The guards found Lilian in her chamber, and although she knew the reason why they were here, she did not resist when they escorted her out.
Clara, who was returning with a basket of freshly laundered linens, stepped aside as the guards passed, her gaze trailing after them as they took the new Lady away.
"Hm?" She blinked, confused. "What is happening?"
"Clara," Linda hissed, tapping the nosey maid on her shoulder. The sudden touch made Clara jolt, only for Elise to appear right behind her, shushing her before she could make a sound.
"Am I missing something?" Clara whispered anxiously. "Why are you two shushing me? And where is the new Lady going with those guards? Don't tell me she changed her mind about cleaning the chamber herself, right?"
"Be serious," Elise replied, her tone tense. "I think the new Lady is in trouble. Go drop the laundry and come quickly."
Meanwhile, when Lilian reached the courtyard, Constance was already waiting near the fountain—her back straight, her posture rigid, authority radiating from her like a cold wind. Marianne stood beside her, looking heartbreakingly delicate, like the perfect image of injured innocence.
The moment Lilian stopped before Constance, she didn't even have the chance to speak. A sharp crack cut through the air as Constance's hand struck her hard across the face. The sound echoed off the stone walls in the courtyard, loud enough that the maids and everyone passing by gasped, frozen at the sight of the new Lady being slapped openly, without restraint or shame.
Even Marianne had not expected such severity.
Lilian's head snapped to the side from the force, her cheek stinging and already burning hot. Constance's lips tightened with satisfaction at the red imprint blooming across her skin, the very same she assumed Lilian had left on Marianne, but much worse and visible.
"Aunt… perhaps we should let it go," Marianne murmured softly, her voice trembling with practiced gentleness. "I do not wish to cause further trouble, and—"
"No." Constance's glare cut her off instantly, enough to silence any further protest. "She needs to learn her place around here, whether she accepts it or not. This wretch has gone too far."
Marianne simply lowered her head, pretending to be subdued. And though she hadn't genuinely anticipated such a public display, she couldn't deny the flicker of satisfaction curling up in her chest as the new Lady stood humiliated before everyone once again. She maintained her façade of reluctant mercy, quietly basking in the moment. It was obvious a lot of the servants in the fortress weren't fond of the New Lady as well, because some were secretly giggling in a corner.
When Constance faced Lilian fully, her irritation only deepened. The girl had not been moved by the slap, neither did she even flinch from it. Constance had expected her to crumble, to fall to her knees begging her for mercy. But instead, Lilian stood straight, meeting her gaze without fear.
Who does she think she is?
"You disgraced child, you will kneel," Constance commanded, her voice cold.
"And for what reason?" Lilian asked evenly.
"For striking Lady Marianne!" Constance snapped, wondering why she was playing dumb. But still, Lilian did not bend.
"I didn't strike her," she replied as steadily as before.
Constance scoffed, her disbelief dripping like poison. Was this girl seriously taking her for a fool?
"You didn't?" she seized Marianne's wrist and pulled her forward, tilting her face to show the reddened cheek, one that had conveniently appeared sometime between when she left her chamber and the courtyard. "Then who did? If not you, who would dare lay a hand on her?"
Lilian stared at the mark. It seemed Marianne had really taken her words to heart when she said to make the frame more believable, because there was no mark on her face when she accused her in her chamber. But all of a sudden, there was one on her cheek?
"I did not hit her," Lilian repeated calmly. "She must have struck herself."
Marianne inhaled sharply at the accusation, as though wounded by the denial. Constance raised a hand to silence her, her gaze never leaving Lilian.
"You will kneel," she said, final and absolute. "Until you learn proper decorum. No lady in this household raises her hand in violence."
"But you raised your hand to me without even hearing my side of the incident," Lilian retorted but stopped herself from speaking further. She considered the situation for exactly one second. One more word, and she would only worsen her situation like they wanted.
Constance was already convinced by Marianne's theatric. Logic would not win today. And pressing further would be foolish.
These people were capable of doing anything. And she would not give them an excuse to do worse.
"I see, so you won't kneel?" Constance felt challenged. "Guards!"
Before Lilian could process what was about to happen, ice-cold water crashed over her head. The shock stole her breath, and her entire body locked up, frozen in place as the freezing water seeped through her clothes and down her spine. For a heartbeat, she couldn't even move, only stare, wide-eyed, as the cold gripped her bones.
