Chapter 4

But I knew my place too well to let any of that fire reach my lips. I kept my head bowed and forced out a meek reply. "As you wish."

Seeing that I had folded so easily, James added one final, cruel condition. "And don't you dare smile at the man, either."

Damn James.

The carriage made a slow, agonizing turn, and I felt it in my gut—once we left these woods, I was never coming back.

I was either destined to rot as a ghost in the High Lord's manor, or Elara would finally finish what she started and torture me into a grave.

The sheer weight of the thought sent a violent tremor through my limbs.

I looked at the iron rim of the carriage wheel through the window and felt a sudden, desperate urge to throw myself under it—anything to escape the looming shadows of James and Elara.

I had no idea whose hands had stripped me, but my coarse homespun wool had been traded for a heavy velvet dress. It was a beautiful cage, but no amount of expensive fabric could mask the jagged ruin of my face.

I wondered if James found some twisted amusement in seeing me like this, a broken thing wrapped in finery.

I would have given anything to be back in my dusty rags; at least then my outward appearance would have matched the pathetic state of my soul.

I reached up, my fingers tracing the raised, uneven skin of the scar that James had essentially sanctioned through his silence.

I let out a ragged sigh and pulled myself into a tight ball in the corner of the seat.

The carriage rattled back into the village. The moment that polished rig pulled to a halt at the gates, the parish elder and a handful of locals scrambled out to meet it.

I climbed down, the weight of their judgment heavy as they eyed me like a lightning rod for bad luck. When I caught sight of the elder and Jonathan, their eyes were bloodshot and raw with panic.

The elder lunged forward, his voice cracking. "Lillian! What happened?"

I choked back the truth and offered a stiff shake of my head. "I'm alright, truly. I just... I came to say my goodbyes."

"Goodbyes?" The elder froze, his face a mask of total bewilderment. "Where are you headed? Why the hell are you leaving like this?"

"I'm... I'm returning to the High City with this lord," I murmured, staring at the dirt. I couldn't bear to see their expressions, and I didn't dare look Jonathan in the eye.

With the whole town watching, I gripped the elder's hands and bowed low, my voice thick with a debt I could never settle. He and Jonathan had pulled me from the wreckage of my life, and I was leaving them with nothing but words.

James' shadow loomed over me, a silent reminder that my leash was short. I hurried through my final words. "This is it, Please, just take care of yourself."

The moment the words left my lips, I turned on my heel and marched back toward the carriage.

"Lillian!" Jonathan finally broke, his voice tearing through the quiet air.

The sound of him nearly shattered me, but I kept my back turned. He shouted after me, "Wait for me! Once I get my appointment in the High City, I'm coming to find you!"

The wheels churned through the dirt, and James looked ready to kill. I scrambled to cover for Jonathan, blabbing, "My Lord, ignore him. He's a dreamer—he'll be shoveling manure in this godforsaken hole for the rest of his life."

He didn't seem to care enough to strike. Even if James was a bastard to me, he wasn't the type to waste effort crushing some nobody for the hell of it.

He leaned back, his voice flat and cold. "What's your name?"

"Susanna Moore. It's the name you gave me, My Lord. I haven't forgotten," I muttered, chin tucked, sounding every bit the broken dog he wanted.

He pressed again, "What was your name before that?"

The question threw me, and I stared at him, my mind racing. "Your old name," he repeated.

I hesitated, wondering why he'd give a damn about a ghost. "Lillian Moore," I answered softly.

"From this moment on, you are Lady Lillian," he stated.

I blinked at him, my jaw dropping as the world seemed to tilt on its axis.

Lady Lillian? The title rang in my head like a death knell.

I was a scarred, limping, barren mistress, and he actually wanted to present me as a Lady?

The High Lord's Lady would be etched into the Official Peerage; the entire High City would be whispering about it by dawn.

He might not give a damn about his reputation, but I wasn't ready to be the Capital's favorite punchline.