---
Marin studied the picnic basket with quiet satisfaction.
A whole round cheesecake, its surface gleaming like polished gold. Fresh bread, still faintly warm, wrapped in clean linen. Sliced beef—*actual beef*, not scraps or gristle, but proper cuts marbled with fat.
*The Duke's order to "fatten me up" might be the best thing that's ever happened to me.*
The thought arrived with dark humor. Being deemed too thin by her employer had transformed into the greatest blessing she could have imagined. Thanks to that casual command, she could finally feed her mother properly.
Roenna suffered from a weak heart—a condition that had existed long before tragedy struck but had worsened dramatically after. Losing her husband and eldest son in a single day, watching their estate crumble into bankruptcy, being stripped of home and belongings and dignity—all of it had been too much for an already fragile constitution.
She grew weaker with each passing month. Some days she could barely rise from bed. Others, she managed to sit by the window for an hour before exhaustion dragged her back down.
She needed medicine. Needed nourishing food. Needed hope that things might improve rather than continuing their relentless decline.
*This is why I work. Why I lie. Why I risk everything.*
Marin approached the cottage, basket swinging from her arm, already imagining her mother's face when she saw the cheesecake. That small, grateful smile that made everything worthwhile—
She stopped.
The door stood wide open.
*We never leave the door open. Never.*
Dread flooded her veins like ice water. The basket slipped from numb fingers, hitting the ground with a dull thud as she broke into a run.
"Mother!"
She burst through the entrance into chaos.
Overturned chairs. Scattered refuse. Shattered dishware covering every surface—fragments of plates and cups ground into the floorboards, glittering like malicious stars in the dim light.
Everything—*everything*—destroyed.
"M-Mother!"
Marin's voice cracked. She stumbled through the wreckage toward her mother's bedroom, heart hammering so hard it threatened to crack her ribs.
Empty.
The bed was empty. Sheets torn half off. Pillows on the floor.
"Mother, where are you?!"
"Marin..." The voice came from across the hall. Weak. Trembling. Barely audible.
*Her room. My room.*
Marin spun and threw open the door.
Then stopped.
Unable to move. Unable to breathe. Tears blurring her vision before she could even process what she was seeing.
Roenna stood—barely—clinging to Marin's vanity table with both hands. Her only support. The only thing keeping her upright. Her grey hair had come loose from its braid, hanging in wild tangles around a face gone white as bone. Strands stuck to her temples, damp with sweat or tears or both.
Someone had grabbed her by the hair. The evidence was obvious in the way it fell, in the raw patches visible at her scalp.
"Mom..." The word emerged as a broken sob. "Why... why..."
Tears streamed down Marin's face unchecked.
"This is your favorite piece." Roenna's voice was barely audible, each word an obvious effort. "I could only protect this one thing. I'm so sorry..."
"What are you *apologizing* for?" Marin stood frozen, unable to take another step, sobs wracking her shoulders. "What could you possibly—"
"I'm your mother." Roenna's eyes glistened. "I should be caring for you. Instead, I'm sick. Weak. I cause you nothing but suffering."
*No.*
Marin wanted to scream the denial. Wanted to explain that her mother's presence alone gave her strength to endure anything. That knowing she wasn't alone in this world made every hardship bearable.
But her throat had closed around the words, choking them off before they could form.
She could only shake her head frantically, trying to deny every accusation her mother leveled.
*It's not true. None of it is true. You're everything. You're the reason I keep fighting.*
Roenna always blamed herself. Always apologized for circumstances beyond her control. Meanwhile, Marin drowned in her own guilt—the secret burden she'd never confessed.
*The carriage accident was my fault.*
The thought surfaced like poison bubbling up from a wound that had never properly healed.
Her mother had been unwell that day. They could have waited. Should have waited. The debutante ball was still weeks away—there had been no rush, no urgency demanding they leave immediately.
But Marin had been *excited*. Impatient. Desperate to reach the capital and begin her glittering new life. She'd *begged* her father to leave without Mother, promising she'd be fine, insisting they couldn't delay.
If they'd waited just three days...
If she'd been less selfish...
If she'd put her mother's health before her own childish desires...
Her father and brother would still be alive.
