"So, what exactly are you doing?" Duke asks the next morning, his brows amusingly furrowed in confusion as I browse a lineup of jackets from brown to grey.

"I'm trying to make a ghillie suit." I giggle.

The idea had come to me while I enjoyed a solitary breakfast Gretta had delivered. When winter comes, it'll be harder to blend in without the cover of leaves, and my dark jackets might not be enough. Plus, it would save me some energy to just lie in wait, camouflaged, rather than trying to shoot a buck from high in the trees. Vantage point it may provide, that expended energy would be more useful in carrying my profit back to the castle. I figured I'd take a glimpse at Duke's services before venturing out in the castle woods.

I've always wanted to build a ghillie suit with my dad, but the opportunity simply never came about, or he had to set his focus on our family as a whole. I remember he helped me gather materials on a day I thought we'd actually get to making it, but it was merely damage control since he'd been working. I understood; though at that age, I was still bitter about it for the better part of a month – right on the cusp of the season changing, so it rendered the materials effectively useless.

I nibble on the tip of my nail as I keep looking between the four jackets I've narrowed down from Duke's inventory, trying to figure out what could be the best color to help me camouflage in a virtually bare-boned forest. Winter will be the hardest since there's only white and bits of grey.

Color and material are the first priority; I need to be camouflaged, but also prepared for the elements. Especially if I don't want to freeze my ass of in the in a winter storm, or overheat myself in the zenith of summer. I can gather and add materials once I find my base.

I had paid enough attention to my mother's sewing lessons, at least, to accomplish that. Mostly on fixing clothes and blankets rather than putting pieces together. I was surprised she thought I'd make a career out of it. I would've assumed she saw seamstress work as being beneath our family status.

"I am, unfamiliar with this piece of clothing." Duke says, his watchful eye on me, leaning forward in curiosity.

I grin. "You claim to have traded all across the world, yet you don't know what a ghillie suit is?"

"Oh, hush yourself." He quickly defends. "My knowledge is profound, but such a piece of clothing is . . . rare. And I don't have many customers that would use one, such as yourself."

I giggle again as I select a jacket made of khaki, and another thicker, white parka. Its hood is lined with a greyish, tan-tipped fur that reminds me of a bobcat. It should work amongst the upcoming winter scenery.

I'm about to reach for my coin purse, when I pause. I bite my lip as I look up to Duke – who has since moved on to lighting a thick cigar – and he immediately notices my stare. He turns away and puffs a plume of smoke before says, "Found something you like?"

"Yes, and I have a question . . ." He simply lifts his brows. I sigh. "What do you think would make a good gift for Bela for her birthday?"

Now, it is Duke's turn to give a knowing chuckle as he takes another draw from the cigar. I stick my tongue out at him as I gather the jackets and fiddle with my coin purse.

"Looking to impress the eldest daughter, are we?" he says with smoke curling from his mouth.

I do my best to ignore my warming cheeks, remembering he was only separated by a curtain when I'd made Bela come just against that wall by the door. "I wouldn't say impress; simply being courteous."

"Courteous to the daughter of a Lord, who has likely killed many people."

"You're one to talk," I quickly snarl. "You likely get most of your business from each of the lords, and then some."

Duke holds up his hands in surrender, but his grin still bristles my skin. "Touché"

"With that being said: have you noticed anything Bela likes whenever she shops with you?"

The overweight man contemplates; his thick, ringed fingers grasping his many chins. Sometimes I still can't believe I'm friends with this man. When I first saw him when I was younger, I thought he was intimidatingly gross; with his protruding belly, and stubby legs covered by a blanket.

But since he was the one of few people in the entirety of the village who had ever shown me kindness or compassion, I tolerated him at first, but as I got older, and learned to better bargain, it developed into a mutual friendship.

After a moment, Duke says, "Actually, no. I haven't really seen Lady Bela buy something consistently. Perhaps a few books, but nothing really noticeable. Typical jewelry and clothes . . . an occasional bladed weapon."

I shake my head. "I can't really get her anything, predictable like that. But I don't know what to do. She pretty much already has everything a girl could ever want. What do you buy someone that has everything?"

Duke ponders, "I do recall her taking some interest in books, as of late. At least more so in compassion to her sisters."

"Books. Okay, it's better than nothing." I say. "Any particular genre?"