"Are you going to kneel," Constance taunted, her lips curling into a smirk, "or shall I pour another bucket?"
Lilian barely had time to blink before another bucket was poured on her. The cold felt like needles stabbing into her skin, and the force of it drove her down to her knees as she hugged herself. Pain shot up her legs, reigniting the knee injury, but she gritted her teeth through the sting.
She was shaking.
She was freezing.
Constance stepped closer to eye her pitiable form, her voice carrying across the courtyard. "You will remain here until I say otherwise. And no one–" her gaze swept the lingering watchers– "no one is to free her from this punishment. Anyone who tries must answer to me."
While she addressed everyone, Lilian remained on her knees, water dripping from her hair and pooling around her knees. Her breath shuddered in the cold northern air.
"Reflect on your behavior," Constance ordered. "And remember your place. You are a Vale. Do not test a Morvane ever again. Come, Marianne."
With that, Constance turned sharply, with Marianne gliding after her. She offered one last triumphant look at Lilian before leaving her in the cold.
Even the servants seemed to pity her now… like she needed their useless pity.
Lilian remained on her knees, trembling violently. The northern air was already cruel on an ordinary day. But now that she was soaked through with ice water, with her clothes clinging heavily to her skin, the winter chill felt like it was carving straight into her bones.
Her breath came out in sharp, trembling bursts, misting the air before her.
Every inhale burned. And every exhale stung.
The world was cruel.
But why was she still surprised by all of these despite being aware of it?
She lowered her head, letting another shiver rack through her body. She had known her life wouldn't be sunshine or warmth, not after everything. But still… she hadn't asked for much. She just wanted to breathe without fear. To be left alone. To exist without being punished for things she never did.
If she froze here, she wasn't sure she would fight it. A few years ago, she might have welcomed the silence.
For so many years, she had been treated like mud, like a stain that refused to wash out. Punished for a crime she never committed. Shunned for surviving a tragedy she had no control over. Maybe if she hadn't lived through the night her home was burned down, she would have been spared all this pain.
Maybe death back then would have been far kinder.
A gust of frigid air swept through the courtyard, tearing through the thin layers of fabric plastered to her skin. The water on her clothes had begun to dry, but that only made it worse. The lingering damp had turned icy, stiffening the cloth and numbing her arms and legs until she could no longer feel her fingers. Her joints ached from the stress. Her lips had gone slightly pale. The cold air bit into her like tiny, ceaseless teeth.
And still, she was not allowed to leave the courtyard. Lady Constance had placed her guards around to watch her.
Her thoughts drifted, dull and sluggish. The world around her blurred at the edges.
These people wanted her gone. They always had. And truth be told… she could have let them succeed today. But… as her shaking grew weaker, a small, burning ember lit somewhere inside her.
No.
She wasn't going to die here.
She would live. Live long enough to spite every last one of them.
Minutes bled into hours, and when darkness finally settled over the fortress, it felt as if the entire household had simply… forgotten she existed. Her maids could do nothing to help, and the steward was also helpless. Though he tried to intervene, she did not let him. Not only would he fail, but he cannot act without permission.
This feeling wasn't new. She was used to it, so why did it still hurt?
Her vision blurred, her eyelids drooping heavily. Each blink lasted longer than the last.
Her body eventually swayed without her permission, exhaustion pulling her sideways. The cold had seeped so deeply into her bones that she could barely distinguish her own limbs.
Just before she collapsed onto the stone floor, something… or someone… had caught her.
Warmth.
A solid, steady warmth was pressed against her, stopping her fall completely. The contrast was so stark, so overwhelming, that she almost whimpered. It smelled faintly of frost, cedar and something clean and unmistakably comforting.
If she had the strength, she would have leaned into it, nuzzled into that warmth just to steal a second more. She was so tired… so cold… and whoever held her felt like the only safe thing she had touched in years.
"I didn't hit her…" she murmured weakly, barely aware of the words leaving her lips.
She didn't even know who she was speaking to—only that she needed someone, anyone, to hear her.
Just once.
"I didn't… hit her…"
And then everything slipped away.
She went limp, her eyes fluttering shut as consciousness finally released her, swallowed by the darkness she could no longer fight.