---
"So *that's* where you got the money."
Oksanda's lip curled with contempt as her gaze traveled from Butler Sebas to Marin and back again.
"Hooked yourself a rich old man, did you? Trading that skinny body for silver?"
Her laugh was ugly, triumphant—the sound of someone who believed she'd finally uncovered a shameful secret.
Beside her, Jorno had gone pale. The butler's oppressive presence seemed to press down on him like a physical weight, and he tugged frantically at his wife's sleeve.
"We have the money—let's just go. *Now*."
"No."
Marin's voice cut through the morning air like a blade.
"They cannot leave."
Three pairs of eyes turned to her. Jorno's were wide with alarm. Oksanda's narrowed with suspicion. But Sebas—Sebas looked at her with something approaching curiosity.
Marin met his gaze steadily.
"Butler Sebas, may I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Where are we standing right now?"
A flicker of interest sparked in the old knight's eyes. He tilted his head slightly, as though considering how to play this game she'd begun.
"I'm not certain I understand the question, Miss Marin."
"Then let me be more specific." She kept her voice calm, measured—the voice of someone presenting evidence in a court of law. "Who owns this mountain?"
"Ah." The corners of Sebas's mouth twitched. "These are the lands of the Duchy of Vines. The mountain, therefore, belongs to His Grace the Duke."
"Precisely."
Marin turned to face Jorno and Oksanda, and her expression hardened into something cold and implacable.
"Which means they—" she gestured toward the cowering couple "—have been collecting rent on property they had no right to lease. Without His Grace's permission. Without *any* authority."
Jorno's complexion shifted from pale to grey.
"W-wait—that's not—we *built* that shack! We constructed it with our own hands!" He jabbed a finger toward the ramshackle cottage. "We charged money for our own property!"
"Did you." Sebas's voice dropped to something dangerously soft. "And when you built this structure, did you request permission from the landowner? Did you obtain His Grace's consent to erect a dwelling on ducal territory?"
"This is... we didn't... I mean—"
Sweat streamed down Jorno's face. He swiped at it with trembling hands.
Sensing the situation spiraling beyond salvage, Oksanda shouldered forward.
"His Grace allows hunters to build shelters here! Everyone knows that!"
"Indeed he does." Marin's tone remained perfectly level. "The Duke permits the construction of temporary rest huts at the mountain's base, given the harsh terrain. A kindness to those who work these lands."
She paused, letting the words settle.
"A kindness offered *freely*. Not an invitation to build permanent structures and charge rent to desperate tenants."
"I made it... for myself..." Jorno's voice had deteriorated to a pitiful stammer. "Just for resting... sometimes..."
"And who are *you*, anyway?" Oksanda's fear had begun curdling back into belligerence. She thrust her chin toward Sebas. "Throwing the Duke's name around like you own it! Who do you think—"
The rumble of wheels interrupted her tirade.
A carriage emerged from the tree line—magnificent, polished to a mirror shine, drawn by matched grey horses. On its doors, emblazoned in silver and blue, the unmistakable crest of House Vines gleamed in the morning light.
Behind it came a procession of servants in ducal livery.
The lead servant approached and bowed deeply to Sebas.
"Butler Sebas. The carriage is prepared as requested."
Sebas inclined his head in acknowledgment, then turned back to face Jorno and Oksanda. His expression had gone flat and hard as granite.
"Allow me to complete my introduction." Each word fell like a hammer blow. "I am Sebas Chen. *Butler* of the Duke of Vines's household."
Jorno's legs gave out.
He crumpled to the ground with a strangled whimper, all the blood draining from his face. Everyone in the duchy knew Sebas Chen. The legendary former knight-commander. The man who had served two generations of Dukes with unwavering loyalty.
"D-darling...!"
Oksanda's voice emerged as a terrified squeak. Her earlier bravado had evaporated entirely, replaced by naked fear.
"Take them," Sebas commanded.
"Mercy! *Mercy*, Butler Sebas!"
Jorno scrambled across the ground, trying to clutch at Sebas's legs, but the servants had already seized him. Strong hands wrenched his arms behind his back.
