This was a mistake, if the knot in my side was any indication.

My lungs burn and my legs feel like lead, but I keep running, as if the denizens of hell are nipping at my heels. One step after another, one breath in, one breath out. Breathe — I have to remember to keep breathing.

The gentle, cooling breeze from this morning has dissipated, leaving behind only a moistened humidity as thick as pea soup. Sweat pours from my head, running down my temples, my cheeks, my neck; gathering at the small of my back. The shirt clings to me, my trousers rubbing my skin red.

I turn a corner, heading north — back toward the castle. One step after another, never slowing down. I should've eaten something at lunch before deciding to come out here. Bela had said that the afternoon was mine – I would've had plenty of time – but instead, being an idiot, I decided to go for a run in the gardens . . . at a full sprint . . . on an empty stomach.

On the other hand, I couldn't waste an opportunity like this: the slowest hours of the day; most of the servants are inside, dealing with their own personal chores, and while the threat of Lady Dimitrescu and her other daughters is still a possibility, I doubt they would waste their time exploring the little patches of forest on their grounds.

I miss a breath, and my knees wobble, but I kept upright. The run will be over soon. Soon.

I don't dare slow down – I don't allow it. My father hadn't when we he was training me, and I certainly won't be lenient just because he is gone. Years of such routines with him had taught me the dangers of giving up too easily.

I can feel his eyes upon me, ordering me to go faster, faster, faster. If I had any breath, I would've echoed the little chant we huffed while running together. It was a simple, two-syllable chant that allowed a steady beat with the clapping of my feet against the ground.

The trees part, revealing the field that lies between the game park and the stables. The end of the path. My head spins, and I would have cursed at the stitch that lances through my side had I had any breath to do so.

Only a few yards left. The light of the open field grows brighter and brighter as it approaches. Stars flash before my eyes, swarming in my vision. I have to keep going.

I try to imagine myself as a stallion, bounding across the open expanse of endless greenery. No boundary between the earth and the sky, the wind calling my name. The pounding of my heart as wild and reckless as thunder over the land.

Then, I am through the trees, and the open field surrounding me in an explosion of space and grass and blue sky. It is all I can do to keep from sinking to my knees, but I make my legs slow, slow, slow, make my feet walk, make myself take breath after breath as the stars continue bursting before my eyes.

My feet begin move of their own accord, into the cover of the bushes, stumbling as the world becomes dark and light and tilted. I have barely sunk to my knees when I vomit.

I heave and heave until I have nothing left inside. I hear the snap of a twig, but I don't bother looking. A foolish choice – but I cannot muster the strength. A rather plump squirrel hops past me, flicking its tail in mockery.

On trembling limbs, I grapple onto a nearby tree and haul myself upright again. I keep breathing in and out, clearing my head and ordering strength into my limbs.

When I'm steady on my feet, I look towards the double doors to find Nadine standing across the path, watching me with tightened lips; her hands carrying a basket full of gourds. Her crystalline blue eyes twinkle silver in the light.

I wipe my mouth on the back of my wrist, spit a mouthful of spittle and bile onto the stones, and say nothing to her as I exit the gardens.

By the time I get back to my rooms, to say I'm hungry would be a severe understatement. Thankfully my lunch spread is still on the table when I return. It's enough to feed a family of ten; plates of roast beef, pulled pork, roasted chicken sprinkled with cilantro, and smaller plates of baked potatoes, salad, fruit, and a few dipping sauces. I waste no time filling my plate before I begin to devour it, shoveling meat and bread down my throat.

My trip back to my rooms had very little encounters with other servants, other than Nadine; whom I'm still curious about as to why she was watching me. Her basket of gourds suggested she was harvesting something from the castle's garden, but to stop and watch me – and the distaste in her eyes . . .

And yet I felt no embarrassment. I only felt pride at my accomplishment despite my frail body. I didn't try to stop her, instead, I went through a different door back into the castle. What's the harm in letting her gossip a little bit? I've heard worse about myself before, being caught vomiting won't be anything affective.

I do try to chew slowly though; I don't want to waste such a good meal. After two forkfuls, I force myself to take small gulps of water, not wanting to soil my appetite. When I bite into a piece of chicken, my tongue is coated with grease that tasted of garlic and lemon.

Gods, to think that the Dimitrescu eat stuff like this on a daily – it would take a couple of days just to gather the meats alone, then about a week to ready to meat and hides, and then I'd have to buy some vegetables and seasonings . . .