"I believe they varied. I remember a romance, a mystery, a cookbook. The eldest of the Dimitrescu daughters is very standoffish; not one to share much."

"I guess I'll figure something out."

I'm about to pack up my things, giving Duke the appropriate amount of Lei for the jackets, when a voice chirps from the doorway of his room. "Oh, Erika. There you are."

I look to find Helga standing in the doorway, donned in her usual style of dress – a black turtleneck with hidden lines of lace – her hair impeccable pulled into a knot atop her head.

It's been so long since I've seen the housekeeper that I can't stop myself from practically skipping over to her and wrapping my arms around her middle.

I only realize my mistake after I've embraced her, but her arms are quick to wrap around me as well, if a bit stiff from surprise.

I spare her the uncomfortableness and pull away. Still, I smile. "Helga. It feels like it's been so long since I've seen you. Are you okay?"

Looking at her, from head to toe, she seems fine, if a bit exhausted judging from the purple lining under her eyes. I feel like the only times she's seen me are when I'm bedridden from an injury, or covered in mud and blood.

"I'm fine. Just busy. I was actually going to ask the same to you."

"Definitely busy. And, working some more things out in the upcoming future."

"Upcoming? How do you mean?"

"Well, Cassandra wants me to start training with her – teaching her how to fight, or more so defend herself, despite her particular circumstances."

"Has she discussed this with her mother yet?" Helga asks too sharply, too quickly.

"I-I don't know. She said she would when we spared together yesterday, and I haven't really sought her out since."

Helga nods tightly, her mouth pressing into a thin line.

"Should I not do it?" I ask cautiously.

Those blue-grey eyes flick to me, blinking multiple times. "This is just, concerning."

"What? How?"

A shadow passes over the housekeeper's face, and she quickly blinks it away. "I just don't trust the middle daughter alone with any of the servants. It . . . never ended well for most of them, in the end."

"I'm aware." I grumble, resisting the urge to touch the scar just next to my eye. The one along my shoulders seems to radiate a phantom pain of when I first received it. I reach for that one, but pretend I'm trying to massage a sore muscle.

"Bela can usually keep her word, Cassandra likes to, manipulate. And don't even get me started on Daniela." The housekeeper grumbles. She looks out of the open door, making sure none of the Dimitrescu family heard her.

This is the most I've heard Helga talk about the family – in a bad way, at least. Helga notices and clears her throat, flicking her eyes to Duke, and sparing a terse dip of her chin. "Anyways, I was hoping I'd find you here. I was told by the kitchen staff that you had been looking for me."

Probably Gretta or Bianca, but I blink and say, "Yes, I was just wanting to check in you. See how you were faring."

The housekeeper raises her brows in surprise, looking again to Duke, as if he'd put me up to this question. The tradesman responds with a rather stiff, "Don't look at me, I don't know a thing."

And he abruptly swipes the curtains to his booth closed.

I snicker as Helga blinks in surprise, as if no one had ever been so blunt with her. With a click of her tongue, and a tut of disproval, she leads me out of the room and into the Hall of Four. We settle amongst the marble statues as she asks, "Were you really curious about me?"

I shift from foot to foot. "Well, yes. I hadn't seen you in a while, and I still have this paranoia that the things I do may get someone killed, and I had thought –"

Helga gently chuckles as she places a hand on my shoulder. "No, no, no. You're fine dear, I've just been busy dealing with the Mistress, as well as other things around this castle. Which reminds me: be aware that the Mistress's lipstick is missing. Should you happen to find it, please return it to her bathroom. It is custom made, and therefore very expensive."

"Did someone steal it?"

"Doubt it; likely she misplaced it. But better we find it soon before that assumption gets to her head, and ours start rolling."

I swear I could see a ghost of a smile on her lips, but her tone is too serious. Still, I adjust my rifle – which I have to take today since I left the compound bow at Donna's estate, and it'll be a while before Duke will have another one – and ask, "So, what has the Mistress been making you do?"

"Just more additions to my usual schedule. It feels like the castle has been a madhouse these past few weeks. I feel the maids are getting the aftermaths of Heisenberg's visit."

"Well what about that suitor Bela had; is something going on with him?"

Helga gives a hinting, inconspicuous nod of her head. "I wasn't told much. Clearly this is something to be had within the family."

She casts a glance over towards the stairs leading up to the main hall, as if waiting for one of the Dimitrescu family to come down.