"Please—forgive us just this once! We didn't know—we never meant—"
"*Darling!*" Oksanda shrieked as another servant gripped her arm.
"Wait."
Marin's voice stopped the procession.
She walked toward Oksanda with measured steps, her expression unreadable. The older woman shrank back, but the servant's hold kept her in place.
Marin reached out and snatched the bag of silver from Oksanda's grasp.
Quickly, efficiently, she counted out the exact amount owed—the final month's rent, nothing more—and pressed those coins back into Oksanda's palm. The rest she tucked into her own pocket.
"For what you did to my mother—"
Her voice was quiet. Terribly quiet.
"—you will receive your punishment in full."
Oksanda stared at the coins in her hand as though they'd transformed into venomous snakes. Then her face crumpled, and she began to wail.
"Have *mercy*! Please—Butler—*Master*—!"
Jorno's cries echoed hers as the servants dragged them away, their pleas growing fainter until the trees swallowed the sound entirely.
Marin watched until they vanished from sight.
*It's done. I've avenged what they did to Mother.*
But her mouth tasted bitter. Victory had left behind an acrid residue she couldn't quite swallow.
Because watching them being hauled away—watching the Duke's justice enacted with such swift, merciless efficiency—had driven home a truth she couldn't afford to forget.
*When my lie is discovered, I'll be in exactly the same position.*
Her heart pounded against her ribs like a trapped bird.
*Control yourself. Don't think about it. Not now.*
"Tell me something, Miss Marin."
Sebas's voice, warm with something almost like approval, broke through her spiraling thoughts.
"You knew, didn't you? That charging rent here was illegal?"
Marin hesitated. Her instinct was to deflect, to evade—but something in the butler's steady gaze made deception feel pointless.
"Yes." She met his eyes. "From the very beginning."
"Yet you paid them anyway. For years."
"There was nowhere cheaper." The admission scraped against her pride, but she forced it out. "And even if I'd filed a complaint with the Duke's household... people like them have protectors. My grievance would have gotten lost somewhere along the way. Buried. Ignored."
She glanced at the ramshackle cottage—her home for three difficult years.
"Meanwhile, we would have been thrown out with nowhere to go. It was simpler to pay and survive."
Sebas studied her for a long moment.
"What changed your mind?"
"You mean, why did I speak up today?"
"Yes."
Marin was quiet, gathering her thoughts. When she spoke again, her voice had gone soft—but beneath the softness lay steel.
"When I am insulted... even when I am struck... depending on the circumstances, I can sometimes forgive. I can let it go and move on."
Sebas frowned slightly, a crease appearing between his brows.
"That is not something you should—"
"I know." A faint, rueful smile touched her lips. "That's why I said it depends on circumstances. But there is one thing I will *never* forgive, no matter what."
Her hands curled into fists at her sides.
"When someone touches my mother. When someone lays hands on her, hurts her, frightens her—"
Her eyes blazed with cold fire.
"*That* I will not allow. Not from anyone. Not ever."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Sebas nodded slowly, something like respect settling into his weathered features.
"Is there anything more I can assist with? Have you gathered your belongings?"
"Not yet—Mother isn't even dressed for travel. Give me a moment to bring her out."
"Take whatever time you need."
"Thank you."
Marin bowed quickly and hurried toward the cottage.
---
Inside, the devastation from Oksanda's rampage remained painfully evident. Broken furniture. Shattered crockery. Their few possessions scattered across the floor.
*There's almost nothing left to take.*
Roenna sat on the edge of her bed, a small bundle of clothing clutched to her chest. She looked up as Marin entered, her dark green eyes anxious.
"Mama, it's time to go."
"Yes." Roenna rose carefully, steadying herself against the bedframe. "I'm ready."
Marin took the light bundle from her mother's arms, then lifted the vanity table—the one treasure Roenna had protected with her own body the day before.
They emerged into the morning light together.
Sebas immediately stepped forward and reached for the table.
"Allow me."
"It's not heavy, truly—"
"Nevertheless."
He fixed her with a look that brooked no argument, and Marin reluctantly surrendered her burden. A nearby servant materialized to take the table and load it carefully into the carriage.
