It was concluded our coachman and guide held no ties to the magian apostate. With a rough simplicity, the coachman spoke, saying, “He just fixed me nan’s back real good, he did. He looked like the sort who read books. Didn’t think he was dangerous. Real sorry to the Lady, I am.” Despite Lady Lunatora’s protestations, a constable insisted upon interviewing me. Once more, I recounted the tale. We fabricated excuses for my attire—a maid’s uniform—but he appeared uninterested in that detail. The officer, crass and insistent, comported himself as though he were not only our equal but perhaps even superior to Princess. Never had I encountered a commoner so audacious; yet, he was undoubtedly a seasoned professional, and this was my father’s Constabulary system. Therefore, I refrained from demanding an audience with his superior.

  Patrols of the city guard were frequent in the district where Lady Telenhart resided, our absent yet gracious hostess, and thus my personal safety was of little concern. The guards assured us that updates would follow regarding the magian apostate and our stolen belongings, and we were advised to call upon them should we feel threatened.

  “I tried to spare you from having to talk to the constables, my dear pet. They would not have it,” Lady Lunatora excused, her words soft as the guards departed, leaving us alone in her chambers. Princess had meticulously briefed me on the expected protocol: in public, we were to be ‘dear friends’; in private, ‘friend’ transformed into ‘pet’ or, most uncomfortably, ‘kitten’.

  “And I am ever so grateful for that… Mistress,” I responded, suppressing a shiver as I uttered the title, which felt foreign upon my lips. “However, there is another matter I wish to discuss, one concerning the commission you arranged with my sister, Lady Fermina.”

  Upon hearing the word ‘Mistress,’ a strange light flickered within Lady Lunatora’s eyes. Her lips parted ever so slightly, her breath quickened, and her voice thickened as she swallowed more frequently than our conversation warranted. Though she was undeniably attractive, her demeanor was disconcerting, prompting me to abruptly shift topics to that of portraits.

  “Oh, that,” she remarked absently, as though the thought had just resurfaced. “Yes, when your lovely sister kindly offered to rent you,” her choice of words was peculiar, “I could not resist the chance to request you. She was sensitive to my plea. You see… Aufelia, we have been friends for years, haven’t we? She was also of the idea that we should stop fighting. Is it not time already we stop quarreling? I understand I did something terrible, but was it even so bad? Realizing how inferior I am to your beauty was difficult.”

  Princess and I concluded that necessity demanded we make peace with Lady Lunatora, yet my hostess emphasized her unease, placing the blame on me for compelling her into this arrangement.

  When our youthful coachman presented us with various options and mentioned the Telenhart mansion among them, I saw an opportunity to prove my worth to Princess by navigating a social situation she preferred to avoid, thus aiding in the restoration of a broken friendship. However, as I began to grasp the full measure of Lady Lunatora’s character, my confidence in that decision faltered. Though I had initially doubted Princess after her actions at the maverick’s shop, I now realized—far too late—that I should have trusted her.

  “I shall not feign humility, Mistress. I am well aware that I am pleasing to the eye, but such opinions are subjective, shared by those present at that dinner. You too, Mistress, are… dazzlingly beautiful,” I continued, following Princess’s guidance.

  “Am I? In what way?” Lady Lunatora smiled, fishing for compliments as she swayed gently upon the bed.

  “You stand taller than I, Mistress,” I began, mentally listing her features from head to toe. “You possess a ravishing golden mane, like the finest threads of silk spun by master artisans,” I praised, using both words and gestures. “Its lustrous waves remind me of clouds gathering at the horizon, and I admire how you style it so that two delicate tendrils frame your face.” Women enjoyed hearing compliments about their hair, did they not? What next… Ah, yes. The eyes. “Your eyes shimmer like sapphires in the twilight, though you already know this. One could easily lose their way in them, led astray by your long, delicate lashes.” I had read a similar phrase in a story once, though I may have misquoted it. “Your neckline, if I may,” Lady Lunatora obligingly tilted her head, revealing the elegant curve of her neck, “is as smooth and fine as the finest porcelain. I remain in awe of how such a slender waist flows into such generous hips; you are the very embodiment of beauty, as if sculpted by the hands of the masters of the late Tremium period. Your lips, pink and-”

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  “Stop,” Lady Lunatora demanded. “You are forcing this,” she noticed. “It feels more like you’re trying to compose a rough draft of a letter and less like you’re talking like an actual person.”