After a heartbeat, I swallow past my tight throat and ask, "Helga, is it . . . is it true about what happened to Kathryn?"

She turns to me, her features dripping into solemn, and for once, she averts her gaze from me. The housekeeper takes a step to her left and leans against the marble statue – the pose so unlike her. Almost, defeated, if oddly relaxed.

She fiddles with the nail of her thumb. "So you heard."

More of a question than answer.

I bite my lip. "Bit difficult not to. Most of the maids seem pretty happy with her gone."

Probably the wrong thing to say – if the disappointment on her face, and the shake of her head is any indication – but it is the truth. And she knows it.

Helga sighs. "Stubborn as she was, as guarded as she was . . . next to me, she's the longest living woman to work at this castle."

And if the Dimitrescu family is starting to put her in the dungeons –

"They won't get rid of you, Helga. You're too valuable!" I immediately blurt in a seize of panic. Her eyes widen, blinking at me in surprise. "I'm sorry if Kathryn was a friend of yours –"

"Mutual acquaintance at best, but thank you."

"But, Lady Dimitrescu can't get rid of you. Not with how smoothly you seem to run this place."

The housekeepr chuckles, pushing off of statue, and placing her hand on her lower back as it tightens with pain. She winces, but then relaxes. "I appreciate the thought, my dear. And don't worry; I know my time is near, but I was smart enough to have a contact with The Mistress."

"Contract?"

"It was something I bargained for when I first started working here. Rather than kill me, or subject me to the horrors of the dungeon, I am to retire."

I blink. "There's, no way they'll keep that promise." I whisper. "To let someone like you just, walk away?"

"I never said I'd be retiring in the village."

A chill slithers down my spine.

Helga softly says, "I'll have my goodbyes with my family. I'll have a lesser workload when someone . . . worthy takes over. But I am to live out the rest of my days here, in the castle." She gives a grim smile. "At least once it's over, my body will be buried alongside my family. My husband."

I never knew; she doesn't wear a wedding band. But perhaps the pain of missing him had become too much to bear – not with so much blood and death smothering this place.

"I'm sorry," I say.

Helga nods, her smile turning a bit warm. "I've traversed through my grief. And I've spent even longer knowing he loved me; and that he cherished me as I cherished him. Sickness can kill any man, it seems. No matter how invincible they think they are."

"Yeah, I know." I mutter.

Those blue-grey eyes look to mine, and I let her see. See that hole, that vulnerability that never quite went away after my father's passing.

A smile of understanding upturns the corners of her mouth, and she reaches out and tickles my chin with her fingers. The gesture so natural, so easy that it makes me wonder if she had children that she left behind – to come here for whatever reason.

"What are they going to do with her?" I ask.

"I don't know. They don't have much reason to torture her – even if for amusement she has nothing to tell. Perhaps they might let her rot, or feed her to the pigs."

I suppress a shiver at how easy those words drip from her lips, unphased, unbothered despite the lingering pain of losing what she might've considered a friend – in its loosest term.

Helga slowly shakes her head, as if the weight of her thoughts makes it difficult. "But I digress, I did come with a intended message: the Mistress wishes to see you when you come back from your morning hunt."

My heart sinks a bit. "Am I going to walk out of that meeting?"

Helga shrugs too nonchalantly for my liking. "She didn't seem upset in the slightest. Simply calling upon your services."

I give her a doubting glance.

"Erika, if something was wrong, I would tell you. I've worked here long enough to notice the tells on each member of the Dimitrescu family."

"Tells?"

"Signs of when you need to say your prayers, or just make sure your skirt is wrinkle free."

"Did she give any kind of context?"

A shake of her head. "I'm afraid not. But I had to guess, she is hosting another dinner tonight with that suitor she had Bela seduce. Not to mention Bela's birthday is coming up. Though that usually brings a wave of, anxiety amongst the servants.

Because one of them might end up being the daughters' "gift."

"Not only that," Helga continues, "but you are to take this morning hunt, on your own."

I pause, blinking in confusion and surprise. "W-What?"

"The Lady and her eldest daughter will be busy entertaining some more guests today, so you will be partaking in your hunt by yourself. And you're to report to the Mistress when you return. Should everything be planned right, you'll find her in her private chambers."

