A woman in a brown dress scampered down the halls, her sleeves already rolled up and her apron tied tight around her waist. Down a flight of stairs, 'round the corner, like a garden rabbit, she hopped her way down to the kitchens.

Kitchen maids scurried to and fro around counters and pans. The scent of pot roast and charcoal soaked the air. Tali, who was hunched over a pot of stew, perked up at the woman's arrival. "Lady Nida! You cannot be down here again!"

Nida slowed down, skidding to a halt just before the ovens. She stared blankly at the old woman.

Tali's gaze travelled along Nida's scar, a long and jagged laceration that cut from the right corner of Nida's hairline, cross her left eye, and down to the left corner of her jaw. When Tali saw the scar nearly 12 years ago, she couldn't stop herself from wincing at the sight, but she was used to it now.

"Shouldn't you be reading?" Tali prodded.

Nida didn't say a word, only shaking her head. Her fingers twitched, ready to chop and cut and stir. Shouldn't she know by now? Nida thought to herself.

As though Tali could hear that musing, she nodded. "Fine. Fine. Get to it then."

A bright smile blossomed on Nida's face, twisting her scar into a curve. She took a kitchen knife in one hand and a bundle of washed vegetables in the other. 

When the work was finished and Tali finally succeeded in shooing away the girl, Nida made her way to the evergreen gardens next. The day was still young, and the sun was high in the sky. It would snow soon, and Nida was sure Mister Lancer would need help with the pruning. But, just as she reached the courtyard, she heard a voice, the voice of her lover, Lord Dacen Filori. Then, two other voices, a man and a woman's. Nida hurried behind a bush; she wasn't allowed to see any nobles besides the Filori's, let alone Lord Dacen's friends. 

"How is your betrothed anyway?" The man said. He was the first down the cobblestone path. That blonde hair and green eyes and bulky frame. He must be Lord Oxen, Nida thought.

Lord Dacen scoffed, "She's pretty and rich. What more could I ask for?"

The woman was last down the path. Pitch black hair, dark skin and a bright, pastel dress. Lady Melodi Visi, of course. "I don't know why you bothered asking. You know he only thinks of the ward."

Lady Nida's ears perked up at the mention of her title.

"Ah, yes, the mysterious ward of the Filori's. She must be a beauty for you to be so infatuated with her."

"That she is not," Lord Dacen replied indifferently.

"I'd like to be the judge of that for myself," said Lady Melodi.

"Then, you will be surely disappointed."

"Ugh," Lord Oxen groaned, "this curiosity is killing me! Just let us see her already, won't you?"

"Are my romantic exploits all you two can think of?"

"Well," Lady Melodi began.

"Well, if she's nothing special, how can she possibly match up to Lady Avarice?" Lord Oxen interrupted.

"A trained woman is better than a beautiful woman any day."

Lady Nida stopped, her feet seemingly stuck to the ground. Her heart split in two, driving a sharp pain up her throat. Trained?

Between the trees and hedges and bushes, she caught clear sight of them, laughing and gesturing without a care, unaware and uncaring of the harm they had caused. Suddenly, working in the gardens or doing any of her usual tasks seemed unappealing. Her vitality from that morning had dissipated, replaced by a cold and damp anxiety upon her shoulders.

The grass rustled beneath her as she turned to leave. Lord Dacen's head snapped to the direction of the sound. Just then, their eyes met. Nida's breath hitched.

"What was that?" Lady Melodi asked.

"Nothing. Probably just a rabbit that's snuck into the gardens again," Lord Dacen replied, turning back to the path.

"My father could help with that," Lord Oxen chimed.

"I don't want any part of your father's abominations."

As they drifted further down the path, their voices became quieter and quieter. 

...

After hearing those horrid words, Lady Nida retired to her room. It wasn't quite as grand and opulent as the rest of the rooms in the Filori estate, but she never wanted for more. It had everything she needed, a plush bed, artisan-made chaises, wide windows, and little shelves filled with rolls of fabric.

Of the tasks expected of a noble lady, there were very few Lady Nida actually enjoyed. Reading didn't quite suit her fancy, and singing...well, she didn't have very much of a voice to begin with. But, embroidery--the act of weaving and knitting and crafting something beautiful--was just her style. 

Now, as she sat in her chair right next to the window, she set to work. A slim needle was caught between her fingertips and a plate of fabric was grasped in her hand. Her fingers moved quickly: In one stroke, the needle pierced the fabric, curved, and emerged once more. It was the kind of task that required just enough thought that she could ignore the ache in her heart. 

In time, roses and butterflies began to sprout in beautiful red and gold hues, while pretty orange and pink hues coloured the sky and painted her room with a wondrous gradient. Nida smiled to herself as the images took form; this distraction had been a success.

That distraction was short-lived, however.

"Hello, Nida," Lord Dacen entered her room, his hands behind his back. He said each word with a charming lilt. The nerve of him, really.

Nida looked up at him for only a moment. His words in the courtyard still stung.

"You're upset."

Nida shifted in her seat more towards the window.

Lord Dacen took the seat opposite hers; he kept his eyes trained on her frame, watching her hands at work. "I will ask Father and Lady Avarice if you can remain here. The summer house would be too lonely for you."

The needle stabbed into Nida's finger; a thin trail of blood trickled down her hand and drip-dropped onto the fabric in her lap. She winced and put the finger between her lips, tasting copper.

*He doesn't understand,* she thought. "I...can...not." She finally spoke, her voice rough and raspy.

"Anything I say is possible. Just give me a chance."

Nida huffed."I...can...not."

Lord Dacen responded with a huff of his own. "You're as stubborn as always. I'll speak with Father tonight. Lady Avarice is visiting tomorrow. You can meet her then."