I'm halfway through my meal, when the dining room door opens. "What are you doing here?" I say through a mouthful.

"What?" says Bela Dimitrescu, taking a seat at the table. She's changed her clothes and taken a bath. She pulls a platter of salmon toward her and piles it on her plate. I make a disgusted face, my nose crinkling.

"I thought you were going to take a nap."

"I thought you were going to take a shower." She says with a flutter of her lashes.

I open my mouth to expose the ball of bread and beef that I've been chewing. Bela shakes her head. "Your manners are a disgrace."

I wait for her to mention my earlier run through the park and then vomiting, but she doesn't continue. "I can act and talk like a lady, if it pleases me."

"Then I suggest that you begin to do so."

I pause cutting more of the pork. "Why?"

Bela takes her sweet time taking a bit from the salmon, her lips enveloping the fork. "I told you, we're meeting with Mother to discuss your dancing."

My stomach tightens. "Now? Today?"

"Why not start early?"

I drop my silverware. "Because your sister just beat the shit out of me as your mother's punishment. Whatever happened to staying low and avoiding her until I'm sure she won't snap my neck the next time she sees me?"

"Because I just learned that the gathering, I told you about?" she points at me with her fork. "It's going to be in a couple of weeks. So we need to make sure that your dancing skills are polished enough that you won't cause my mother, nor I, any embarrassment. Possibly furthering another punishment."

"Will I even be healed by then?"

A shrug of her shoulder. "Healed enough, I'm sure. As long as you don't do anything stupid."

I slouch in my chair, planting my face in my arms on the table. I don't know if I can do this. I cannot face Cassandra or Dimitrescu in this condition. I need time for myself, to recuperate before I even consider stepping into her presence again.

"We'll also need to update your wardrobe. Those tunics and shirts aren't going to be appropriate for a gathering."

I peek up from my arms and glare at her. She just offers a coy smile as she takes another bite of salmon.

Well, I suppose there's no point in arguing about it. I'm not going to get anywhere, and it certainly isn't going to change her mind.

"Fine," I say with obvious bitterness. "So, what's the plan?"

"We're going to have the tailor take some of your measurements and ready a few dresses for you. As well as something much more formal for dinners and events."

"Couldn't I just wear one of my own dresses?"

Bela snorts. "Those awful clothes certainly won't do you any good."

I bite my tongue to hold my retort. Luiza spent a good amount of money on those clothes for me so I wouldn't get ridiculed. I feel guilty they've only had a couple of months worn on them. So I simply say, "I assume there will also be rules about how I'm supposed to behave and talk?"

"Of course there will be. But it's certainly not your fault that you don't know the traditions of the castle. That's why I'm trying to help you learn some manners."

"You? Teach me about manners? You're not exactly Miss Lady 'Fancy Fingers.' I doubt killing multiple servants in a day is hardly a way a noblewoman's daughter is supposed to act."

Bela gives a little snide smile. "Just do as we say, and everything will be fine."

"Will I have to wear the dresses all the time?" Normally, I might've been thrilled; but considering the trouble the skirts will grant me while I'm hunting in the mornings –

"Oh of course not, Erika. Just for certain occasions, and if you're needed for certain meals. Fancy brunches or dinners and of the like."

I push around a leftover piece of broccoli. "So long as I don't have to wear one of those damned cages."

"I can't promise anything." Bela giggles.

I'm able to sleep for an hour, until Bela announced the arrival of the tailor, to outfit me with proper court attire. And thus another hour was spent being measured and pinned, and sitting through a presentation of different fabrics and colors. I loved most of them. I'm likely not one to speak against a professional, but when I tried to recommend specific styles that flattered me, I received only the wave of a hand and a curl of the lip. I considered jabbing one of the tailor's pearl-headed pins through her eye.

I did feel a little guilty when I caught a few curling noses from the tailor and her helpers; I'd forgotten to take a bath after my late lunch. I was so tired, and I probably smelled worse than when Bela and I went hunting.

One of the tailor's helpers – a girl who looked my age with dirty-blonde hair and green eyes – then escorted me to the bathing room where they've already prepared a bubbling, steaming bath for me.

After nearly two hours of pampering — trimming my hair, shaping my nails, and scraping away the callouses on my feet and hands — I grin at the mirror in the dressing room.