Her implication simply means: don't be late. My feet already ache at the thought of the chores she might have me do. But then again, it wouldn't be so bad to have a somewhat 'normal' day of work here at the castle, after everything that's been happening lately.

My heart races at the thought of being by myself on a hunt – it's been long enough that I can barely remember that last time. Probably towards the end of summer? Or was it the first time I'd encountered the lycans?

There's more disappointment than excitement. I had gotten used to Bela's company. No matter where we stand, it was nice having someone watch my back. Especially after our encounter with the vârcolaci.

However, it also means I'll be carrying everything back myself. My body internally groans at the thought. But then I remember –

"Are the woods safe enough for me to be hunting on my own?"

Helga nods, "The Mistress seems to think so. As far as I had been told, she and Mother Miranda scoured the castle grounds and eliminated any trespassing lycans on the property."

I shudder. "What . . . are those things?"

Helga considers, staring at me as she blatantly says, "Monsters. And nothing more." Before I can press further, she begins to guide me towards the castle front doors, the hall with the oil painting of the three women still glowing golden with candlelight. "Now run along and collect your bounty."

"But Helga –"

"Go on, go on, no sense in wasting more time." She guides me out as if she were escorting me to a ball.

I turn to her as I adjust the rifle strapped at my shoulder, and all the housekeeper spares is a kind yet, saddened smile. Then she closes the door soundlessly behind me.

I've done pretty good by myself considering most animals having moved further into the woods, and the bareness of the trees leaves me with little cover. Not to mention the many dry leaves and twigs littering the forest floor. I'd been lucky to find a soft bed of pine I could set up around, lying in wait for anything to wander by.

I'd set up my usual snares, the one yielding most success being by the river. Many salmon swimming upstream and getting caught in my traps. Not too many rabbits tripped my wires in the wood, so I decide to leave them for the next morning. Even if an animal eats them, I could use the scraps as chum for more fish.

While waiting in my circle of pine needles, I had to choose between a buck and a boar – I opted for the boar since I hadn't seen one all season, and I had a yearning for the taste of their meat, since deer can tend to be gamey. Besides, it's easier to carry with its shorter legs, less cumbersome if a bit heavier.

When I return to the castle, my shoulders are sore, and the smell of the pig and its blood has seeped so far into my skin, into my mouth that I can taste it. Similar to tasting the stench of a skunk. And some of its blood has seeped into my hair, tainting the tips pink.

I can still feel the cold of the fish in the burlap sack across my back, having already chopped their heads off and drained them of their blood, they swish around and leave cold spots with every step I take.

I can only pray I'll be allowed time to wash up before having to meet Lady Dimitrescu.

Shouldering my way inside, I navigate towards the kitchen, mindful of the blood and mud I'm trekking inside. But as I push through the double doors from the adjacent hall, I register voices before it's too late.

I peer up and find Bela and that handsome man once again together, sitting on the couch before the fireplace. Bela curled against his side, donned in a dress of fawn-soft pink – looking like a spring fairy.

Their conversation stops as I step into the room, and I can't stop my brows from lifting in surprise at their presence – nor them to mine. Bela's mouth is agape, as if she were in the middle of saying something.

The man's eyes widen, but beneath their forefront of disgust, a deadly lust lingers within those. I don't bother hiding my snarl, and . . . I may have pushed the boar further into my back to draw some more blood from it.

They don't say anything as they stare at me as if I am an enigma. So as I pass by their couch at an uncomfortably close distance, I simply mutter, "Lady Bela," before aiming towards the kitchen.

I spare an apologetic nod to the couple of servants mopping the floor of the main hall as I step inside the dining room. Their returning smiles are less then pleasing, but they seem eager to do something other than gawk at the daughter and her suitor.

It takes some tricky angles getting myself into the kitchen – startling one of the other poor maids in the process – but I manage to get the boar inside, and in the back pantry. Louis is kind enough to offer me a bucket and ladle to pour on myself in an attempt to wash out the blood.

And I could've sworn Bianca kept eyeing me while she was washing dishes. But I don't have time for conversation, so I thank Louis again for bringing me a towel, wiping myself as best I can before chucking it into the fire, watching the boar blood and mud eradicate into ash.