  Her assessment struck far closer to the truth than she could have known, for my experience with courtship was nonexistent. The closest I had ever come to it was a letter I had once written to Fermina—hopefully never to be read.

  “Oh, I forgot to mention, Dubart,” Princess’s voice chimed in my mind, exploiting the room’s three mirrors, the reflective candelabra overhead, and the metallic decorations on the walls, all offering her avenues to communicate. “I think she wants to treat you like a servant. She enjoys it. Whenever Tirrha made me do that, she preferred if I spoke plainly. You know, like servants do.” Princess must have realized how little sense that made, for she added, “You don’t have to try too hard; just keep it simple, so she doesn’t suspect anything. Oh! I know! Remember that character from your play? The woodsman? You should talk like that. Rough around the edges.”

  I subtly signaled my understanding and prepared to slip into the role, knowing exactly which character Princess referenced. Elvo, the unhappy lumberjack, had a penchant for infidelity and a hilariously blunt manner with the women who caught his interest.

  “I was trying to speak fancy,” I growled, attempting to channel Elvo’s coarse demeanor, “but fine. You want it out? I didn’t want to offend, but can’t keep my eyes off your rack,” I passionately played the part. “And all that nonsense I was saying about thin waist and nice hips? What I meant is—what a rump. It’d feel mighty fine on me lap.”

  Lady Lunatora covered her mouth, stifling a giggle as she eyed me with disbelief. Princess, however, was quick to chastise me internally. “You moron! How could you speak to her like that? I didn’t mean exactly like your perverted lumberjack! I meant do not use words he wouldn’t. Dubart, you brute! What must she think of me now?”

  The fact that Princess seemed so deeply concerned with Lady Lunatora’s opinion indicated that their friendship held more significance to her than she was either willing to admit or even aware of—a point I would certainly address at a later time. Meanwhile, I offered an apologetic shrug to the astonished Lady Lunatora, whose cheeks flushed as she attempted to suppress her laughter at my brazen words.

  “Oh, you terrible, terrible little thing!” Lady Lunatora teased, seizing hold of the back of our hair, which had been styled into a braid and bun. “How dare you lust after your Mistress?” Her mood shifted with alarming swiftness, and her eyes gleamed with a sinister intensity as she pulled my hair forcefully, bringing our faces perilously close. She shook my head side to side with a vicious tug; it stung. “Aufelia, don’t get me wrong, nobody is happier than me that we can forget that silly little thing of the past and move on, but that does not mean you can forget your place, understand?”

  Faced with her sudden ferocity, I could do nothing but nod in acquiescence, my concern mounting as she released her grip on our hair—though not before yanking one final time, sending me tumbling off the bed. I would have crashed face-first into the carpet had I not caught myself with our hands. That was entirely uncalled for—what manner of behavior was this for a Lady?

  “Now, apologize. Properly this time,” Lady Lunatora demanded, crossing her arms as her expression hardened into a mask of fury. “That is no way to speak to me, Aufelia.”

  “Look at what you made her do!” Princess wailed in my mind. “Make up your mind, Dubart; do you want Tirrha and I to reconcile? You’re ruining it! She’s going to hate me… Quick, crawl to her feet. Don’t get up. Carefully, ask for one of her feet and remove her shoe. Rub my cheek against it, and I hope you’re good at faking tears because you’re going to apologize like you’ve never apologized before!” she commanded, as though the absurdity of her suggestion did not even register.

  These two women were utterly mad.

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