Beatrice's pov
Throughout yesterday, my mind kept spinning. I slept for a few hours, but it still felt like I didn't rest at all. Thoughts of the Duke's sudden marriage proposal kept circling my head. And in the middle of all that confusion, a disturbing thought surfaced.
I am going to be married off, eventually.
If not to the Duke, then to someone else.
What happens when my future husband discovers I'm low-born? A mere commoner? What happens when he finds out I'm not the true child of the Count and Countess?
A quiet divorce would be a blessing.
But I know better. People don't forgive lies of birth.
Especially nobles.
For the first time, I almost felt relieved that my adoptive parents refused the Duke's offer. If I married him and he discovered the truth, their influence wouldn't be big enough to protect me from his anger. Not even close.
I hadn't eaten anything the whole day yesterday, but after hearing their conversation, I knew I wasn't being punished. Maybe they simply forgot I existed again. So I gathered what little courage hunger could give me and headed toward the kitchen to beg for food.
But the moment I stepped out of my room, something felt different.
Every maid, guard, and servant I passed stared at me. Not just stares, whispers. Eyes following me like I had done something unimaginable. It was strange. They usually just ignored me.
Yet I didn't have the luxury to care. Hunger was a louder problem.
When I reached the kitchen, I begged the cook for something to eat. He didn't say a word just stared at me for a long moment before handing me a small plate of food. I ate standing there, pretending not to hear the whispers growing around me.
Something had happened.
Something about me.
And everyone knew except me.
But if it was serious, I knew I'd eventually be summoned. So I forced myself to finish the meal quickly, letting my mind drift into that numb space I'd taught myself the one where I could stay awake but feel nothing. My own small talent for survival.
Once I got back to my room and the world stopped pressing against me, my legs gave out. A wave of weakness washed over me a feeling I recognized too well. A fainting spell. I managed to reach my bed before everything went dark.
When I finally opened my eyes again, my head was pounding, sharp and splitting, like someone had driven a blade through my skull. I forced myself up. I needed to know how long I'd been out.
There were three plates of food on the floor inside my room, two completely stale, one only slightly fresh.
Two days gone.
And this was the third.
At least they didn't forget my meals this time. I picked up the freshest plate with trembling hands and ate as fast as my body allowed. I must have been pulled out of the faint by hunger itself.
But right after I finished, the door burst open.
Two guards stormed in and grabbed my arms, one on each side dragging me out of the room. I didn't fight. There was no point. I was used to this. Used to their roughness. Used to how humiliation always came before the pain.
Whenever my parents wanted to punish me, this was the routine: the dragging, the silence, the cold dread.
But this time they pulled me into a room I had never seen before, a strange mix between a dungeon and a solitary cell. Before I could process anything, they threw me inside and slammed the door shut.
Darkness swallowed me.
The cold hit next.
I gasped as freezing water wrapped around my legs, reaching up to my knees. The room had no windows, no warmth, no light, just icy water and stone walls that felt like they were closing in on me.
I stood there shaking, trying to understand.
Why this punishment?
What did I do?
Normally, the punishments were calculated never leaving scars in visible places. My mother was meticulous about that. Even that day in the carriage, when she threw her hand fan at me, she aimed for my shoulder. Never my face.
Servants did the rest small hits, quick slaps, the kind that healed. All of it to remind me of my place.
But this?
This was new.
And terrifying.
My teeth began clattering uncontrollably. My arms wrapped around my body on instinct, but the cold still seeped into my bones. I didn't dare sit, the water would swallow more of me, and I didn't know if I'd survive that.
Something wet hit my hands.
I reached up, confused
Only to realize it was coming from my face.
Tears.
I was crying.
When I thought I had no tears left.
From quiet drops to uncontrollable sobs, everything I had tried to bury rose up at once. Fear gnawed at me, louder than the cold, louder than the darkness.
Something terrible was coming.
I could feel it.