The next thing she knew, she was being carted along in the carriage. Sara was dazed by the assault and could hardly keep her thoughts straight.

Her arm was bleeding from a long and uneven scrape that ran from elbow to pinky. It reminded her of wrestling with her cousins as a child. A bad rug burn. 

After the guard had taken her into the entrance hall, the butler took over. The exhausted looking man wrapped Sara’s forearm in several handkerchiefs.

The white cloth quickly turned bright red. She remembered being unable to pull her eyes away from the color. They must have taken her to the carriage at that point.

The ride was as short as before but much more painful. Sara inspected her arm and saw that the scrape was not deep but it was bleeding quite a lot. The dull burning of the scrape was quickly overshadowed by the pain in her shoulder, which grew worse with every jostle of the carriage.

After arriving at the family estate, Sara was greeted by Nanny, who tutted the whole way into the main Harrington manor. She was expecting to be cleaned and coddled as before, but Nanny didn’t lead her to Lily’s chambers or a hot bath.

Instead, they walked down a long and intimidating hallway lined with portraits and statues that all looked vaguely similar to the face that Sara now saw in the mirror. Delicate features, even on the men, with hazel eyes that stared blankly out of the canvas. Red to reddish-brown curly hair on pale faces. In her gaze of pain and confusion, she swore they were all glaring at her in disgust as she passed.

Nanny looked solemn as she ushered her charge into the room at the end of the hallway. It turned out to be a grand study full of books, paperwork and art. In her daze, Sara only had a moment to admire the cultural wealth before the man behind the large desk in the center started to speak.

“I heard there was an incident at the princess’s tea party today.” The Duke, who had seemed a calm yet ominous figure at breakfast that morning, was standing with both hands planted on the desk. His eyebrows were drawn together, and she could see that he had a wide stance.

Sara had seen such a pose in the office many times. He was trying to project his power as she approached the desk. It was laughable given his pompous outfit of flounced sleeves under a raucously patterned vest.

He continued to speak in a low tone. “I hope that you apologized to the prince before you left the palace.”

“Not exactly,” replied Sara before she could stop herself. This was the same habit that kept snatching promotions from her grasp. The frown on the Duke’s finely lined face mirrored every manager she had ever had.

“Not exactly?” The Duke sighed and stroked his gray goatee. “Look at yourself.”

Sara glanced downward and saw herself from Lily’s father’s perspective. Her dress was torn at the knee and blood was dripping from her fingertips onto the parquet flooring of the study. At least the black silk hid the majority of the blood stains.

“You provoked the crown prince. King Gerald is very displeased with your behavior.”

Sara was baffled by this and couldn’t hold back. “He assaulted me!”

“Regardless,” said the Duke flatly, “your duty as his fiancée is to handle his indiscretions with grace and dignity.”

“That is ridiculous!” exclaimed Sara. The Duke’s right eyebrow twitched and he turned away from his daughter. Sara watched in silence as he selected a thin cane from beside his desk. He handed the cane to his steward.

“Please educate my daughter properly, as it has obviously been too long since I last disciplined her.”

Sara tried to protest, but the steward’s iron grip on her left arm as he dragged her from the room made her yelp instead. It felt as if her injured shoulder would pop out of its socket. Fiery pain spread down her arm as she was forced into a small room off of the main corridor. A thin window was all that illuminated the space.

“Wait!” she cried out, but the steward ignored her and forced her to her knees. Looking around, Sara saw that the room was empty except for a wooden structure meant for kneeling in prayer. The cushions had been removed and her knees and elbows screamed in protest as they hit the raw wood.

She heard the steward shifting behind her and felt her dress being lifted by the hem and thrust upward toward her bent knees. Her calves were now exposed and the pieces were starting to be put together in her mind when the first strike met flesh.

Sara screamed, the pain in her arm forgotten as the cane began licking at her calves. The thin wood licked stripes of fire into both legs. She shivered and cried between blows. Surely it would end now. It had to end after this one. Now. Please.

She could not see the steward lifting his arm, but she could hear the swish of the cane slicing through the air toward her. It became worse the more she anticipated the pain. Her howls echoed in the bare room, which seemed to be built for such horror.

Between the strikes of the cane and the mind-bending pain, Sara could feel a sense of rage building inside her. The tears in her eyes were spilled in part for poor Lily.

What have you suffered? wondered Sara as the pain forced her to dissociate. She pictured the tiny pinprick of light that she had seen in her dream. You poor thing. I’m sorry. This must hurt so much. Was she speaking to herself, or Lily? She couldn’t tell.

Sara understood that Liliana’s father distanced himself from the abuse of his child and hated him for it almost as much as she hated the abuse itself. Yet he set up this space, so close to his study. Could he hear her cries at this very moment? She cursed him as a pervert and a tyrant.

Eventually she realized that the steward had stopped. He was trying to help her stand with shaking hands of his own.

“My lady, I don’t understand why you are reacting like this,” fretted the steward as Sara moaned and refused to stand. “I even took into consideration your injury and only struck you half as much. Please do not tell my lord Duke.”

In her haze, Sara laughed weakly and muttered, “Half as much!” His shaking hands were indeed due to her wailing and screaming, but only because Lily had been so tough before.

The steward carried her from the torture chamber to her bedroom. The way he cradled her in his arms pained her intensely even as he attempted to be gentle. The man laid her in her bed and retreated quickly.

Sara’s limbs shook as Nanny directed the younger maids to dress her wounds and give her bitter medicine. She had never been beaten before. Never in a fight, never a scuffle at school. In her pain-addled mind, Sara wondered if she should have fought more at school. Then she could have beaten up her father and the steward.

“You should not have spoken back to the Duke, my lady,” admonished Nanny once Sara was tucked into the plush bedding. “He would have only chastised you a little if you had admitted your faults.”

Faults? thought Sara weakly. What fucking faults?

The medicine seemed to have some sort of narcotic effect, and her consciousness wavered. Sara knew she hadn’t acted like a perfect lady, but her awful fiance hadn’t acted like a gentleman either.

As she drifted into a drugged sleep, Sara hoped she would dream of the goddess again so she could beat the stuffing out of her.