As a general, Amalia was remembered best for her brutality; the She-Lion of the North, they called her, for she had led her men like a pride of the creatures, leaving terrible carnage in her wake. Amalia preferred to think of it as “brutal efficiency.” Well, really, she preferred not to think of it at all, but such a thing was well known to be impossible.

It was with this brutality that she sat in her office the morning after Euphemie’s rescue, and planned the other woman’s recovery, noting each thought on a paper before her.

Problem: Euphemie rescued for now, but matter of her contract belonging to the empire remains.

Solution: Procure contract in secret and present to Euphemie to do with what she will.

Problem: Lady Margaret may object to soft treatment.

Solution: Find convenient way to bar Lady Margaret entry into home.

Problem: Solution will not work for brother.

Solution: Convince Eberhard of plan on next visit, otherwise, keep Euphemie away from him.

Problem: Without anything to do or any long-term plans, Euphemie may feel aimless or depressed.

Solution: Help her find fulfilling task. With luck, it can serve as “punishment.”

Problem: No way in hell is Euphemie going to trust me.

Solution: Do not expect trust, but rather work to build it. 

Amalia did not even need much trust; just enough for Euphemie to understand that she was safe. Any fonder feelings were not to be considered. Amalia did not deserve Euphemie’s regard. She only wished for her not to be on edge.

She almost certainly would be.

There was a knock on the door of her study. Amalia set her papers to the side and answered the door. Jutte waited on the other side, a cup of tea steaming on a saucer in her hands.

“You’re too kind,” said Amalia, granting her entry.

“I’m afraid this tea is not for you,” Jutte sniffed, settling herself on the chair across from Amalia’s desk. Taking a sip, she turned back to look at Amalia. “Tea is a drink for those who inform their households of new and suspicious guests before they arrive with them at bedtime.”

Amalia smiled at Jutte’s bristly words. “I’m sorry, Jutte. There wasn’t much time.”

“Then I’m right,” said the old maid, lip quirking. “You’ve brought home that girl from the papers.”

Amalia nodded. “It’s no secret. They were going to kill her, Jutte, and so cruelly.”

Jutte hummed, but her eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “And I hope then that your intentions with her are good. None of the household were pleased at any implication of you bringing home a war slave.”

“I mean to leave her be,” Amalia said. “Though I only saved her life by implying I would punish her in some terrible way, so we may have to find some task for her. At least if anyone manages to come by and check. But first let her rest, and bring her food if she needs it, or anything she desires.”

“Understood,” said Jutte. “I promise we will take good care of her. But I would be wary of leaving her to her own devices too long, my Lady. There is always work to be done, and we may not be able to spare much time for company. You have brought her here and so you must take care of her.”

Amalia nodded, but her gaze drifted. “I worry she will find me… discomforting,” she finally admitted. “I invaded her home.”

“Well, you could have found her other accommodations,” Jutte said. “You have made your bed. At least be gracious when you lie in it.”

Amalia could not help but release a most unladylike snort. “Thank you for your sound advice.”

“Thank you for listening,” said Jutte. “I’ll have Marie come up with a cup of chocolate for you.”

“Not tea?” Asked Amalia.

“No. I already told you why,” said Jutte, with a smirk, and with that she left the room.

Amalia was once again left alone with her books and her desk. Shutting her eyes, she leaned back against her chair. There was the twitter of birds outside, the soft crooning of the wind. For a moment, she was at peace. Nothing was needed of her, and for a moment she felt she could melt into the very air. Flit away, like a bird.

A soft knock at her door. Marie entered with the chocolate, a thick drink steaming inside a delicate teacup. It felt too small in Amalia’s hands, but then, it had been designed for more gentle creatures.

Marie’s skin was dark, and her hair was darker, separated out into rows of braids which she kept decorated with pretty beads. She had a softness to her countenance; here, Amalia thought, was a proper lady. 

“Thank you,” said Amalia, sipping the chocolate.