Rather than face their stares again, I decide to take the long route back to my room where I draw myself a quick back and rinse myself until I can only smell a mix of grapefruit and cucumber melon. I scrunch my hair with a towel to try and give it some curl, but I end up just combing it out and sweeping it up into a chignon. I toss my hunting clothes into the wicker hamper before changing into one of my old dresses – the fit now a bit snug with the weight I've put on, and my form filling out more. It's one of the lighter colors – a cornflower blue, with long, fitted sleeves, and a collar lining along the base of my neck. I slip into my work shoes, after needing a brief dusting off, and stand before the rosewood mirror.

I look . . . pretty good, all things considered. I wipe my hands on my skirt once more before leaving my bedroom, and navigating my way towards Lady Dimitrescu's private chambers. Gods, I haven't dressed like this in months. It feels weird.

I navigate through the castle courtyard into the annex – so used to the layout of the castle now that I could walk these halls blindfolded. At least, my routes and routines now. But as I climb the steps to the second floor, my heart begins to race at remembering what had happened the last time I was up here at Dimitrescu's private chambers.

While on my way, I double check a few drawers of different tables and hutches set around the halls. I'd taken to hiding some spare ammo boxes in them just in case something was to happen. I don't know what, but my father always taught me to be better safe than sorry. If Bela or her family discovered any of them, they didn't say anything.

I turn the corner and find the gilded door leading to her chambers. Polished and pristine as the rest of the castle. I quiet my steps as I approach, listening closely for . . . anything. I try telling myself it's to make sure I'm not interrupting anything, but it's not convincing.

At the silence, I raise my hand and knock on the door. Seconds pass before I hear Lady Dimitrescu's voice chirp from the other side, "Come in."

I step inside, and find Lady Dimitrescu sitting at her vanity table, brushing out her hair.

But I'm startled to see she's wearing only a corset, and black stockings. The corset is a lovely beige with lave along the top, and blackened bones that curve along the front of her breasts, along her sides.

I gasp and cover my eyes, "My apologies madam. You told me I could come in."

A pause, and I can sense she's looking at me. "You've already bathed me darling, I don't see why you're upset."

She sounds bored. Unbothered.

I gulp and continue to avert my eyes. "Not at all My Lady, it's just rude to have discovered rather, indecent."

I can hear her feline grin as she coos, "It's only indecent if it's unwelcomed dear, now quite dawdling and come here."

Despite my caution, I relent and approach her. When sitting at her mirror, her hair reaches to the middle of her back. Those gleaming pearls still embedded in her ears, her golden eyes relaxed. She has a lovely figure – as I'd noticed when she first caught me roaming the halls at night – but the corset amplifies it, guiding the eyes along her sides, hips, and waist.

"I was told you wanted to see me, My Lady." I say as I approach, standing behind her and gazing at our reflections.

I can barely see myself over her shoulder, and her mocking grin says enough. Fighting the blush in my cheeks, I quickly find a footstool tucked by the side of her vanity. Lady Dimitrescu doesn't say anything as I pull the stool over, and step up.

Now, I can see myself. Or at least, I can see head and shoulders.

Before she says anything, she hands me the brush. I look at her reflection, and she lifts her brows, an easy, patient smile on her lips. Right. I take the brush and begin tracing through where she had left off.

Her hair feels as soft as silk, just like when I had helped her bathe. It smells of citrus and wildflowers with a hint of tobacco. For my own sake, and because my hands are starting to shake, I only brush from the base of her skull, through the ends.

"Yes dear," she finally answers, "I wanted to ask you about a few things."

She adjusts herself, straightening her back, and silently hinting that these questions might take some time. "I did want to ask how you're stay at House Beneviento was. I'm sure it was quite a change in scenery and atmosphere."

I swallow, tasting the bile from last night after I had that nightmare. "It was . . . rather quiet." I admit. "I didn't expect her home to be so, barren."

Lady Dimitrescu hums, crossing her long legs and resting her hands in her lap. "What did she show you?"

Her voice is suddenly as sharp as a blade, so razored and straight that I feel like lying will result in my guts being strewn about the carpet.

So I say, "I was made aware that Miss Beneviento has a, special ability, regarding pollen and plants. It allowed her to manipulate my mind, and bring my greatest fears to reality."

A lifeless smile. But then she asks mildly, "And what brought on this sudden, revealing of her abilities?"

My blood chills, but my features remain impassive. Unfortunately, my hands betray me as they pause mid-brush of her hair. "I . . . broke, her doll Angie, after it – she – had said some rather inappropriate things about my sister."