Only in the castle could servants have done such fine work. I looked . . . spectacular. Utterly and completely spectacular. I wear a periwinkle dress with long, belled sleeves that fall off my shoulders; pinned just above my elbow to reveal a lighter sleeve that reaches to my wrist. Streaked and glittering with silver vines, the bodice has extra padding to make up for my still-thin form, the flowing skirt puddling at my feet. My hair, half up and twisted with two combs fashioned like oak leaves, falls in loose waves. But my smile falters as I remember why, exactly, I am here.

Lady-in-Waiting. I look more like the Lady's lapdog.

"You look lovely." The green-eyed blonde says with a shy smile.

The tailor gives her a sneer, but I gently thank her. I do look amazing. Regal. Feminine. And to think this isn't even the formal attire. This is something they would likely wear on a noneventful day.

I allow myself to play with the skirts a little bit, fanning them wide and swaying back and forth. The satin fabric has such a delicate glow, I love it. I can at least try to enjoy the slight freedom, since soon I'll layers of petticoats on for the dinner.

I can see Bela's reflection in the mirror, leaning against the wall, silent during the entire fitting process. The servants had done such an amazing job with such focus that I had forgotten she was there.

"What do you think?" I ask with timid hesitation.

Bela purses her lips before her features relax. "You look, lively. Now come on, we need to meet Mother down in the opera hall."

I try not to think about what happened last time I was in the opera hall. But I follow the eldest daughter, biting my inner cheek as the slippers are already biting into my ankles. I can't remember the last time I wore formal slippers, let alone shoes that have a heel.

I remember the training Helga drilled into my brain and keep a step behind Bela, making sure not to step on her skirt. We pass some servants – still no one from the kitchen – but nevertheless they cast glances at me, eyes widening and mouths popping open in a small O. I straighten my back and square my shoulders, lifting my chin as we enter the courtyard, then the opera hall.

I only have a short time to steady my breaths before we enter, but I'm left surprised when I see Helga standing by the doorway. I hurry down the hall towards her, my clicking slippers making her turn around in time before I collide with her. I knock a bit of wind from her, and together we stop one another from toppling to the floor.

Her arms wrap around me and I feel her pet my head. "A pleasure to see you too, Erika. You seem to be recovering nicely."

I pull back and blink away the tears that drew from my eyes. "Thanks to you and Bela. It feels like a while since I've last seen you."

She adjusts a strand of my hair. "Well, you've certainly had your hands full. Seems like you're in bed more than anyone else."

"Not for the right reasons." I mutter under my breath.

She taps my nose with a small smile, bowing her head upon Bela's approach. I look around towards the rest of the open room and freeze when I find Lady Dimitrescu sitting at the piano. She wears her usual attire, which is, unusual, but also respectable given the number of dresses she undoubtedly has hanging in her personal chambers. Her back is turned to us, occupied by speaking with Daniela . . . and Cassandra.

I refuse to allow my scent to shift as my stomach hollows out. I look to Bela. "I have to practice with them too?"

The eldest daughter's gaze is locked onto her two sisters. "No," she snarls, "you don't."

In a blink, her smile turns vulpine as she meanders over to her mother, whom still hasn't turned to look at us. But upon Bela's approach, both of her sisters' eyes flick towards her direction, then over to me and Helga. The housekeeper does a decent job of appearing bored. And I hold Cassandra's gaze longer than most deem wise.

But I won't be defeated by her. Let her see the work she did, and how it didn't break me. Well . . . mentally, at least.

As Bela places her hand on her mother's shoulder – earning a smile that cannot be described as anything but maternal – I stand by Helga, my hands folded at my front, mimicking the housekeeper's posture as the two exchange back and forth.

Unfortunately, Bela's head lolling backwards, as if driven by the rolling of her eyes, isn't very encouraging. Helga seems to understand the sign too, as she starts to walk towards the Dimitrescu Family. I'll be practicing with them here. Worst case scenario, they'll be my partners.

The only silver lining is that I'm hoping they won't do anything to me with Cassandra's recent beating, and because I'm needed for an occasion. Whether or not I look presentable seems to be a sliding scale. But makeup can hide my bruises.

I try not to shrink at Lady Dimitrescu's smile. "Well, well, look at you my dear." She purrs. "You clean up beautifully."

I bow my head. "Thank you, My Lady."

"I assume Bela briefed you on our upcoming event?" she says with a flourish of her leather-gloved hand.

"Yes, My Lady. I was instructed that I was to see to her needs, as well as possibly dance and converse among the, visitors. If they attempt to talk to me."

