The warm cloth running over the back of my legs feel soothing over the fresh cuts inflicted by the stick I was beaten with. Katya is slow and methodical, as she is with everything, each wipe uniform over my torn flesh. The hand that hits me is also the hand that feeds me.
I roll my eyes at the hypocrisy, although my back is turned to her so she doesn't see. Although our mother-daughter bonding time is over, I can sense that Katya isn't completely done with me yet. And I am correct, as Empress Katya begins to speak again.
"What do you know of the Holy Church, Winter?" the empress asks, dropping a bomb on my peace of mind.
I wonder if I should be cocky and say that I know that she's in cahoots with them and asked them to create a fake prophecy, only for my accidental birth to ruin said prophecy.
Or maybe I should say that it's full of dishonest priests who aren't afraid to lie to the emperor.
