The chocolate had been much too rich. It sat heavy in Euphemie’s stomach, threatening to climb back up her throat as she strolled, graceful as she could muster, out to the garden. 

Finding a particularly lush hedge, she hid herself from view of the windows and was sick into the bed of roses below. Wiping her mouth after, she shut her eyes and willed her stomach calm.

She need not panic. She knew her purpose, now. 

When she had lay in the dirt, laughing herself to death, this Amalia had shown up out of nowhere to negotiate her release. She had rescued Euphemie-- a slave! It all seemed so strange. But now she understood. 

Lady Amalia was not her savior but her jailer. No matter how lovely her accommodations, no matter how generous her gifts, she was here to crack the whip. Why was a greater question, but here Euphemie had once more figured out the answer. 

Amalia served Prince Leopold. She had said so herself. And so she must be working for him now. No other answer made sense. 

Beneath the bright sun overhead, Euphemie wondered at Leopold’s intentions. Did he truly love her, then? Was this his act of grace? Was it mercy, a way to save her for him? Or was this an ever greater punishment for stepping out of line, for not knowing her place, or for failing to successfully poison Lady Margaret? 

It was her poisoning of Lady Rosa that had caught his attention, after all. A knowledge of plants and their uses that could prove useful to him. Yet Euphemie had also left that knowledge behind just to please him. A proper Lady of the Holy Empire did not shove her fingers in the earth to pull out plants by their roots. A proper Lady of the Holy Empire was not from the Kingdom of Lavender. Euphemie had needed to be a proper Lady, and so she had thrown all of it away. Her parents, her knowledge, and her language, all gone. It had been less painful that way. 

Perhaps if she had not done this, Margaret would be dead, and Euphemie would remain in Leopold’s bed. Was that what he wanted? 

On one hand, he might be biding his time, until it was safe to return her to the imperial palace. 

Or, she supposed, he was discarding her in favor of the Lady Margaret. Leaving Euphemie with the greatest condemnation, a life spent alone. Perhaps he thought death would be her preference. Perhaps he wished for her to wait for him to call while her beauty faded and her misery grew. 

She hoped it was the former, that he still wanted her, and that abandoning her had been naught but a political motion. But contrary to the airs she occasionally put on, Euphemie was not stupid. One could never rely on the faithfulness or love of men. She could only trust herself.

Euphemie would cling to life with a bloody mouth, as she always had done.

Lady Amalia stood in her way, but Euphemie had dealt with cruel women before. They always had a weakness, whether it was a maid who could be bribed or a secret to use for blackmail. She would figure out Lady Amalia’s approach, wrest control of the house from her, and--

And? And nothing. Euphemie no longer grasped the power that being Leopold’s mistress had granted her. 

Defeated, she slipped to the ground. 

She had no protection here. She was a slave surrounded by those of a higher class. Even the maids, whom Euphemie had grown accustomed to ordering around in the palace, were of a higher status than her. What could she do without influence except for beg?

No, no, there was no more use in fighting. It would be better to be obedient and avoid Amalia’s strange and unreadable gaze. And hope, beyond all hope, that she would be forgotten here.

Her decision made, she swallowed her nerves and schooled her face into the most pleasant of calms. This was a face she had often employed for grand balls, wandering the hallways of the palace, and for high-profile shopping trips. The sort that made her seem pristine and unbothered, no matter the chaos around her. How obedient she had looked! How lovely and soft, like a rose in bloom.

Nevermind the thorns underneath. Those had been clipped long ago.

As she strolled back through the garden to the manor, Euphemie exited the maze of hedges. Unready to return inside, she instead strolled about the grounds, up to the great fence that bordered the woods. Just outside of her reach, the dark green of the trees seemed to beckon. Euphemie allowed herself a moment of fancy and imagined scaling the fence and disappearing into the woods. Perhaps she could return home, to Lavendia.

No. Euphemie swallowed down the memories of her past before they could ever rise to the surface. That time was done, and it would not return. She lived in the Holy Empire now. There was nothing left of the Kingdom of Lavender.

Euphemie turned away from the fence. Just as she began her walk to the manor, she spied a small flower from the corner of her eye. It was a soft purple, blushed blue, its petals long and drooping like the hood of a cloak. Something about it teased at the edges of her memory. 

Shaking her head, she returned indoors. Why admire flowers when nobody was around to see her do it?

A flurry of activity awaited Euphemie within the manor. Maids walked to and fro, going about their business with keen focus. Nobody seemed to pay her any mind at all. It was a far cry from the imperial palace, where always there was someone watching. Eyes in the walls. And Leopold’s gaze, eternal as the sun.

Standing in that busy hallway, Euphemie felt, for the first time, entirely alone.

“Miss Euphemie? Is it okay if I call you that?”

A sweet voice called out to her. Euphemie turned and found a maid standing at its source. Her skin was dark, her black hair sectioned into delicate, decorated braids, her eyes dark and strangely unfathomable.

“May I help you?” Euphemie asked.

“My name is Marie,” said the woman with a smile. “I wanted to introduce myself to you.”

“Hello, Marie,” Euphemie said, barely stopping the furrowing of her brows. 

“My family lives in town,” Marie continued, extending their interaction longer than Euphemie had expected it to go. “I don’t know if you’ve gotten a formal welcome to Mondlicht yet, so here it is! Welcome to Mondlicht.” Her smile was altogether too sweet. 

Euphemie became certain she was up to something. Good, good. If she had found a schemer, then she had found some sort of foothold. Here was someone who would be a careful ally or a dreadful enemy. Euphemie only had to figure out which she was. Light prompting would do. 

“Thank you,” said Euphemie, curtseying deeply as she could, ever so slightly below the height a maid deserved. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched for what expression she might find on Marie’s face.

A small frown awaited her, as though the maid found Euphemie’s extreme adherence to social cues concerning. In fact, she was even worrying her fingers in her apron. Such an obvious nervous gesture! Euphemie had worked hard to lose those. How interesting.

“T-there’s no need for that!” Marie exclaimed. “No need for that here at all. I just want to make sure you feel welcome. Since you are a guest here, for the foreseeable future. I even wanted to show you around town, if possible.”

“Ah,” said Euphemie, drawing herself back upwards. “How very kind of you.”

“If you need anything,” Marie said, her expression grave, “please, just ask. I am happy to help.”

“I understand,” lied Euphemie. “Thank you.”

Marie shuffled away, her shoulders tense. Somehow, Euphemie had managed to unnerve her. She could not imagine how; she had followed the courtly script near perfectly. The slope of her shoulders, the angle of her foot, the exact fingering as she held her skirts, had all been perfect. What problem could Marie possibly have found with her? 

Perhaps Euphemie had not bowed low enough. Perhaps her lips had been curled all wrong. Perhaps the line of her back had been too straight, or too relaxed. Euphemie bit her lip. Had her expression been too intense? Had it been too relaxed? 

Or perhaps the problem had come in her voice? As always, she had endeavoured to make it soft and inviting, passive and pleasant. These were the standards in the Holy Empire, after all.

Ah, but Euphemie was in Mondlicht. This borderland had to have customs of its own. An outsider, Euphemie did not know them. She must have failed to properly greet Marie in the correct way, and bothered her. This would not do. If she wanted to survive here, she would need to replicate these customs as quickly as possible.

The more support she could muster, the easier it would be to hide when Amalia inevitably chose to begin the punishment.