Lady Dimitrescu reaches for a lipstick without breaking my stare. "You know you that you represent House Dimitrescu, do you not my dear?"

I repress a shiver of fear. "I do, My Lady. Unfortunately, in the moment, and with the situation, I was under a different impression."

"You were sent there to work, I don't understand how the situation would be any different."

I gulp. "Well, y-yes but – the reason you sent me there in the first place was because –"

"I sent you there for the better well-being of my daughter." The Lady coldly states. "You're the first thing she's taken an interest for in a long while, and I won't have Mother Miranda's interest force that to be compromised. You are still a Dimitrescu worker who is going to another Lord's house for labor – and I will not have you disgracing us because of your tempter." I flinch, the brush catching in her hair, but I don't tug on it. "Is that clear?"

"Y-Y-Yes My Lady." And I don't know what possesses me to look at this woman and ask, "When am I to expect my punishment?"

I begin to curl and twist her hair up into its own chignon, shorter strands falling out to frame her face. She lifts her hand, and I immediately drop her hair. Her nails are painted a dark, deadly crimson – almost black when not in sunlight.

"Well, I had worse intentions for you, but is seems my other daughters are taking interest in your as well."

Gods bless Cassandra – but wait, Daniela too?

"H-How do you mean, My Lady?" I bite the inside of my cheek.

Lady Dimitrescu's expression fills with cool contempt. Her eyes bob to her perfume bottle, the back to my face. "Cassandra approached me this morning at breakfast about letting her train with you. She wants to learn how you fight."

Her tone was as much a question as it was an accusation. As if I had manipulated her daughter into wanting to train with me, despite having a circumstance that renders her near invincible to humans. To mortals.

"I was just as surprised, My Lady." I step back as she raises the perfume bottle, gently cradling the blue bulb and squeezing a few spritzes onto her neck, her wrists. The floral smell reminds me of summers at the lake.

"And yet you agreed."

"Yes."

"Why?"

I lick my lips. "Because, I believe all women should learn how to defend themselves." When she doesn't reply, I continue, "Your daughters do have a unique advantage in many situations, but gods forbid, if something were to happen where they'll be vulnerable, it's important that they learn how to fight."

The Mistress says, "I presume you've already been shown my daughter's, unique, abilities?"

I nod. "Bela had to while protecting us from the vârcolaci. She saved my life, and I am in her debt. I presumed she had already told you."

Lady Dimitrescu remains unfazed. "No, she didn't. Of course, there was a hustle to get you to Donna's as soon as possible; perhaps she merely forgot."

I nod in agreement. "So, will you allow Cassandra to train with me?"

She grabs a powder puff and dabs it gently into her compact, gently patting her nose and cheeks. I don't bother saying anything.

"I'll have to discuss it with her more. But I'm not saying no." She sighs. "Her mentioning it was enough to get Bela riled – she almost ruined breakfast. This discussion isn't going to be fun at our next meal."

I give my best curtsey. "Thank you, My Lady."

"Of course, we both still know a punishment has to be given."

My blood chills, and I know I've gone pale from the sound of Lady Dimitrescu's snicker.

Well, at least I know she won't kill me, but that leaves open the door of possibilities of what else she can do. There are some fates worse than death. Maybe I'll be in a dungeon cell right next to Kathryn, nibbling on a rat carcass –

"Well, I presume Donna has satisfied her thirst for vengeance?"

"Y-Yes, My Lady. I had nightmares for about three days. I couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't. Even this morning I had, vomited, due to the aftereffects of it."

"That explains why you look rather peaked." Her golden eyes trail up and down my body for emphasis. I fidget under that stare.

"What am I to expect for my punishment, My Lady?" I carefully ask.

Again, that trailing stare.

Then she stands from her stool and walks over to a table set on the other side of the room, towards the double doors that lead to her bathroom. She pulls out her long cigarette holder and takes a few seconds to light it.

She takes a long draw as she saunters back over to me, myself clumsily stepping out of the way, and certainly trying not to stare at her rounded ass as she sits back down. Though I do catch a glimpse of a garter belt holding onto the tops of her stockings as she sits down. Her toes seems to be painted a similar red as her fingernails.

Lady Dimitrescu stares at me like a cat stares at a caged canary before releasing the long plume of smoke into the air. I bite back my cough, biting back my nerves as her golden eyes practically glow from within the smoke.

