they will not expect it. They will believe their little performance worked. They will let their guard down. If I had declared my intentions, they would have found a way to lock me in his cottage. As it is they will still watch us, so we must be more careful than ever. We must be shadows.
As evening deepened, the promised dinner never arrived. The silence from the main house was a message in itself. Finally, with a grunt of disgust, Silas took the few coins they dared to spend and went out into the city returning with a simple, hot stew and fresh bread from a common tavern.
The twins could barely eat, their fury a fire in their bellies. They promise dinner and send nothing! Livia seethed, stabbing a piece of bread. They treat you like a stray dog, then worry about their reputation!
They treat us like nothing, Lucia corrected, her voice quiet but hard. And that is a mistake. Forgetting someone exists gives them the freedom to move unseen.
Later, as they prepared for bad in the now-clean cottage, the reality pf their situation settled around them-not as a despair, but as a call to arms. Lucia laid out the deep blue dress they had purchased, a silent promise for the morning.
Sleep now, my lady, Lucia said, her voice softening for the first time that evening. You need your rest. She met Layla's gaze, a world of meaning passing between them. Tomorrow, you must look like you belong on that field more than any of them. You must look like you never left a palace.
Layla nodded, climbing into the modest bed. The cool sheets offered little comfort, but the fire of defiance in her heart burned bright.