Is he daft? Lady Nida wondered. What woman in her right mind would say yes to a proposition like that? Let alone Lady Avarice?* Irritation built in her chest; he hadn't even apologised for his ridiculous lines earlier before saying more of them.

Lord Dacen stood and neared the side of her chair. He caught a glimpse of her embroidery; it was pretty, but he didn't care for such things. He placed his hand against her cheek, turning her face to his. But, just as he leaned in for a kiss, Lady Nida shot up from her chair. 

"Nida? Oh, come now, you're not that mad at me, are you?"

Nida shuffled over to the maplewood nightstand beside her bed and pulled out a little journal. Ripping out a page and taking up a pen with black ink, she carved in the word, "Trained?"

Then, she marched back over to him and shoved the paper into his hands.

"What? You think you aren't?" He said it with a smile.

Nida steeled herself. That smile, which crinkled his eyes and revealed the dimples in his tan cheeks, was the very same one she had fallen in love with years ago. She ripped out another page; this time, she wrote, "How can you say that?"

"You're thinking about this too deeply, my dear. It was only a joke amongst friends. Must I be nagged all evening about it?"

Her cheeks flushed a deep reddish brown, tinting her dark skin. The bristling feeling permeating her shoulders and neck and back was so uncomfortable she wanted to scream. 

But, before the situation could devolve any further, a maid appeared at the door. She wore a loose black linen dress and a white apron, the uniform of the housemaids. Her long, flaxen hair was tied up in a braid, and she kept her eyes low so as not to intrude. "Milady, milord, Viscount Filori has summoned you. Dinner is served."

"Thank you, Maeve," Lord Dacen replied. He waited until the girl scurried away to continue. 

"I don't want to argue with you, Nida. Though I don't think I've done anything wrong, I am sorry that you feel hurt. Here," he said, taking a bracelet out of his chest pocket. The piece of jewelry hung from his fingertips, a little line of pearls with a single red gem at its center. "I was going to give you this earlier, but you interrupted me. Pass me your hand, I'll put it on you." 

Nida extended her arm, offering him her wrist. His questions had started to gnaw on her. It wasn't right for her to hold grudges. He had to put up a front with his friends. It was only natural. Those were the thoughts running in her mind, but, as he wrapped the bracelet and fastened it with a soft click, she started to feel a certain similarity to a dog putting out their paw. If not for Lord Dacen's grip on her wrist, she would have jerked her arm away right then and there. 

Then, Lord Dacen lifted her hand to his lips, landing a soft kiss. And, just like that, Lady Nida's anger was extinguished as quickly as if he had blown out a candle. "Now, we should go. Father will be angry if we're late."

...

The dining room was unnecessarily large. There were hardly enough visitors to justify it. Same with the table. But, Viscount Filori had dreams, this Nida knew well. After all, she was part of his plans.

He was at the head of the maple table, his face stern. He glared at Lord Dacen and Lady Nida's arrival together. "You are aware that you are betrothed, are you not?" He said in that low, gruff voice of his.

"I was with Lady Nida long before that. You are aware of that, aren't you?" Lord Dacen replied, a playful smile drawing upon his lips.

The lord and the lady took their seats, one to the left of the Viscount and one to the right. Despite the tension filling the room, the smell of the roast turkey, vegetable stew, and rice was enough to distract everyone for just a moment. 

The Viscount raised his hands in prayer, palms facing forward. Lord Dacen ignored the gesture, but Lady Nida followed suit. The maids and butlers stationed in each corner bowed their heads out of respect.

"Thank the God of the Hearth, Esna, for this feast. Thank the Wind Dragon of the North, Aven, for winter soon to come. Avesi." 

"Avesi," Nida repeated.

Lord Dacen rolled his eyes. "Perhaps they could refill our coffers, and not just our bellies."

Filori cut his eyes at the young man. "You and that foul mouth. If not for the spirits above, we would have lost our home and title as well as our lands."

"So you say." Lord Dacen took a sip of his wine.

Here they go again, Nida thought. She had no patience to wait for their argument to end and began to eat.

Viscount Filori smiled, which of course meant trouble. "Since we're on the topic of filling our coffers, I have received a betrothal offer for Lady Nida."

Nida's eyes flashed to the viscount's.

"What?" Lord Dacen scoffed. 

"Yes, from Baron Oxen. He's curious about her."

Nida's heart dropped to her stomach. Sheltered as she was, even she had heard of Baron Oxen's reputation. Kitchen staff, maids and butlers, gardeners and stable boys all spoke about him in whispers. None of Baron Oxen's wives lasted longer than a few months, and, when they left, they refused to speak. Most thought it had to do with his experiments; very few had seen them, but those who had called them abominations.

"You cannot send her there, Father."

"Why not? It is time you two were separated anyways."

"She belongs with me, as she always has been."

"She is a child of Hessen and now 27 years of age. She should have been married off long ago. Besides, an alliance with both the Avarices and the Oxens are all we need."

Lord Dacen slammed down his cup of wine. "Have you learned nothing from all those failed investments? Have you no spine?!"

"Watch your mouth!" The viscount yelled back. "This is not up for debate. She will marry Baron Oxen."

"Ridiculous." Lord Dacen stormed out of the room, bursting past the maplewood doors.

Nida stood up to follow him, but Viscount Filori stopped her. "Don't."

She settled back into her seat. Dread seeped into every part of her body. The food, which would usually be even more savoury knowing she helped make it, now tasted stale and sour.

"He will be better off without you," Viscount Filori said, stabbing his fork into the turkey on his plate. "Just do your part. I deserve at least that much for taking you in."

...