Bela's return was both reliving and worrying. She came back looking lighter than when she left, but also more concerned. It wasn't encouraging that when she first came back, she swiped the bottle of perfumed skin oil from the counter and left without a word. The second time she came back, she seemed normal.

I didn't bother asking how her conversation with her mother went – especially when I could see a faint smearing of pink across her pale cheek.

But all that mattered was that I was excused from the dinner tonight.

The only problem was what I'm to do with myself until the end of the night? I was already exhausted from Lady Dimitrescu's chores this morning, so hopefully it wouldn't take much. I mentioned as much to Bela as we sat in the wine room, just above the main hall.

"Do you feel safe enough to do your daily exercises?" Bela asks, as she takes a slice of cheddar off the cheese board placed at the center of the only table in the room. The skirt of her amethyst-colored gown flows down like a waterfall, pooling at her feet. It's fitted sleeves accentuate her long, slender arms. The bodice modestly fitted, but still bringing shape to her breasts. She has three small braids along the side of her head that disappear behind her curtain of curls.

Bianca had brought the cheese board to us, and I don't know why, but I spared her an apologetic smile. I'm still not used to servants bringing me anything, let alone while in the presence of the eldest daughter.

"I suppose." I say with a shrug of my shoulders. I pour her a glass of red wine, the smell of zinfandel wine grapes brushing my nose. Having changed into a more fitted tunic and pants, each varying shades of darkened blue, my hair is once again braided along the crown of my head. "It almost feels like there are more eyes on me than before."

I never could shake the feeling of being watched ever since I sniffed that perfumed oil. It was like Mother Miranda was constantly watching me. With every caw that came from a crow, I swear I could hear her laughter.

Bela takes a long swig of her wine. I sit down across from her, content with some sparkling water I'd found tucked behind the rosés. "I can, supervise, if you're not completely against it."

Her feline grin sends an arousing shiver up my spine. And to my surprise, I'm not totally against it. "I wouldn't have any objections. Though you'd have to watch from a window if I'm to run in the gardens."

"Is there any other way you can exercise?" Bela pouts.

I bite my lip, seeing a potential opening. "Well, if you trust me to take me to the armory, I might be able to practice my swordsmanship again."

Training my body is one thing, but all it'll be good for is running if I let myself get too rusty with weaponry. I can run through my techniques and movements until I collapse from exhaustion, but without the weight of a weapon, even a wooden one, will leave me at a disadvantage.

"You know how to swordfight?" The spaces between each word says enough of Bela's surprise.

"What? I told you my father trained me since I was young. He wanted to make sure I would always be able to protect myself."

"You mentioned it, yes. I guess I just assumed most thought and time went into your archery. For, survival."

I pluck a slice of sopressata with some provolone cheese. "It was, for some time. And yes, I had neglected certain aspects of my training to focus on . . . other things. But if hunting is going to be out of commission, perhaps I could use my time to train. Maybe even train, together, perhaps."

Bela blinks. "Me? Training?"

"You're pretty good with a sickle, but your form is sloppy. Anyone would be able to counter it, and you'd be easily overpowered."

I can see the eldest daughter fold her lips in, biting back some countering, searing words for me.

"Privilege will only get you so far, Bela." I alter my tone to sound like Lady Dimitrescu. Even leaning back in my chair and sipping my sparkling water.

Bela curls her lip at me, and I give a vulpine smile in return. "You're right," I giggle. "It is fun to fuck with some people."

"Wrong kind of people." Bela says in a lover's tone, swirling her wine around in its glass.

Another shrug of my shoulders. "Well, what do you think?"

Plucking a grape from the cheese board, Bela takes her time chewing and pondering. A grin slowly stretches across her crimson lips as I shake my head, my own smile breaking past my control.

"I am interested to see what else you can do." Bela drawls. In one smooth motion, she stands from her chair and chugs the rest of her wine. "Come on. Let me see what else you can do."

I almost regret my words at the devilish glean in her eyes. I follow her towards the same ballroom where I first shot the bow – my first trial of sorts, for Lady Dimitrescu. I'm surprised to find the targets still in place, if empty. But all the weapons that were there before have been moved back to the armory. As I meander about the grand space, I hear a snap of Bela's fingers. I turn and find her still by the doorway, speaking with another servant.