A serpentine smile. "Well, it may seem a tad old fashioned: but I was not one to spare the rod when my daughters would act out."

"M-Madame?"

"You are a bit more fragile than them, so I will keep mind to my strength."

My confusion is obvious, so Lady Dimitrescu crosses her legs and pats her lap, angling herself parallel to the vanity.

I look up and stare at my reflection, at the Mistress's profile.

"Unless you'd rather Cassandra give this punishment in the castle dungeons.

"No!" I yelp with little control. "N-No, Madame."

"Well, then come over here and take your punishment like a good girl."

My cheeks are flushed, my embarrassment abounding as I approach Lady Dimitrescu with timid steps.

She tousles a piece of hair over her shoulder, regal yet dark in her own respect.

Her one elbow rests on the lip of the vanity, the other ushering me as I sprawl along her lap.

I place one knee on the edge of the embellished stool, but Lady Dimitrescu pushes me until both of my knees are on her thigh. I worry about my weight, but judging from her expression, it doesn't bother her.

My hands brace themselves on the edge of the vanity, staring at my reflection, mindful of Lady Dimitrescu's resting elbow. My knees settling in the crevice of her thighs.

"Ten thrashes, Erika. You will count each one, or we'll begin again with each stroke you miss. You decide how long this goes on for."

I keep my mouth shut. I just focus on my breathing – and not the pulsing at my core.

This should be wrong. Why is my body acting like this?

My skin ripples with goosebumps as I feel Lady Dimitrescu's hand gather up the skirt of my dress.

I move to smack her hand away in a flinch. "M-Madame!"

Her free hand grips my wrist, squeezing hard enough to show that she can break bone if she wishes. "Believe me, I don't want to do this dear," Lies. Such lies – she's enjoying this. Enjoying my embarrassment. My indecency. "But it seems that you've left me no choice."

Her voice is a lover's whisper, and I know my face has turned tomato red. Why am I reacting like this? It's like all my fear has been replaced with arousal, and . . . anticipation.

"Ten thrashes, and that's it. All you have to do is count."

I suppose there are worse ways she could throttle me for disrespecting another Lord.

Though my body still trembles, I brace my hands once more on the lip of the vanity, drawn to stare at my reflection.

Lady Dimitrescu moves to lift my skirt again. My body attunes to every movement she makes – her fingers gathering and lifting the bulk of the fabric, her fingers tracing along the back of my thigh, to carefully pressing and flattening it all at the small of my back, right before the curve of my ass.

I bite my lip as my face heats again, feeling the smoke from Lady Dimitrescu's cigarette curl along my exposed ass like ink in water. Its brush as light as a flower petal.

I hiss in shock, refraining from moving as I feel her finger curl and hook the strand of fabric that is my undergarment. A simple piece of black nylon I had purchased from Duke after Bianca's recommendation.

My breath sighs out of me in horror as she pulls it down, revealing everything I was. I whimper as I feel the fabric drop into the crevice of my knees.

Lady Dimitrescu purrs, as if I were a roasted pig before her. I have half a mind to pull the skirt back down, but her mood can still change with a snap of fingers.

After another draw of her pipe, she raises her hand. "Ready?"

I nod, looking down at my hands, unable to stand the sight of my reflection.

And even bracing myself, even clamping down, there is nothing to prepare for the crack, the sting, the pain. I don't stop the yelp that erupts from my throat, as if she had truly pushed the sound out of me.

But it isn't laced with as much pain as I had expected. Lady Dimitrescu, it seems, is pleasantly surprised as well.

"What number was that, Erika?"

My voice is a garbled noise. "One."

A nod of approval. "Good."

Then the crack and the pain and my back arches, my shoulders crushing together as it radiates through my spine. I can already feel my ass is glowing red from the pain, the skin raw.

The third crack draws another yelp from me – this one I barely recognize as my own voice. It is so laced with a pleasure I don't even know, that I wonder if the smoke was another kind of drug, like Donna's pollen.

My core pulsates with the radiating pain in my ass. And my body grows cold at the thought of someone else walking into the room, seeing me like this.

"Oh?" Lady Dimitrescu hums. "Your body tensed up then. Are you eager for some company?"

Her voice is so soft – so sensual.

"N-No." I whimper.

