“Your ladyship—I mean, your Grace—may I come in?” one of the maids said as she gently pushed the door open. Amara recognized the voice immediately but remained silent, a wave of embarrassment washing over her.

“I’ll be coming!” she called, her voice soft and hesitant. She opened the door, avoiding eye contact. The maid entered, arms laden with supplies, and closed the door with her foot.

The room was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window, casting shadows across Amara’s face. The maid glanced at Amara, sensing the pain etched in her features. Though she knew she should say something comforting, words eluded her.

“I brought you water and some food you like,” the maid said, setting down her burden. She pulled out a chair and sat quietly, watching Amara.

Amara looked at her. “What is it, Meg?”

“The Duke said to watch you eat until the last piece,” Meg replied, her eyes wide with concern.

“You’re really not going to ask anything? Just watch me?” Amara questioned, a hint of frustration in her voice.

“Well, I do want to talk, but I already know you’re noble like me, and I don’t want you to wither away. You need to eat, and then we can talk,” Meg said, offering a reassuring smile.

Amara met her gaze but said nothing, slowly eating her food. “You’re really just going to watch?” she asked.

“Yes,” Meg confirmed.

As Amara finished her meal, she finally spoke. “My story isn’t any different from yours, so don’t worry.”

 

“ so different then mine. " She said. " I always knew you had a story, just like everyone else. But your eyes made us believe your pain ran deeper than ours. So, we didn’t question it. We stopped asking. We just watched you. You were silent, like flowers stripped of their petals,” Meg said, her voice soft.

“How do you know I was a lady?” Amara asked, a hint of confusion in her tone.

“You didn’t see yourself through our eyes, Mary , Amara. I’m sorry. Even when you did chores, you did them with such elegance. It was strange to witness someone so graceful—none of us carried ourselves like you did,” Meg replied, her admiration evident.

“Do you think he’s still the same person?” Meg asked.

“He doesn’t look like the man I once knew,” Amara replied, gazing into the distance.

“Well, no one remains unchanged,” Meg said, a hint of sadness in her tone.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Amara admitted, lowering her eyes.

"“But will you truly leave? Will you find happiness?” Meg asked, her voice a gentle and show her concern. “I’ve never seen you genuinely smile; it’s as if your joy has always been masked by pain in you.”

“I’ve almost forgotten the warmth of a genuine smile,” Amara confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“What will you do? This endless running—does it hold any worth?” Meg said,showing her concern.

“I don’t know,” Amara said, her voice catching as tears filled her eyes. She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I’m weary of running from my own story. It’s the only path I’ve ever known. If I accept him, it feels like a betrayal of who I am,” she confessed, her heart weighed down by the turmoil within.