The poor thing's body is laced with that familiar fear of the Dimitrescu family, but a kind of, relief floods her porcelain features as she nods vigorously and takes off in a quickened walk.

Bela approaches me with a triumphant smile, her skirt flowing and swishing with the movement of her legs. In her hand, I see two belts of shining daggers. I don't recall ever seeing her stop the grab them.

"What?"

Her impish grin isn't encouraging. "I just sent someone to fetch up some weaponry for you to try. In the meantime, here."

She hands be a belt, and I take it with furrowed brows. "What, we just kill time until she comes back?"

"You have a better idea? This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

I stick my tongue out at her, fixing the belt to my waist. "Just some simple dagger throwing?"

"See how good your aim is without a bow." Bela states, taking me by the elbow. She guides me a few yards from the target. What would be a typical shot for an arrow. She motions for me to start.

I drew a dagger from the belt.

My focus narrows to the small, black dot in the center of the target. I steady my breathing as I angle my arm, letting my wrist go loose. The blackness of the bull's-eye beckons, and as I slowly exhale, I send the dagger flying.

It sparkles as it twirls end over end, a whirling wisp of steel. I smile grimly as it strikes home.

Beside me, Bela swear colorfully when her own dagger hits the third ring on her target, and my smile broadens.

"And you thought I was just a pretty looking Cupid."

I pull another dagger from the belt – six in total – and take aim again. This time, when I whip my arm forward, the weapon shoots straight, like a shooting star.

It lands an inch away from the first one.

Bela lifts her brows to me. "Self-defense training, huh?"

"It's what my father called it."

Bela pulls another dagger from her belt and aims. She throws her arm quite sloppily, and still swears when it slaps against the target and clatters to the floor. "What was he like?" she asks me.

The question is so unexpected that I have to blink and take quick inhale. Bela looks to me as she readies another dagger. Her brows narrow slightly, and I could swear hesitation and even regret shine in those beau golden eyes.

I flatten my lips into a line as I fold me arms. "He was . . . like any father, I guess. He was kind, caring, always looked out for me. Maybe a little too much" – I can't stop a smile as I remember him staring down at a boy who was watching us shop around the general store. He smiled at me, and I smiled back; and then my father glared – "he always wanted to protect me, even when he knew he couldn't. So he started to train me, as he called it."

Bela aims, squinting her eyes as she pinches the pommel of the dagger between her pointer finger and thumb. I want to correct her, but it's too much fun watching her fail.

Sure enough, when she throws the dagger, this one too hits flat against the target and clatters to the floor.

"You're standing wrong," I say quietly. Wouldn't want Lady Dimitrescu to hear me correcting her eldest daughter. "And you're holding your wrist incorrectly."

Bela looks to me and lowers her arm. I take the stance my father drilled into my brain. "Legs like this," I say. She studies me for a moment, then positions her legs similarly. "Bend slightly at the knees. Shoulders back; loosen your wrist. Throw when you exhale."

I demonstrate for her, and my dagger finds its mark.

"How often would he make you do that?"

"Everyday." I answer. "Always at the crack of dawn."

Bela snorts. "That makes sense. Show me again," she says appreciatively.

So I did, and strike the target. Then I throw with my left hand, and fight a whoop of triumph as the blade sinks into the handle of another dagger.

Bela focuses on the target as she brings up her arm. "Well, you've just put me to shame," she says, laughing under her breath as she lifts her dagger higher.

"Did your sister ever train like you? It seems pretty intense." She says, and throws another dagger. "For anyone." The dagger yet again misses the mark. She stalks to the target, yanking out both hers and mine, and shoving hers in their sheaths before returning to me.

I take them with a grateful nod. "No. She wasn't even born yet. I planned on teaching her a few things, before . . . everything. And yes, it was intense, but that was the point. He said the world wasn't going to spare me, so why would he?"

"Because he's your father." Bela suddenly bites.

I warm at her protective tone. "I'm not trying to paint him as a bad man. He loved me more than my mother ever did. Actually made me feel like I was, something. It was more of a, tough love, kind of thing."

I remember when I was twelve, he had charged me with hunting a buck we'd spotted yesterday. I managed to track and kill the beast, and was in the midst of gutting him when my father had snuck up behind me, as quiet and as smooth as a wraith. I've killed you, he said. Meaning I had failed. I tried to throw him off by throwing some guts at him, giving me a surprise attack. In the end, he won.

