On the walls were portraits of Blythe’s previous occupants going back hundreds of years. All of Brielle’s ancestors knew the truth, which was that only Brielle had any claim to Blythe through her mother. Lord Treveon had married into Blythe. It had been a case of love. Stefan was the disgraced grandson of a traitor to the crown and had nothing to his name, but, per legend, he saw Brielle’s mother, and it was love at first sight. Brielle’s grandfather refused to allow the match, but when he died, it was Brielle’s uncle who inherited the estate, and there was nothing he loved more than his sister.
His sister was so much like Brielle. Frail, prone to illness. The cynics called it a power grab. That Stefan Treveon was trying to resurrect the Treveon name from disgrace by marrying Eliza Desmares and stealing the Desmares fortune. Luci had long believed that two things could be true at once. There was nodenying that Stefan Treveon reeked of ambition, but he had also loved his first wife.
Luci had been fifteen when she had realized it. Brielle had taken to one of her fits of fever, and she had begged Luci for her mother’s silk scarf. Without thinking twice, Luci had gone to Brielle’s mother’s room, which remained the same as it had when she had been alive, and found Lord Treveon holding a painting of his late wife, shaking his shoulder. He never knew Luci had been there that day, but since then, she felt like she understood him just a little bit more.
“Luci,” Brielle called, reaching her hand back with a small smile.
Lord Treveon’s eyes flicked over Luci, and disgust curled at his lips.
“I thought perhaps to have some alone time with you, Brielle,” he said.
“Oh, but Stefan, Luci will want to hear the news as well!” Lady Treveon chirped as she wiped ferociously at Stasia’s eyes.
“News?” Brielle asked, eyes wide.
Lord Treveon heaved out a rough sigh. “Very well.”
Brielle’s beaming smile was enough for Luci as she crossed the distance to her. Brielle threaded her arm through hers, and a contented breath left her. There was the simple truth of Luci’s existence. She would endure any discomfort or any punishment if it made Brielle happy.
As if by magic, tea was already laid out in the drawing room with four sets of cups. Luci’s presence is already accounted for. Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought she heard a whispered grumble from Lord Treveon as he took a high-backed chair next to an expansive fireplace.
Luci and Brielle sat next to each other on a chaise, closest to the window, which was cracked open, letting in the afternoon breeze. Lady Treveon took the other high-backed chair oppositeher husband and tucked Stasia tightly beside her. The dog huffed out a breath and angled its head, glaring at Luci.
Mrs. Blakesley followed close behind, carrying Drusilla, whom Lady Treveon reached for eagerly. “Oh, my baby, come here.”
Drusilla sent a sharp bark at Luci as she passed by.
On all the stars, Luci swore she had never done anything to the wretched little things, but from the moment they came to Blythe, they decided that Luci was their enemy. Luckily, Lady Treveon found the whole thing endlessly amusing.
“Oh, how you vex my girls, Luci,” she laughed, smoothing down Drusilla’s fur and murmuring sweet nothings at her.
Luci wasn’t exactly sure she was supposed to say that, so she gave her a half-hearted smile and hoped that sufficed while sending a small glare at the little beasts when she wasn’t looking. Lucy hadn’t started their feud, but she was prepared to see it to whatever end.
Brielle smirked next to her and patted her leg reassuringly before turning to her father.
“What is the news?” she asked.
“The tea, child,” He said, waving to the dark wooden table where the steaming pot sat with empty glasses.
Her cheeks felt like fire as she felt the insult settle over her, embedding itself into the core of who she was. A servant. Maybe she didn’t get paid to be here, but she was given lodging, food, and clothing at the expense of his coin. He wouldn’t let her forget it if he could help it. It shouldn’t have mattered. Shouldn’t have grated along her bones, but she had never rued her place in the world. Had never wanted more than she was given, but the way his cold eyes watched her made her want. She wanted more.
“Father,” Brielle whispered. “Luci isn’t a servant.”
The quiet indignation thawed the ice that had grown over Luci’s heart at the insult. It didn’t matter what the Lord of Blythethought of her. He was merely a moment in time. So Luci did what he asked.
Placing a light hand over Brielle's, she gave her a reassuring smile. There was a slight darkness beneath her eyes that made Luci’s heart stutter. It was all she could do not to reach for her and feel the coolness of her skin. It always started small. Something inconsequential like a slight cough, bruising easily, or a passing sniffle, but it always ended the same. With Brielle fighting for her life and Luci losing hers. Every time the sickness came, it robbed Luci of years of health, the worry and anxiety living within her chest.
Maybe it was nothing, but she would make Brielle take a few extra tonics tonight, all the same. For now, she had something to prove. Luci stood with all the grace of a queen, feeling three pairs of eyes on her, five if you counted the beasts who waited for her to get close enough to bite.
The porcelain tea set felt wrong in her hands, as if she were holding something worth more than her life. Carefully, she poured each cup except for one. If he wanted to remind her of her place, she would rise to the occasion. The silence was deafening. With such a beautiful spring day, the fireplace lay barren and unused, meaning all there was in the room was the sounds of breathing. Luci settled into it, refusing to let her hands shake.
Once she mixed in the sugar and milk, she served Lady Treveon, who gave her a grateful smile that twitched slightly in discomfort. Next, Brielle, who bit her lip anxiously before setting down the tea on the table next to her.
If Luci hadn’t been so set on her course, she might have laughed. Instead, she served Lord Treveon and gave him her best curtsy, which was not very good at all. Nonetheless, his lip curled, having won. Small men felt strong by making othersweak. It was the first lesson she had learned at the Meridian court, and it was one she would not soon forget.
Taking her seat, Luci smoothed her skirts and waited.
“Maybe don’t,” Brielle tried, but it was too late.