I wouldn't really call them dignitaries; in fact, I don't even know who to expect at this party. The only known people of status are Mother Miranda and the Four Lords –

I can feel the blood drain from my face.

By the gods, Mother Miranda, here. And the other lords . . .

Lord Heisenberg . . .

I can't tell if my knees are quivering or if the world is tilting beneath me. How did I not think of this before?! No, no Bela would've mentioned if it was about the other Lords. Unless she just assumed I knew what she was talking about.

Oh gods, oh gods, oh, gods.

"Are you alright, my dear?" Lady Dimitrescu asks. Her wide-brimmed hat slices her face in half.

I try to ignore the tightness in my throat, the dizziness wafting into my head. I clear my throat. "My Lady, may I ask whom I am to expect at this gathering?"

She blinks twice, I could swear something like understanding softens her features. I could kneel at the pity in her eyes. I'd do anything to stay away from Lord Heisenberg. He works in his factory on the village outskirts, but no one knows that the project is, and no one dares to try and find out.

He's never hired anyone to work there, and none have ever volunteered. He's the only lord that doesn't have any odd suspicion linked to him like the others. The others require workers of some kind – and the ones that manage to return surely have stories to tell, but are too traumatized into silence to tell it. If they aren't consumed with madness.

"Donna Beneviento may make an appearance, if she wishes. But other than that, it is merely a small gathering in comparison of others I've had. Think of it as more of a business meeting." Her smile warms my heart enough I could kiss her toes.

I give a deep, controlled exhale and nod my head.

"I promise you if that little child dares to step foot in my castle, he'll find it sliced off."

The giggle that's shared between Dimitrescu and her daughters is more comforting than I anticipated. At least here, in the walls of the castle, I'm untouchable by the other Lords.

It was a fear that sometimes crept its way into my mind: the possibility of running into Lord Heisenberg while on one of my hunts.

Most lords kept to their respected territories, but Heisenberg . . . he's as wild and as unpredictable as they come. I can only recall one time when he visited the village, back when my father was still alive. I had been playing outside with Elena when my father had ordered us into the house. At that moment, it was then that I had realized something – that everything was very quiet. Unnervingly quiet. Like a predator entering the woods.

I don't remember much, as my father did an excellent job of making sure Elena and I were occupied; but in the back of my mind, I could still hear the footsteps. Hear the clicking and tapping of metal on metal – hear the casual footsteps that meandered by our house. The smell of cigar smoke.

Lady Dimitrescu claps her hands, shattering the scattered memory. "Enough of that. Come along, Erika. Let me see your dancing skills."

It begins with a simple waltz that most of the villagers are taught when they are young, at least, those in the middle to upper class. But even if we were buried in dirt, it wouldn't stop my mother from teaching Lacy and I how to be like ladies.

"At the very least, one much learn to dance with poise and grace." Lady Dimitrescu says from the piano, her fingers playing the song with ease from constant routine. She can look at my dancing, and still play the song fluidly.

"Y-Yes, My Lady."

"It must be per-fect." Daniela annunciates. "It is Mother's favorite dance."

We run through a couple more waltzes, and she deems my skills mediocre at best. I partially blame it on stage fright. Most times I'm dancing alone in my room or in the backyard of my old home. Most recently in the spacious bathroom of my suite. I never did it for practice, more for my own form of release that didn't involve killing my mother or throwing things around the house.

With the slippers, it didn't take long for my feet to start hurting, but I welcomed the familiar pain. Bela acted as my partner, and thankfully neither of her sisters seemed inclined to cut in. But they did watch me like vultures to carrion.

The next few hours are constant repetition with minimal praise, and much improvement. For the sake of my life. Alcina did sometimes point out my lack of form, but I could sense the restrain in her voice, "No, no, no Erika. It must be slower, and more formal." I'd like to think she pitied me due to my blackened eye and visible bruises thanks to the off-shoulders of my dress. Maybe even respects me because of my effort despite my blood she spilled on the carpet. But perhaps that's just wishful thinking.

The clock chimes in the corner, and before I knew it, three hours have passed. Daniela and Cassandra looked bored, but hungry, and finally Lady Dimitrescu rises from the piano, carefully closing the lid. Bela plops herself down onto the couch, and I take the one across from her.

To my surprise, Lady Dimitrescu begins a slow clap. "I must admit, I am impressed, Erika. I didn't know you were such a skilled dancer."

I remove one slipper and begin to massage my toes. "One of the few things I can credit my mother for."