Like he always did.

Drag the deer back yourself.

I clear my throat. "He said that the world is cruel, for a girl like me. For any female." I begin to twirl the dagger between my fingers, I habit I picked up to keep them loose, and as a means to fidget. Bela notices it. Takes note of it. "I would be too small. My voice to soft to be heard. I would always be underestimated. Overlooked. And ignored." I grip the dagger with its blade out, ready to split a man from nose to navel. "So, I would use that. And I would be the girl, no one saw coming."

When I look to Bela, I see her brows lift. Her eyes widen. Fear, and fascination.

And I wonder if she sees the beast that Donna had told me lives beneath my skin. The beast that my father had tried so hard to help keep contained by exhausting it.

There's something else in Bela's stare, but I don't know what it is. She swallows, "Did you ever, not want to do it?"

I blink feverishly, settling back into my skin, "In a way I did, but it was the same thing as a child not wanting to do their chores. There was some part of me that always said it had to get done eventually."

I draw another dagger, but pause as Daniela calls to me from the doorway where she stands with Cassandra. "Dangerous tricks aren't going to keep her attention forever."

I lower my arm, posturing my body to emphasize my annoyance at their presence, unafraid. I shift my gaze to the youngest daughter, but keep positioned toward the target. From the back of her throat, and deep from her core, Bela gives a territorial growl.

The two sisters are dressed in silk gowns – Daniela a pine green to match the emerald around her throat, and Cassandra in a pewter-color that brings out her black hair.

"Oh dear sisters, to what do I owe the displeasure?"

Daniela ignores her, directing to me, "You'd be better off on your back, learning useful tricks like your mother did. In fact, I can teach you some tonight, if you'd like." She laughs, and Cassandra joins with her.

I grip the hilt of a dagger so hard that it hurts.

"Don't listen to them," Bela murmurs. She tosses another dagger, missing the bull's-eye, but closer than where she was before. She says loudly, "They wouldn't know the first thing to do with a woman like you."

I throw my dagger, and the blade rings as it lands a hair's breadth from the one I'd already embedded in the bull's-eye.

Bela's brows rise, accentuating her golden eyes.

"How's playing with your new toy, Bela?" Cassandra calls. I look and the middle daughter folds her arms, leaning against the opposite side of the doorframe.

"Fine, until you two showed up. What happened? Did the final dungeon rat croak?" She coyly looks over her shoulder. "Seems you two grow bored of your things quicker than me. or you just can't keep their attention."

With a frighteningly innocent smile, Daniela says, "We just wanted to check up on you. See how you were doing."

"I'm fine. Now you can leave." Bela states, baring her teeth.

I wisely take a step back behind the eldest daughter.

Before Cassandra can say anything, hurried heeled footsteps enter the ballroom. I peer past the sisters to find the same young woman Bela had spoken to earlier. Only this time she comes baring guns. One from each group: a long rifle, a shotgun, and a pistol wrapped in tanned leather. All of the sisters look to her, and she pauses for a brief second at the sight of the two standing in the doorway to the ballroom.

Bela near storms over to her, "Come in, you twit. Come in."

The servant hurries inside, bowing her head low.

"As you requested, Lady Bela." She says in a small, pitched voice.

Without hesitation, I reach out and grab the rifle from her arms, grabbing the shotgun as it nearly tumbles from her grip.

A dangerous smile crosses Bela's features as I help the girl set the firearms on the ground. "Now Erika, this is where the fun begins."

"How so?" I slowly ask.

Bela hefts the rifle to me, near tossing it to me. I catch with grit teeth, praying there's no round in the chamber. I do a quick check, and am relieved to find none. Though I do admire the wooden finish.

The servant girl suddenly empties her pockets to show a few boxes of ammunition and magazines, one for each gun.

"I'm curious to see how you bear with more, modern weapons." Bela says, her tone lilting and playful.

I snort, nearly insulted by her understatement. Until I remember of the two twats of sisters standing at the doorway. She's playing a game, and I'm a piece. I have to remember that.

To her sisters, she's setting me up for humiliation.

But I certainly won't let her down.

I pick up five rounds for the rifle and load them into the magazine. Once secure, I walk with Bela towards the same spot where I had first shot an arrow at those targets. The bull's-eye at its center nothing more than a black pinprick of a dot.

I'll regret not wearing any hearing protection, but hopefully it'll be worth it.

