Chapter 2

The world was already spinning, and his mockery was the final, stinging blow to my pride.

I'd lived through the snapping of my limbs before.

When Elara broke both my wrists in that derelict chapel, the High Lord was miles away in the Citadel with Kaelen, buried in court politics. Elara fed him a lie about me wandering off and falling prey to highwaymen, claiming that was how I'd been maimed.

He actually bought her story.

He simply told me to see the house surgeons and get myself mended.

But every surgeon in that manor belonged to Elara—I didn't have the stomach to go near them. Instead, I had to slink into the slums of the High City and find a back-alley butcher to set the bones.

That hack was so brutal I felt more like a carcass than a patient, but in the end, having crooked fingers was a small price to pay for staying alive.

As for my leg, that snapped when I was fleeing Elara after leaving the manor. I took a blind turn in the dark, tumbled straight off a ravine, and felt the bone crack through the skin.

I was certain that was the end of me. I lay at the bottom of that gorge, howling in the dirt and waiting for the dark to take me.

A passing woodsman heard the racket and told me later that if I hadn't been screaming like a banshee, he never would've climbed down to check.

I was so pathetic with gratitude that I didn't hesitate—I handed him half the gold I'd taken from the manor. He made for the nearest town that night and returned with the most decent doctor his pockets could buy.

As soon as I could put weight on the leg, I vanished into the night so I wouldn't bring my trouble to his door.

By the time I reached this place, I'd spent every last coin I possessed. I never mentioned it, but I actually grew up in these parts. My parents died young, and when I finally returned, I was a ghost to them.

The parish elder might have recognized me, but with my mangled hands, a heavy limp, and a scar cutting across my face, I looked like a common outlaw. Every other settlement had told me to keep moving.

Only the elder took pity on me.

He just sighed at the sight of me and said, "There are a few unworked strips of dirt and a tenant shack nearby. You can have them."

Two years had crawled by since that day.

Whenever I crossed paths with the locals, they'd always ask, "Where did you drift in from?"

I'd give them the same short answer. "The High City."

They'd nod and say, "Is that right? Then you must know of Lillian Moore. She's the High Lord's kept woman, living in silk and gold, draped in every favor he can spare."

I'd just shake my head and tell them, "No, the name doesn't ring a bell."

Truth was, the moment I stepped foot on the Lord's lands, I'd ceased to be that person.

He'd stripped my name away and christened me Susanna Moore.

He claimed I lacked grace, and that with a proper lady's name, I might learn to become one. I never understood it.

The man who'd auctioned me off had sworn I was the sweetest, most obedient girl in the lot—that was the only reason I'd ended up in the Lord's manor to begin with.

I found out later that Elara's birth name had been "Serena." "Elara" was the high-born name the Sovereign had granted her when she was elevated.

He'd wanted Elara to be more refined, too.

I'd barely had enough strength to crawl back to this place, surviving on scraps. I'd loathed the idea of coming back at first.

Most people returned to their roots like a prodigal daughter in glory, but I was just a fugitive, crawling home with nothing to show for it but my scars.

Luckily, not a soul here knew who I was.

Even better, the High Lord didn't have a clue either.

"Lillian, get up." It was Jonathan Moore, the parish elder's son. He was the only man in the settlement who could read a ledger, and over the last two years, he'd been my only tether to survival.

He was the one who'd helped me clear this patch of dirt and patch the holes in my shack. At first, the charity of it had made my skin crawl with shame.

Eventually, he told me it was the elder who had put him up to it, claiming he was just settling an old debt of kindness my parents had once shown him.

My eyes blurred with tears because I knew it was a polite lie. My parents were nobodies who never had two nickels to rub together, let alone the means to do anyone a favor. If anything, the elder had spent his life looking after them.

Now, I was just a mangy stray barely hanging on, yet the elder hadn't turned his back on me; he still treated me like I belonged.

"Let me help you over to the shade. There's no sense in killing yourself," Jonathan's voice pulled me back. I realized I'd been drifting into the past again.

Collapsing face-first in front of the whole town had turned me into a public spectacle.

And damn Kaelen for having the nerve to laugh at my expense.

"Fine, I'll sit for a minute. The world won't stop spinning," I told Jonathan, nodding my thanks. He took me firmly by the elbow and guided me over to the treeline.

We sat down together in the grass.

Suddenly, an icy chill settled over me, like a blade resting against my neck. I kept my gaze locked on the dirt, wondering why the hell the High Lord hadn't moved on yet.

It shouldn't have taken them this long to sweep a village this small, and the sun was already dipping toward the horizon.

I'd never realized this place was large enough to warrant a half-day search. Jonathan handed me my canteen, and I took a desperate swig.

The nerves must have been getting to me, because I drank too fast, the water hitting the back of my throat and sending me into a fit of coughing.

"Lillian, slow down," Jonathan said, patting my back with a worried frown.

My eyes were watering from the coughing fit, and just as I finally caught my breath to thank him, I looked up—only to lock eyes with the High Lord. He was staring at me with that cold, distant expression.

I felt a prickle of irritation. Had he actually recognized me? If he had, I couldn't understand why he wasn't dragging me off to the gallows already; it wasn't as if I had the legs to outrun his horses.

The uncertainty of it just made me even more bitter.

I decided I wasn't about to go looking for trouble if it hadn't found me yet. "Let's head back, Jonathan. I'm wiped out." I said.