"Butler Sebas," Marin said, "please allow me to introduce my mother. Mama, this is Mr. Sebas Chen, head butler of the Duke's household."
Roenna gathered her dignity around her like a cloak. Despite her worn nightgown and tangled hair, she executed a graceful curtsey—lifting an invisible hem with practiced elegance, inclining her head at precisely the correct angle.
"It is an honor to meet you. I am Roenna, Marin's mother."
Sebas's eyes widened fractionally.
*A noblewoman's manners. Unmistakable.*
But he recovered smoothly, his expression revealing nothing of his thoughts.
"The honor is mine, Lady Roenna. Please—" he gestured toward the bundle still in Marin's arms "—allow me to take that as well."
"It's truly very light—"
"Ho ho." A genuine smile creased his face. "I assure you, I'm stronger than I appear."
Marin glanced pointedly at his forearms—thick with muscle even beneath the butler's formal sleeves—and laughed despite herself.
"That much is obvious."
She surrendered the bundle.
Sebas cast a quick look through the cottage's open door, surveying the wreckage within.
"Is there anything else to retrieve?"
"No." Marin shook her head. "That's everything."
"Then let us depart."
"Yes." She turned to Roenna. "Mama, you'll ride in the carriage. I'll take the horse—I tied it up last night."
Understanding flickered in Roenna's eyes—and with it, a shadow of sorrow. She knew why her daughter couldn't bear to ride in carriages.
"All right," she said softly. "I'll see you at the castle."
Sebas had clearly been briefed; he offered Roenna his arm without comment and guided her gently into the carriage. The door closed behind them with a muted click.
The procession began to move—carriage, servants, the black stallion Sebas had arrived on.
Marin lingered a moment longer.
She stood alone before the cottage that had sheltered them through three years of hardship. Its walls were warped. Its roof leaked. Its door hung crooked on rusted hinges.
*We survived here. That's what matters.*
She allowed herself one breath of farewell.
Then she swung into the saddle and urged her horse forward, leaving the past behind without a backward glance.
---
## — The Duke's Estate —
The tall white gates of the ducal castle stood open to receive them.
Marin rode alongside the carriage as they passed beneath the stone arch, her gaze sweeping across grounds more magnificent than she'd properly appreciated during her rushed nighttime visit. Manicured gardens stretched in every direction. Fountains sparkled in the midday sun. Servants in crisp livery moved along gravel paths with purposeful efficiency.
*And somewhere in there, hidden behind black curtains... the Duke.*
She pushed the thought aside.
The carriage rolled deeper into the estate, passing the main castle and continuing toward a handsome stone building set apart from the primary residence. Three stories of weathered grey stone, covered in climbing ivy, with mullioned windows that caught the light.
The servants' outbuilding. Her new home.
Olive stood waiting at the entrance.
As Marin brought her horse to a stop, he stepped forward immediately, offering his hand.
"Welcome, Miss Marin."
She grasped his fingers and swung down from the saddle, landing lightly on the gravel.
"Thank you, Olive. Good afternoon."
"Good afternoon indeed."
Behind them, the carriage door opened. Butler Sebas descended first, then turned to assist Roenna down the steps. She accepted his support with murmured thanks, moving carefully but with evident determination.
Marin went to her mother's side and took her arm.
"Mama, I'd like to introduce you to someone." She guided Roenna toward where Olive waited. "This is my direct supervisor, Assistant Olive Lyon."
"A pleasure to meet you." Roenna dipped into another flawless curtsey. "I am Roenna, Marin's mother."
"The pleasure is entirely mine, Lady Roenna."
Olive's smile was warm and welcoming—the same genial expression he wore for everyone. But something flickered in his eyes as he watched Roenna's noble bearing, her aristocratic gestures, the unconscious grace that no amount of poverty could erase.
*A spark of recognition,* Marin thought. *Or suspicion.*
Neither possibility was comforting.
But Olive's smile never wavered, and if he harbored doubts, he gave no sign.
"Please," he said, gesturing toward the building's entrance, "allow me to show you to your quarters."
---