"You really seem to dislike your mother. Why?" Daniela asks.

"Dani!" Bela growls.

"What?"

I wave my hand. "It's fine."

Lady Dimitrescu folds her hands. "Is that so? I remember you saying you first took this job because you wanted to provide for you family. Your mother, you said. Or am I wrong?"

"No, you're not wrong, My Lady." I massage my other foot, focusing my attention on the red blister just below my big toe, towards the bridge. "My mother has made mistakes, but she is still my mother. And I was hoping to take this job to provide for her and my little sister, Lacy."

A heartbeat of silence. I myself am stunned by my own lie. It had flowed with such ease, such comfort I almost believed it myself.

"Might I ask what mistakes, she has made?" Lady Dimitrescu continues to ask. In my periphery, I can see Bela rise, ready to settle herself between me and her family. I almost feel flattered.

I heave a painful sigh, blinking as if to hold back tears. "She didn't handle my father's death too well. Her grief buried her, and she buried herself in booze and men. She neglected my little sister and I because of it, and I never once saw her regret it. So I began to provide her us. And I'm hoping with the money I earn, I can try to get her some help. If she chooses to accept it."

Only when I finish talking do I look up at the family, Bela lifts her brow – seemingly impressed. But also weary since I just lied to her mother . . . again. Daniela and Cassandra have lifted brows, their only sign of surprise, but Dimitrescu's face remains a cold mask of indifference.

"I must admit, you are very brave."

I bow my head low. "Thank you, My Lady."

"How long is your father passed, dear?"

"A couple of years. Sickness."

An angling of her head. "So you haven't been hunting long?"

"My father taught me when he was still alive, but only recently have I been using those skills."

I carefully tread through the web she's weaving – I can still show distaste for my mother, while also putting her right in the line of fire for Dimitrescu to torture, should she refer to that method. As long as I can keep their sights off of Lacy.

Lady Dimitrescu hums, her eyes raking over me. I stiffen. "Well, I can see he taught you well."

"Erika," Cassandra suddenly chimes. Bela immediately bristles, throwing a glare at her sister that would've set her ablaze if it could. "I'd heard you're quite a singer."

I grow still. The entire room seems to be holding its breath. I don't dare look to Bela.

"Who had said that?"

Cassandra walks with a little extra sway in her hips, well aware of her advantage over Bela. "Oh, a little fly told me. Heard you're quite the little songbird."

Betrayal. That's the first thing I feel. But for there to be betrayal, there would've had to have been trust. Bela was the only one who claimed to have heard me sing – from the laundry room. Maybe that laundress had said something; maybe Cassandra tortured that little note out of her. Kathryn said she'd been taken to the dungeons, and no one has seen her since.

I press my thumb into the ball of my foot to shock myself from my stillness. "I dabble, a bit. I don't claim to be good."

"Well, it was good enough for our little Bela to want you."

That's when I look to the eldest daughter.

And I nearly soiled myself from the rage that roiled off of her every breath.

Every instinct screams for me to run, but instead, I can only shift in my seat. Lady Dimitrescu peers between her daughters, rather confused.

"What's wrong with me wanting things?" Bela asks with a killing calm. "It happens all the time."

"Please, you've been a territorial mess ever since you got her."

"Because I don't want you two" – she glares over at Daniela – "to break her. You always break my things. It's why we can't have anything nice."

What was Cassandra's game? What was she playing at? Why did she find me so interesting that she would want to expose Bela?

"Can you really sing, Erika dear?" Lady Dimitrescu asks, appearing bored. As if the conversation was useless. Good. Maybe she'll flail Cassandra for wasting her time.

"I, dabble. Little lullabies I use to sing my little sister to sleep, something to pass the time during chores at home. Nothing special."

Cassandra snorts. "Special enough that Bela wanted you."

"Cassandra, are you finished?" Lady Dimitrescu asks, placing her hands on her hips.

She looks to her mother almost hurt at her lack of interest. The Mistress's eyes spoke of punishment if Cassandra didn't let it go. To my surprise, and horror, the middle daughter doesn't back down. The staring contest lasts for a full minute. One humiliating, enraging minute.

"Fine," she spits, turning from her mother. This is a waste of her time; of everyone's time. "Don't ask about why Bela refuses to let any of us near her," she says over her shoulder. "Don't ask why she's practically treasuring her like some prized jewel."

