She touched the new, cold band at her throat, and shivered. The servants’ quarters were empty still, all of their usual inhabitants still out doing their daily work. Those who worked the fields would be tidying away their equipment into the barn, polishing it ready for tomorrow, and making whatever preparations the season required; the household servants were engaged in serving dinner or clearing it, cleaning and tidying, waiting to assist the family of the house as they prepared for sleep. For now she was on her own, and she did not know what she could stand less: being so alone, or having others join her and see her shame. How would they react to her, their former mistress, now lower even than the lowest scullery maid? How would her brothers and sisters, her mother, treat her now?

She reached up and took the new identification necklace off, untying the strong leather straps that were made to last a lifetime, and held it in front of her face. She had worn the gold band of nobility for her whole life, but the metal she now studied was tinted with a pale blue. She blinked, and tears rolled from her eyes as if freed suddenly by the movement. Her father was deadly serious in his punishment of her, she knew, and having a new band made was a permanent act. The official records would show her identity as a servant now, and there was no going back. She would never wear the gold again.

She turned the delicate necklace towards the light, and tilted it so that she could see the engraving that would rest against her throat as she wore it. Whether that of a slave or nobleman, every identity band bore an inscription of the wearer’s name behind the symbols of their wealth and status. The commoners who wore bronze bands often had a family name and a forename only; three names were reserved for those with money who wore the silver band — traders, businessmen, and Lords — and those of the gold. Her heart wrenched a little again. It should not mean so much, simply to lose a colour; but it was a symbol of something so much deeper. Wearing the gold was a privilege. Only those who had been born into the highest class could wear it, and though the other bands could be bought through hard work and great deals of money, the gold was out of reach unless you could manage to marry into one of the families who held that right. There was no chance now that her dishonour would not reach the ears of every nobleman who held the gold: no, the likelihood of her marrying well was gone completely. A servant girl did not marry a prince.

She touched the name that had been engraved on her new band with a strange mixture of feelings. Though she had always gone by three names, as was her right as a noblewoman, those who wore the blue were only permitted one. Griffin had been Griffin only — and oh God, what was he now? — and now with her new identity came a new name to which she was going to have to accustom herself. She had been Ilona Octavia Breckenridge for all seventeen years of her life, and now that name was stripped away, tossed into the darkness like an old unwanted rag. She caressed each individual letter gently, rolling them around in her mind.

This name felt strange, this name was somebody else. This name was not her. Yet somehow, irrevocably, she felt that name settle into her mind as it would settle against her skin for the rest of her days, rubbing against her throat every time she spoke so that she could never forget. She turned the band around again so that she would no longer have to see it, wiping away the stubborn tears that refused to stop falling down her face.

At least two things had not changed: out of the four sections on the identification band, those two were unchangeable. She would always wear the red strip at the left side which marked her as female, and on the far right the colour that noted her place of birth was familiar, reassuring purple. The calming effect that these two sections had on her was negated almost immediately by the two between them, however: the ruby of great wealth had been replaced by clean metal next to the purple, a reminder yet again that now she owned nothing, was nothing, deserved nothing. Servants had no property, and as such there was no requirement for a symbol of their wealth — it was enough to assume that they had none.

If anything could enhance her worry over what future now awaited her, it was the final section. Linked a brief distance from the red of her sex was the small two-letter engraving of her status, her position in the general build of society. Until now she had worn ‘NM’ for Noble Minor — in less than a year she would have been due to receive the ‘NF’ of Noble Family, signifying that she was an adult but not the head of her household. In time she had expected to exchange that once again for the simple ‘L’ of Lady, upon her marriage to a Lord and ascension to a more respectable position. There was never any need for a gold-banded man or woman to use the system employed by the lower ranks, wherein their status letters symbolised their profession, since their only profession was being rich.

She knew that the farmhands wore ‘ML’, for Manual Labour, and of course she had seen the ‘Ma’ on her maid’s collar. The cooks wore ‘KT’ to denote that they worked in a kitchen, and the man who made her dresses for the summertime balls wore ‘Ta’ for tailor. She had seen the ‘D’ worn by several Dukes and Duchesses in her family’s social circle, and when the Princes made an appearance at those balls they wore ‘RB’ for Royal Blood. Several times a year, when their luck was in, she had even seen the ‘HH’ worn by the King and Queen, the letters that made everyone in the room fall to their knees and respectfully murmur ‘Holy Highness’ at them. All of these letters, and more, she knew to exist: so many ways in which one might earn their living or at least their place. None of those letters, though, were on her band. If she had been assigned something — anything — even ML — she would at least know her fate. Instead she could only stare down at the letters and wonder what on earth would be in store for someone who wore the letters ‘NA’ — no skills.

The sound of a low muttering out in the corridor awoke her from her inspection of the new band, and she hurriedly reached up to tie it back around her neck, flustered and shaking. Though the door was behind her, at the other end of the long room filled with rows of empty cots, she scrubbed at her face quickly to remove the tear tracks as best as she could. Tensing up with her breath held, she waited with nervousness and chagrin for the sound of the door opening and her fellow servants entering the room.

The handle rattled and turned, and after a moment she braced herself to turn and meet the eyes of whoever was there. Silhouetted in the frame were two or three farmhands, and more behind them, staring at her with expressions that were half wonderment — and half wicked sneers of anticipated pleasure.