But Roenna had never once blamed her. Never spoken a word of accusation. Never even *hinted* that Marin bore any responsibility for the tragedy that had destroyed their family.
Which somehow made it worse.
Marin rushed forward and wrapped her arms around her mother's frail body. Roenna fit easily against her chest—so thin now, so fragile, like a bird with hollow bones that might shatter at the slightest pressure.
*She tried to protect the table. For me. She could barely stand, and she tried to save the one thing I treasured.*
The thought broke something in Marin's chest.
"Mama..."
"It's all right." Roenna's hand came up to stroke her daughter's hair with infinite gentleness. "It's all right now, darling."
Marin buried her face in her mother's shoulder and sobbed like a child.
---
They sat together on the floor of Marin's devastated room, surrounded by destruction, until the tears finally subsided.
Marin's eyes had swollen nearly shut. Her face felt hot and tight. She pulled back from her mother's embrace, swiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand, and forced herself to ask the question she'd been dreading.
"What happened?"
Roenna drew a shaky breath.
"The landlord's wife came." Her voice was steady despite the tremor in her hands. "She... she accused you of being her husband's mistress."
"*What?*"
"Completely absurd, of course. But she was enraged. Screaming about her husband spending too much time here, asking about you too often." Roenna closed her eyes briefly. "She stormed in and started throwing things. I tried to stop her, but..."
*But you couldn't. Because you're sick. Because you're weak. Because I've failed to protect you.*
"She also said—" Roenna's voice hardened slightly "—that if we don't pay the rent by tomorrow, we'll be evicted immediately."
Marin's blood turned to ice.
"*Tomorrow?* But the deadline is four days away!"
"I tried to tell her that." Roenna pressed a hand to her chest, as though the memory pained her physically. "She wouldn't listen."
"Mother, no—"
But Roenna had already begun striking herself—the instinctive gesture of someone consumed by shame and helplessness. Her fist connected with her breastbone once, twice—
"Stop!" Marin caught her mother's wrist, holding it firm. "Please, stop."
"That woman decided..." Roenna's voice broke. "She convinced herself of something vile and took her rage out on our home. On *you*. And I couldn't—I wasn't strong enough to stop her. All I managed to save was one piece of furniture. I'm useless. I'm nothing but a burden."
"Don't say that." Marin pulled her mother close again, cradling her as gently as she would a wounded animal. "Please don't say that. Everything will be fine. I promise you, everything will be fine."
She spoke with a conviction she didn't feel, stroking her mother's back in soothing circles while her mind raced through increasingly desperate calculations.
*Tomorrow. She wants the money tomorrow.*
*I don't have it. Won't have it for days. And even when I'm paid, it won't be enough to cover triple the normal rent.*
---
After a silent dinner that neither of them had appetite for, Marin made her decision.
"Mother, I'm going to the Duke's castle."
Roenna's head snapped up, alarm flashing across her features.
"What? Marin, it's already dark—"
"I know." Marin was already moving, retrieving her worn cloak from its hook. "But we need money by tomorrow. I have to ask for an advance on my wages."
"The roads aren't safe at night." Her mother's voice rose with worry. "There are wild animals—"
"I'll be careful. I'll stay on the main path." She fastened the cloak at her throat, avoiding her mother's eyes. "I have to do this. You understand that, don't you?"
Roenna opened her mouth as if to protest further, then closed it again. What could she say? They both knew there was no alternative.
"Be careful," she whispered instead.
"I will. I promise."
---
The night was darker than Marin had anticipated.
Clouds scudded across the moon, alternately hiding and revealing its pale light. When the moon emerged, she ran. When it disappeared, she slowed to a cautious walk, straining her eyes against the shadows.
*Just a little farther. Almost there.*
The Duke's castle appeared ahead—tall towers illuminated by torches, their flames dancing against stone walls. Safety. Security. The promise of help.
Marin quickened her pace and pounded on the main gate.
Footsteps approached. A small side door opened, revealing two knights in castle livery. The older one—middle-aged, with the weathered face of a career soldier—studied her with suspicion.
"Who's there?"
"My name is Marin. I work under Assistant Olive." She fought to keep her voice steady. "I need to see him urgently. Please, may I come in?"
