Four years prior
She scrubbed at the pots until she felt sure that her hands would fall right off, her skin breaking away to reveal worn-down bones. But no matter how hard she tried, the burnt remains refused to detach themselves. There was the embarrassing prick of tears in her eyes, the humiliating notion that she might cry. She hated crying, hated how useless it was. Steadying herself, she placed the pot down, taking a deep breath.
"I see you've been busy making a fine mess of things."
She didn't turn when she heard his voice, though her fingers reflexively tightened against the counter. She shut her eyes, hoping to wish away the encounter.
"Give me a moment. Things are running a bit behind."
"Things are running behind or you are running behind?" She could hear him come up behind her, could feel him the same way you can feel the static of thunderstorms approaching.
"I'm running behind. Everything will still be ready in time."
There was the sharp tug as he pulled at the sash of her dress. She cried out, sidestepping, but he only clamped a hand down on her shoulder.
"Calm down, I'm just making you presentable." He redrew it too tightly, but she didn't dare complain, not wanting to test the consequences. "For God's sake, you're a Countess. The least you can do is dress like it."
"That wasn't exactly my top priority of the day."
"Care to repeat that?" He pulled back so harshly that she winced.
"Nothing. Nevermind."
"That's what I thought." Spinning her around, he brushed at the fabric over her shoulders, pausing and frowning in his inspection with a click of his teeth. "If you get any paler, you'll fade right away." She grit her jaw, not bothering to respond. "Well, nothing to be done about it now. Be a good hostess and maybe they won't notice the rest." He pinched her chin, tilting her head to the side. "Unfortunately for you, being 'pretty enough' is never truly enough."
He moved to walk out the door and then paused, holding up a finger in thought.
"And one last thing."
"Yes?" She tried to hide her nervous hatred by plying at a dishrag.
"Try not to look so damn miserable."