I heft the rifle into my hands, weighing it in my arms.

I fit it to my shoulder, each movement as comfortable as anything when raised by a soldier of a father. I click off the safety and grin at the lack of a scope as I say to Cassandra in particular. "Allow me to demonstrate why you can kiss my fucking ass, Cassy."

Three shots crack out cross the range, one after another as I reload the bolt, my body absorbing the recoil like my father taught me. Spurts of hay and fiber splatter from the target.

They all peer out at the target as I merely check the chamber to make sure it's empty and lower the rifle.

"You only landed one," Daniela snorts, eyeing the hole through the heart of the target.

"No, she didn't." Bela murmurs.

The two sisters look back, Daniela pouting at Bela. Cassandra pushes her way past her sister with her shoulder, Bela skipping around me in a circle as her sister walks down the range.

Once Cassandra reaches the target, I watch as her body stiffens. Going at still as death as she continues to stare at the target.

With the cloth pulled tight around the face of the target, it's easy to miss.

The circle isn't perfect. Two of its edges bulge outward – barely noticeable.

Three shots, so precise that they passed through the same small space.

I can feel the chill skitter down the Cassandra's spine. No one says anything – no one could say anything.

In my periphery, I can see Bela looking over to Daniela – probably giving her sister a shit eating grin.

And Cassandra . . .

In one smooth motion, I life the rifle and I line up my shot.

The crack of the gun reverberates around us like a thunderclap. With my trained-eagle-sharp vision, I don't need the scope to see the bullet pass through the hole I had made.

A hairsbreadth from Cassandra's finger.

Cassandra screams and jumps back, staring at the target as if it had bared its teeth at her.

She whips her head to me – still aiming down the iron sights of the rifle, the barrel pointed right at her forehead.

With a controlled breath, I whirl around to Daniela and pull the trigger.

Chunks of gold and stone splatter from the doorway Daniela had previously been leaning against – barely an inch from her cheek.

She squeals and jumps back, covering her head with her hands in an attempt to cover.

Keeping the rifle braced against my shoulder, I lift my head and look towards Bela.

Pride and triumph shines in those beautiful, golden eyes.

A quiet sort of light shines in the eyes of the sisters. A realization of who stands in their presence.

Slowly, I lower the rifle, staring down at Cassandra still frozen in shock by the targets.

With lethal calm, I say, "Mock me again, and it will be your head."

Bela and I spent the afternoon shooting until the hours for the dinner drew near.

She took the responsibility for, persuading, her sisters to leave. And it didn't take much.

To my surprise, they didn't try to claw my eyes out either.

What I had done, it was foolish. It was stupid, and likely would cost me my life someday – if the daughters decide to tell their mother. Wonder what that conversation will be like.

But somehow, I wasn't worried. To see the pride in Bela's eyes –

Perhaps I'm getting a little too emboldened with her around. Still, our afternoon was pleasant. I didn't get to teach her some self-defense techniques like I had originally planned, but she took up shooting quite well. She insisted on using the rifle, and as I'm still her humble servant, I obliged her.

She took everything with such a seriousness it was admirable. There was not one hint of teasing or amusement in her eyes or her voice as I walked her through basic firearm safety.

She didn't even protest when I had to help her position the rifle correctly to her shoulder, lean in close behind her to help her follow the sights. Her scent of raspberry and persimmon drifted into my nose, twining like spring vines within my mind. It was so sweet. So tempting.

It still makes me blush now as I sprawl along my couch, a small stack of books on the low-lying coffee table. Courtesy of Bela to help keep my mind off the clock and the castle's potential guests. She hadn't stopped by since our little, gathering, safe for when she barged into my room – a trembling Gabriella on her heels – and asked me to tighten her bodice and adjust her skirt. She also asked me how she looked, and honestly, she looked lovely.

Gabriella had picked a beautiful – if a little scandalous – red dress that dipped low in the front with black lace mesh. Bela wore her usual blood-red ruby about her neck, her hair pinned up by two glittering combs. I could've sworn Bela blushed at my compliment. Then she rushed out the door on silver slippers.

The clock chimes seven and I stretch long, but stop short as pain seizes my stomach. I curl into myself, focusing on my breathing, and wait for the cramp to pass.