The words are a mix of compliment and insult. Even if Bela only wanted me for my singing, it still beats having to fight for my life and my things. Even if I'm like an ornament to her.

Daniela gapes at her sister, and Lady Dimitrescu snaps her fingers at me. "Erika, could you please sing, something? I'd like to know what all the fuss is about."

Otherwise, she'll never hear the end of this from Cassandra, who is already making her way across the floor towards the exit.

Bela turns without a word and makes to turn me around. "Mother, we don't have time for this, and we really don't need this. Cassandra is just jealous that I can take better care of my things than her."

Without much of a choice, I turns and begin to leave with Bela. Turning my back on the Mistress is one of the scariest moments of my life.

"Why don't you stay, Bela?" Daniela calls. "I could show your little toy a few new tricks."

"Keep walking," Bela murmurs to me, but she didn't need a reminder.

"They say it's not the pets who are the problem, but the riders," Cassandra continues, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Bela doesn't turn. But I do. I pause and look back at the remaining family, contemplating what would be so bad, so exposing if I do sing for them. What could be the harm? There is a possibility that Cassandra might just be that petty and jealous. But how she found out about my singing will still be a discussion to be had.

"Though," Cassandra says thoughtfully, "perhaps your songbird needs a bit of discipline."

"Let's go," Bela coaxes, reaching to grab my elbow. I start to walk again, but a step behind her.

"Give that to me," Cassandra barks at someone. "She just needs the right encouragement."

I pause again to turn back –

A shimmer of steal whistles and suddenly I'm roaring in pain and fear. White light searing into my vision.

Bela stops dead.

I crumple to the floor, clutching my hand to my cheek.

Cassandra stands before me, sickle bloody from the line she'd sliced down my face, narrowly missing me eye. Her white teeth shining bright, Cassandra smiles at Bela as she raises the sickle again and strikes. I have enough sense to roll over, exposing my back. I scream as I feel the razor sharp tip sear a line across the entire expanse of my shoulders.

A heavy warmth streams down my spine.

Neither Lady Dimitrescu and Daniela weren't fast enough to stop Bela as she hurtles forward and tackles Cassandra.

Teeth and nails out, they roll across the polished floor, flipping and shredding and biting. Bela is roaring – roaring so loud the hall shakes. Feet slam into her stomach, and I hear the air shoot out of her as Cassandra kicks her off.

Bela hit the wood, spits out a mouthful of blood, and is up in a heartbeat. The middle daughter slashes with her sickle-wielding hand, a blow that could have severed through bone and flesh. Bela ducks past her guard and throws Cassandra onto the unforgiving floor.

Cassandra groans above the shouts of their mother and youngest sister, and Bela brings her fist down onto her face.

Struggling against Bela's weight, Cassandra swipes at her face. Bela reels back, the blow cutting down her neck. She doesn't even react to the undoubtable sting, or the warm trickle of blood. She just draws back her fist, knee digging harder into Cassandra's chest, and strikes.

Again.

And again.

She lifts her bloodied fist once more, but there are hands at her wrist, under her arms, hauling her off. Bela thrashes against them, still screaming, the sound wordless and endless.

"Bela!" Lady Dimitrescu roars in her ear, and nails cutting into her eldest daughter's shoulder—not hard enough to damage but to make her pause, to realize there are servants everywhere, in the doorway and in the viewing platform, gaping. Sickle raised, Daniela is standing between her and —

And Cassandra, on the ground, face bloodied and swollen.

"She is fine," Lady Dimitrescu says, squeezing Bela tighter. "Erika is fine, Bela. Look at her. Look at her and see that she's fine."

Breathing through her mouth thanks to her blood clogged nose, Bela obeys.

Her eyes find me, eyes wide and on her. My wound has already clotted, adrenaline obliterating the pain – for now.

Cassandra hasn't moved an inch from where Bela had thrown her onto the floor. But Daniela is growling, ready to launch into another fight that might very well rip this castle apart.

Helga walks up to my side, her hands reaching under my arms to help me to my feet – so controlled, and with ease. I hiss at the pain across my shoulders, but I'm alive. It'll hurt, but it'll heal.

I give an inconspicuous nod of my head.

Enough.

Bela shakes off her mother's firm grip. Everyone goes dead silent as Bela wipes her bloody nose and mouth on the back of her wrist.

Cassandra snarls at her from the floor, blood from her broken nose leaking onto her cut lip.

"You touch her again," Bela says, "and I'll drink the marrow from your bones."