Marie stood before her, pressing the pads of her fingers together.

Amalia cocked her head at the sight. “Something on your mind?”

Marie glanced to the side, then back at Amalia. “It’s about our new guest.”

“What about her?” Amalia asked. “Is there trouble?”

“I wondered if you needed someone to help keep an eye on her, is all,” said Marie. “I thought I could help her settle in. Elizabeth shouldn’t have to take care of her alone. I could even show her around town, if you’d like.”

“Of course,” said Amalia. “Why don’t we see how she adjusts, and then draft up a schedule?”

Marie nodded. Her thoughts communicated, she turned to leave. Amalia stopped her.

“Thank you, Marie,” she said. “For offering help, even in such a fraught situation. I wouldn't have been surprised if there were some resignations after Euphemie’s arrival.”

“Nobody deserves to go out like that,” said Marie, and left the room.

Amalia sipped her chocolate. It was as thick as sin and twice as delicious, and spiced until it warmed the soul. When Euphemie felt a little better, Amalia would bring her some.

Until then, another moment of quiet. With little to do, Amalia found herself wondering what Euphemie was up to. 

The clock in the hall chimed: it was noon.

Footsteps at the door, two pairs, soft and hesitant. Amalia stood and opened it, heart trembling, and came face to face with Euphemie.

The other woman had, Amalia had to admit, cleaned up well. Escorted by Elizabeth, she seemed to float about the hall with the grace of a butterfly, her presence perfectly casual. The dress the maids had picked out was plain, but its gentleness suited her. Looking at her, you would never know how close to death she had come. Her expression ought to have been haunted, her back hunched. Instead she stood in the most ladylike fashion, face pleasant.

She blinked at Amalia a moment, and then smiled. “So this is my savior. How lovely to formally meet you, Lady Mondlicht.” Her voice was a soft and husky thing, its cadence as delicate as sheer silk.

“Hello,” Amalia stammered, feeling quite strange. This close, she could see that Euphemie’s eyes were green. An occasional ham-fisted line from the book had described them as “the color of jealousy,” but Amalia thought they were most reminiscent of a glade in spring. “I hope you do not mind your stay here.”

Euphemie cocked her head, as though Amalia were a knot to be unpicked. “Mind? I am alive, and all thanks to you.”

Her smile was entirely sweet, but Amalia knew better than to accept it at face value. “When you have settled in, there are some matters to discuss, but for now, please, let me know if there is anything you require.”

“How could I request anything, when you are so kind?” Euphemie replied. “Taking me in out of the good of your heart,  I might think you a saint!”

“You flatter me,” Amalia said. 

“On the contrary,” said Euphemie, “I owe you my life.” She gave a deep and deferential curtesy then, bowing lower than propriety asked, 

Euphemie’s voice was like syrup, and just the slightest bit too cloying. Amalia reminded herself she had no right to expect Euphemie to trust her. 

What would make her feel safest? Acting as though the performance was working on her? Being entirely uninterested in her? Perhaps later she could ask Elizabeth what she had noticed about Euphemie’s temperament.

“There is no need to be formal,” Amalia finally settled on. “You are a guest.”

Euphemie blinked, a frown on her lips. They were still dry and cracked, Amalia noticed. Euphemie could hold herself with the most perfect posture, but she was still malnourished.

“You must forgive me for being confused,” Euphemie replied. “You see, just the other day I was meant to die. Now you've rescued me. I only want to give thanks to my savior!”

There was something deeply uncomfortable about this. Amalia held back a sigh. “And you have thanked me, and it is much appreciated. Please do not worry about anything else, for now. You only just arrived, after all, and I wish for you to get to know the place before anything else.”

“I see,” nodded Euphemie, voice a little clipped.. “Well then. I shall return to my tour.”

She and Elizabeth left after that. Amalia sighed a breath of relief. Surely, she had made her intentions known. Surely Euphemie would understand Amalia meant no harm.