"You claim to work for the assistant?" The knight's eyes narrowed. "I wasn't informed of any new staff."
"Yes, I only started yesterday, but—"
He turned to his companion. "Yubis, do you know this girl?"
The younger knight—red-haired and barely out of his teens—glanced at Marin briefly before shaking his head.
"No."
"Do you know Assistant Olive's staff?"
"No."
"Do you know *anything* about the household operations?"
"...No."
The older knight's expression darkened. "Then get over here so I can—"
"No, thank you!" The young knight spun on his heel and fled back into the castle.
Both Marin and the remaining guard stared after him in stunned silence.
"...Forgive him." The knight sighed heavily. "He's young. Undisciplined. Still learning."
"It's fine." Marin gathered her composure. "If Assistant Olive is unavailable, could you at least summon Butler Sebas?"
At the butler's name, the knight's entire demeanor shifted. He straightened, his suspicious expression giving way to something closer to respect.
"You know Butler Sebas?"
"Yes."
"...Wait here."
He disappeared through the side door. Marin heard muffled conversation, then retreating footsteps.
Moments later, a familiar figure emerged—grey-haired, broad-shouldered, moving with the quiet confidence of someone who had earned his authority rather than inherited it.
"Miss Marin!"
Relief flooded through her like a warm tide.
"Butler Sebas!"
"Why are you standing out here in the cold?" He shot a sharp look at the middle-aged knight. "Why wasn't she admitted?"
"Her identity couldn't be confirmed, sir." The guard's posture had gone rigid. "Protocol dictates—"
"Clearly my recent absence has caused some confusion." Sebas turned back to Marin, his expression softening. "My apologies for the inconvenience."
Behind him, the knight flinched.
"No, please—it's my fault for arriving so late." Marin bowed quickly. "I'm terribly sorry to disturb you at this hour, but I have urgent business with Assistant Olive. Is he available?"
"Of course. Come inside."
She followed him through the castle's winding corridors to the staff reception room—the same chamber where she'd first met Olive, where she'd demonstrated her reading ability with a borrowed book that now sat on her desk.
"Wait here. I'll fetch the assistant immediately."
"Thank you so much!"
"And Miss Marin—" Sebas paused at the threshold "—I'll be giving the guards and gate staff *strict* instructions about admitting you in future."
The way he emphasized *strict* made the muscles in his arms visibly tense.
*He's going to terrify those poor knights into letting me through even if I show up in the middle of the night covered in mud.*
"Thank you for your consideration!"
Sebas smiled and departed.
Marin sank onto the sofa, suddenly exhausted. Adrenaline drained away, leaving behind bone-deep weariness. Her hands trembled slightly when she clasped them in her lap.
*Please let him help. Please let there be something he can do.*
Footsteps approached—lighter than Sebas's, quicker. The door swung open.
Olive stood in the entrance, his usually immaculate appearance slightly disheveled. His shirt was open at the collar, his hair mussed as though he'd been running his hands through it. He must have been preparing for bed when Sebas summoned him.
"Miss Marin? What's happened?"
The concern in his voice nearly undid her.
Marin rose from the sofa, then dropped into a deep bow—so low that her forehead nearly touched the floor.
"Mr. Olive, please—I need your help!"
"Miss Marin, raise your head!" Genuine alarm colored his tone. He hadn't expected this. "Please, you don't need to—"
"I—"
"Come. Sit." He gently guided her toward the sofa, his hands careful on her shoulders. "Let's discuss this calmly."
They settled onto the cushions. Marin twisted her fingers together in her lap, gathering courage.
"I know I've only worked for one day. I know I can't receive my week's wages yet." The words tumbled out in a rush. "But could you—would it be possible to give me an advance? On my salary?"
Olive's eyes widened.
"An advance?"
"Yes." Marin forced herself to meet his gaze. "The landlord's demanding immediate payment. If I don't have the rent money by tomorrow, we'll be evicted. I could manage sleeping in a warehouse, but my mother is ill. She can't—she needs shelter, proper shelter, and I have nowhere else to turn."
Her voice cracked on the last words.
"Please. I'll work as hard as you need. I'll take on extra duties. Anything. Just... please help us."
---