"No? You don't want someone else to come in and see you so indecent? See you sprawled across my lap and receiving your discipline like a good girl?"

Why does part of my body sing at those words? And why . . . why does it feel like a truth?

I'm so lost in thought, real pain emits from my next outcry as the fourth contact startles me.

The Mistress chuckles. "You should look at yourself. See the faces you're making. You almost seem to be enjoying this."

My breathing begins to saw in and out of me as I shake my head.

"No? Well then perhaps I should spank you harder."

I make if through four more spanks before I cry out in real, raw pain. Her blow had been on top of another, searing the nerves and drawing an itching heat from my skin.

Still, I say, "Eight."

"Good." She coos. "Have you been looking at yourself? At the faces you've been making?"

I shake my head. "No. No Madame."

It's too embarrassing. Too . . . odd to look at myself like that. That and, I just hate my reflection when it doesn't have to do with monitoring my body.

"Shame," she sighs, cracking her hand across my ass again before I can prepare. This time, it's more of a moan, but still laced with pleasure that has my core pulsing, milking.

"Nine," I whimper. And I can only pray that she doesn't notice or feel the wetness that no doubt has soaked my exposed sex.

One more. Just one more. I can do this.

But then her finger starts to trace circles on my left cheek, and my skin crawls with goosebumps again, pebbling my nipples. "You've done well, little pet. Aren't you just full of surprises?"

I don't let my guard down for one second. And sure enough her one final smack pushes hard enough into me that my arms buckle and the side of my face slaps into the top of her vanity, rattling her cosmetics and perfume.

I draw my breath in and out of me – in through my nose, out through my mouth. My ass is going to be so sore. I might not be able to sit on it for a week. I can almost feel the steam coming off of my skin, see the edges of red that pain the entirety of my ass.

The Mistress herself sighs in pleasure, as if she were about to – or had – come from the sight of me.

"Well done, dear. You're finished."

I do my best to gather myself. To pull up my undergarment and ignore the sensation of the fabric getting stained with my wetness.

The skirt sliding back over gives a shivering chafe, the fabric trapping the heat and making it worse.

Lady Dimitrescu laughs as I shift uncomfortably. "A nice cool compress will help. Or you could just stick your ass out the window. I'm sure it will be a lovely sight."

I bite back a snarl and force myself to curtsey. "Thank you for your mercy, My Lady. I am grateful."

"I'm sure you are." She croons, taking another long draw of her cigarette. "Now, before you go, I request your services for a dinner I'm hosting."

"Dinner?"

"A simple task for you. It'll be hosted in the opera hall, and I would like you to play piano to entertain the guests and provide, atmosphere."

Gods, the thought of sitting on a piano bench for hours –

"Is it for Lady Bela and her suitor?"

A predatory blink. "Of a sort."

I curtsey again, a groan chirping in my lips at the skirt brushing against my ass. "Yes My Lady."

"It's in three days. Don't dawdle. See to Gabriella if you're looking for appropriate attire."

"What am I to wear if I'm not directly entertaining the guests?"

"Simplicity is best. You're not trying to draw attention to yourself."

"Yes My Lady."

She hums. "So fiery, and yet so docile when you need to be. You are a fascinating young woman, Erika."

"T-Thank you, My Lady."

She waves her hand at me. "Now run along. There should be a list of chores waiting for you at your room. Per request of Bela and I."

"Yes, My Lady."

Walking out of that room proved to be an event in of itself. Once the door is closed behind me, I tuck my hands under my skirt and press them to my warm cheeks. My hands are cooler due to lack of blood flow in that moment. I lift my skirt once more and press my raw and aching ass against the cool, gold filigree. It sends a reliving shiver up my spine.

But it's short lived when I hear someone gasp. I swallow my own scream, if not to alert Lady Dimitrescu that I still lingered, and look to find Nadine standing a couple of feet away – a lunch tray in her hands.

She blinks at me with those crystalline eyes. "What, are you doing?"

Red lines the bridge of her nose – indicating she indeed saw me.

I drop my face in my hands, groaning as loud as I am allowed to. I take a couple of steps towards her, making to pass her as I say, "The Mistress disciplined me."

"She what?" she hisses.

I step back. "She, disciplined me."

Nadine's hands seem to grip the handles of the lunch tray harder until her knuckles are white.

"Are you –?"

She whirls around and stomps down the other end of the hall before I can finish my question. s