After a swift bath and donning garments that Princess deemed suitable for potential stains, we maneuvered through the hidden corners of Highsummit Manor, like mice taking the long route to avoid chance encounters. Despite our earlier argument, Princess appeared in high spirits; her demeanor had grown uncharacteristically light-hearted as she whispered with enthusiasm about the joys of painting. Though skeptical, I chose to extend her the benefit of the doubt.

  Yet, even within such a vast estate, we could not evade every servant. As we neared a group of maids engaged in lively conversation, their playful exchanges became impossible to ignore. While their behavior was far from proper, it was the sort of harmless mirth likely to draw the ire of none but my father or the ever-watchful seneschal. As we drew closer, the nature of their dialogue grew unmistakable.

  There is a particular term for such exchanges: gossip. They hushed one another between bouts of laughter, their words dripping with cruelty as they dissected their subjects.

  In more courteous terms than they were using, they were unimpressed by Lord Jorlens balding head, believed Lady Dossinet’s attitude was owed to her inability to procure a willing suitor, and thought Lady Obeleyos’ attires left much to be desired. Princess even indulged a chuckle at some of these impolite notions, but she was less understanding when the commentary struck her own person.

  “And did you know? I heard Aufelia, you know the one, talking to a flower the other day! Maybe she really believes she is one.”

  “Could be, but I think it’s because no one else in the manor will talk to her.”

  “She’s obsessed with the things. Like knowing more about plants will elevate her status.”

  “And I heard that she was lazing about when Master Dubart died. Some say it’s her fault.”

  “Hah! The nerve! Anyone other would have been executed. But not ‘The Prettiest Flower’, oh, no.”

  “The Lord Duke isn’t here yet, is he? I dare say he’ll have something to say about it! Maybe she’ll finally find that her so-called beauty has limits.”

  “Her? Never. She has every man, Lord or servant, under her spell.”

  “You’ll never believe what I heard she does with the cooks so she can get special privileges!”

  “What? What do they say I do with the cooks?”

  Princess had approached the group of servants with such quiet grace that her presence had gone unnoticed. She now stood before them, smiling pleasantly, her hands held elegantly in front of her.

  The three maids recoiled as if Princess had been a venomous snake poised to strike.

  “L-Lady de Irchard!” stammered the young woman who had uttered the last reckless comment, now fixed under Princess’s unwavering gaze. “My deepest apologies… I wasn’t… not you… I mean…”

  One of them, overcome with terror, shielded her face with her arms and fled, hoping she would not be recognized. Princess, maintaining her composure, paid her no mind. The remaining two shrank in stature, their shoulders hunching as though they might disappear, retreating step by step as if facing a feral beast.

  “You,” Princess’s gaze remained fixed. The selected maid flinched, her expression twisted in a grimace as she cowered lower; she was nearly squatting at this point. “I am in need of an assistant. You will help.”

  “O-of course, Lady de Irchard!” the maid replied, her voice trembling with reverence. She was young, likely close in age to Fermina. Her olive skin and dark hair marked her as someone of foreign descent, a stark contrast to her companions. “H-how may I..?”

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  “Art room. Now. Ready some paint. Fast,” Princess’s voice, though sweet, bore an edge. Our hands trembled with barely restrained fury, an unrelenting desire to seize someone by her hair smoldering beneath the surface.

  “Yes, Lady de Irchard! Of course, Lady de Irchard!” The maid scurried to obey, her steps hastened by fear.

  The servant guided us to the opposite side of the manor, the east wing on the upper floor, not far from where my former quarters were. The art room held a collection of unfinished canvases, each one concealed beneath protective drapes, while wooden shelves displayed glass cases. The curtains remained drawn to shield the art from sunlight, though one was promptly opened for us. Slender beams of light filtered in, illuminating the delicate motes of dust that danced in the air. The red carpet that covered the floor exuded a peculiar scent, as though countless cheap perfumes had been spilled over time, leaving their traces behind.

  “Close the door behind you, ready a blank canvas for me, get me paints, and stand in front of me. I need a model. You are not much to look at, but you will have to do,” Princess directed.

  “But… Milady!” the maid protested, a surprising display of defiance for one of her station. To be fair, I had never encountered such an unusual demand from someone like Princess either. “I have duties to fulfill elsewhere; the seneschal will wonder where I am! A-and me…? In a painting? There must be so many better subjects than-”

  “So, you refuse,” Princess interjected. “I suppose that is your right; I cannot force you. You are likely stronger than I am.” In high society, to call another woman ‘stronger than you’ was a subtle insult. It implied they were of low birth or engaged in menial labor. “Go, but before you leave, tell me your name. I imagine Lord Jorlens and Lady Obeleyos will be just thrilled to hear your thoughts on them.”

  “Refuse? I would not dream of it!” the maid swiftly realized her predicament. She hurried to the door, rushing to retrieve a wooden easel and brushes. “I was… I was only saying that if I were to get into trouble for… for not doing what I’m supposed to, c-could the kind Lady explain…?”

  “That is none of my concern, is it?” Princess coldly punctuated the maid’s pleas. “You want to leave? Leave,” Princess dared her.

  “N-no, I would never, Milady!” the maid sagely accepted that this would be her punishment and that Princess had no incentive to care about any inconvenience caused.

  “Hurry up with those paints if you’re in such a rush. And your name, girl. I asked for it,” Princess commanded with authority, calling her ‘girl’ despite the woman being obviously the older between the two.

  “Of course! I am Raiya; it’s such an honor, Milady de Irchard!” the maid replied, her submission evident as she ran about the room, retrieving every item Princess pointed to.

  We soon discovered that rushing a frightened woman could only lead to disaster. Raiya, in her panic, endeavored to meet Princess’s every demand, yet a wrinkle in the carpet proved her downfall. She stumbled forward, crashing to her knees.

  She grunted in pain but her discomfort was quickly forgotten after she looked up to witness Princess, the skirts of her dress splattered in green, brown, and blue.

  Princess inhaled deeply, visibly striving for composure. “Girl, listen to me,” she spoke, her voice trembling with suppressed fury. “I am going to count to thirty, if by the time I reach it, you’re not here with a bucket, water, and a brush, I swear that I… that I am going to…” All Princess could do to express her displeasure was crumpling her fingers maniacally, seething, exhaling quite heavily. “One!” she began counting. “Two!”

  Raiya could not muster a word. She bolted for the door and vanished, and, recognizing the storm brewing in my hostess, I offered a silent prayer for the poor maid’s swift return. Princess, meanwhile, turned to face her reflection in the mirror. Hoping to defuse the situation, I decided to become the voice of reason.

  “Princess! I can only apologize! Those are my father’s servants and, by extension, mine. Your dissatisfaction is entirely warranted, I cannot fathom what could have possessed the maid to speak such ills about-”

  “Save it,” she impeded my discourse. “Say, Dubart, why don’t we do something fun? Let me show you how fun painting can be.”

  “Is it going to involve tormenting that servant?” I inferred, my tone denoting my disapproval.

  “Oh, don’t you pretend to be all that’s good in the world, now. I have to teach her some humility, and you know it. Didn’t this all start because you got mad that I didn’t let you see Riatna and me bathe? Well, this is your chance.”

  “As I recall, it was a sum of factors that led to this development. It is reductionist and unfair to assume I had ulterior motives such as-”

  “Do you want to see a naked woman or not?”

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