The night dragged on endlessly.
Lirian decided to sit by the window of her chambers, staring out at the faint glow of dawn breaking over the frozen mountains.
"I can't believe it…"
The events of the banquet replayed in her mind over and over.
The cold air that seeped through the cracks in the stone walls didn't bother her.
When the first rays of sunlight came in, she decided she couldn't bear to stay locked away any longer.
She needed air, and something to do.
Slipping into a dress she found, Lirian made her way to the kitchen.
The castle was eerily quiet in the early hours, but then her footsteps weren't the only loud noise in the empty corridors.
And the moment she stepped into the bustling warmth of the kitchen, all sound seemed to cease.
Servants who had been chatting in low voices fell silent, their glares went to her.
One woman, kneading dough at the counter, avoided her eyes entirely, her hands worked faster.
A cook by the fire stopped stirring his pot and muttered something under his breath.
Lirian ignored it. She was used to this now—the coldness, the whispers. But it didn't sting any less.
"Good morning," she said full of confidence as she walked to the table.
No one replied.
The room buzzed with an awkward fog as people moved around her, pretending she wasn't there.
"Could I have tea, please?" she asked after a moment, addressing no one in particular.
A maid finally stepped forward, her lips pressed in one line.
"Yes, Duchess," she said stiffly, pouring tea into a chipped cup before placing it on the table with a hard clink.
"Thank you," Lirian said softly, taking the cup and sitting down at the far end of the table.
She was just about to take a sip when the door opened.
Gabriel entered.
The servants straightened, their murmurs died out completely.
"Good morning," he said in a brisk but polite manner.
His eyes found Lirian, and he walked toward her.
She looked up, forcing her face into a neutral expression.
Whatever anger or hurt stayed from the banquet, she wouldn't let him see it.
"Good morning," she replied calmly.
Gabriel leaned a hand on the edge of the table, studying her.
"How are your wounds?" he asked.
"They're healing," Lirian answered, sipping her tea.
He nodded, then straightened. "Good. The hunting tradition is tomorrow. It's something all women participate in when the Duke returns to the North. But I told them you won't be joining."
Lirian raised an eyebrow, setting her cup down. "Why not?"
Gabriel hesitated, looking at the servants, who were clearly listening but pretending to be busy.
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "You've been through a lot. I didn't think you'd want to."
She met his eyes, "You didn't have to do that. I'm capable of participating."
Gabriel frowned. "It can get rough," he said, worrying about her wounds again.
Lirian smirked faintly, leaning back in her chair. "The dirtier, the better."
Gabriel blinked, caught off guard by her response.
For a moment, he didn't say anything, but Lirian was acting weird all of a sudden.
He looked at her dress.
"Why are you wearing that?" he asked suddenly.
Lirian glanced down at the soft fabric.
It was one of the dresses she'd found tucked away in the wardrobe when she'd arrived in the North.
She had thought it elegant, warm, and perfectly fitting for a duchess…especially after all her dresses were destroyed by Daria.
"It's better than the others I brought," she replied simply.
Gabriel's jaw tightened. "That dress belonged to my mother."
Lirian looked at him, surprised. He hadn't mentioned that before.
Gabriel's voice turned sharp. "Take it off. Immediately."
Her eyes narrowed, her calmness slipped just slightly. "Why?"
"It doesn't belong to you," he said in a clipped voice.
The room seemed to hold its breath.
Lirian felt every gaze on her, the servants pretending to focus on their tasks but listening intently.
Gabriel's hand gripped her arm.
It wasn't rough, but it was firm enough to make her flinch.
His words came low, but they carried an edge. "Take it off, Lirian."
Before she could respond, another voice interrupted their conversation.
"Gabriel," Daria said, stepping into the kitchen with perfect timing.
Her voice was soft, sweet. "Please, don't speak to your wife like that."
Lirian's lips pressed together.
Daria's false kindness only made her anger boil hotter.
Daria stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on Gabriel's arm.
"She's just adjusting to life here. You don't need to be so harsh…do you remember how hard it was for me here during my first time?"
Lirian stood, carefully prying Gabriel's hand off her arm.
"Excuse me," she said, her voice even.
As she passed by Daria, their eyes locked.
She didn't say anything, but her glare spoke everything.
Daria's smile faded ever so slightly, but she recovered quickly, tilting her head in feigned innocence.
Lirian didn't stop.
She left the kitchen with her head held high and lighter steps.
If Daria thought she could humiliate her, she was sorely mistaken.
The original host of this body was way worse than any enemy against her.
"Tomorrow during the tournament, I will destroy you."