I'd been like this for over an hour now, and I pull my blanket tighter around myself, the heat of the roaring fire not adequately reaching my bed. Thankfully, Bianca enters, extending a cup of tea.

"Here, Erika," she says. "It'll help with the pain." She places it on the table beside the dessert tray and takes a seat beside my head. I had personally requested she bring my dinner and desserts simply because I appreciated, and enjoyed, her company. And judging from the smile she gave me when delivering my dinner, she felt the same. Or at least was glad to get out of the kitchen.

I felt a little pathetic asking her to stay and eat with me. Even more so when I told her Kathryn can deal with either me or Bela if she has a problem with it.

I just, I missed female companionship . . . quite desperately. And while Gretta was nice, she seemed more dedicated to her duties, to Kathryn. Bianca at least could afford to be gone without Kathryn tearing the kitchen apart.

She ended up staying, near devouring the food and fresh water. I suppose the leftovers from the Dimitrescu family, even plates that hadn't even been touched, were less than desirable to eat.

Having her company – to laugh and to smile and have an actual conversation with another person – it was something that was more rejuvenating and filling than even I anticipated. I hadn't realized just how starved I'd been for friendship until I laughed hard at one of her comments about Kathryn.

I was at least able to finish my dinner before I noticed an unfamiliar wetness in my underwear. I went to the bathroom not putting much thought into it, until I saw the red spots.

It was a shock to see – a near mirror to the first time it ever happened – and I just stared at it for a couple of minutes. Both delight and tension coiled in my chest. It meant I was finally at a healthy weight – but now I have to endure such costs.

Bianca then left to fetch me some liners and tea while I changed into a fresh pair. My old, ruined one currently ash in the fire.

I push myself to sit up. "Thank you." I grab for the teacup and hiss, almost dropping it into my lap as the scalding-hot cup bit into my hand.

"Careful now." Bianca chuckles. "For someone so light on your feet, you can be very clumsy. If you need anything, send word. I've had my fair share of monthly pains." Bianca ruffles my hair and leaves. I would've thanked her again, but another wave of cramping takes over and I tip over onto my side again as the door closes.

My weight gain over the past four months here has allowed my monthly cycles to return after near-starvation had made them vanish. I groan. How am I going to work like this? My tolerance for them is gone.

I manage to finish half of the tea before needing to lie down. Pulling a pillow under my head, I snuggle deeper into my blanket-cocoon, wanting to let the crackling of the fire lull me to sleep.

I manage to sleep for a little bit before I hear a knock at my door.

I groan as I turn over on the couch, not wanting to ruin my perfect position where it doesn't feel like my ovaries are being stabbed. The knocking happens a second time, and I push myself up on my elbows. I peer over at the clock on the mantle. Seven-forty-five. I've only been asleep for half an hour. The Dimitrescu dinner probably hasn't gotten past the appetizers yet.

At the third set of knocks, I grunt and groan as I push myself up to sit. Bianca must've forgotten something, or maybe she's here to bring me some more tea. Despite my pain, I did catch her carefully grinding up a pamprin before mixing it into the tea with some sugar. It seems to be working, as I'm able to stand and stretch and lean without doubling over from pain.

A fourth set of knocks happen, and these sound more urgent.

"Coming. Coming." I call as I wrap the blanket around myself, step into some slippers and pad my way across the room to the double doors.

A yawn stretches my mouth open wide. I feel like I could sleep for days. I'll have to tell her to give me a non-drowsy anti-inflammatory next time. My eyes are just drooping.

I reach the door and grab the knob, opening it wide with another yawn.

Before I can even utter a word, I'm hit with a scent of cigar smoke – it mingles with black cardamum, smokey vanilla, and musk.

My senses instantly awaken at the unfamiliar smell.

A masculine smell.

"Well, well." A voice drawls with effortless swagger. Like silk and steel and ancient stone.

A voice that makes my entire body grow cold with a winter long since passed.

"You must be the infamous Erika Pavel. The village has been buzzing about you!"

Tall, broad-shouldered, every inch of him seemingly corded with muscle, he is a man blooded with power as he casually leans against the doorframe. A man used to dominating . . . and being obeyed.

My legs feeling spindly, but my hands remain steady as I grip the doorknob on either side.

And I stare into the blue grey eyes of Lord Karl Heisenberg.

He steps into my room, a devouring smile stretching the scar on his lips, and purrs, "It is a pleasure to meet you."