The slap resounded in the room, silencing the hushed whispers of the servants through the door. Liora's cheek blazed; she caught her breath and stepped back.
"You vile, ungrateful little slut!" Her aunt snarled, her face distorted with rage.
Liora's knees buckled and she hit the chill stone floor.
"Aunt, stop! I swear to God, I didn't..."
"Enough!" The older woman's voice cut through her plea. She stood tall, her finger pointed like a blade at Liora. "Do you think anyone will believe your lies? The servants saw you sneaking around with that stable hand. Do you think they're blind?" Liora's heart pounded. "I wasn't sneaking! I was just..."
The slap landed again, and now with a force that left Liora's ears ringing. Her head snapped to the side, her vision blurring as her knees buckled beneath her. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth as she bit her lip to keep from crying out.
"You've humiliated us beyond redemption!" Her aunt's voice thundered, cutting through the ringing in Liora's ears.
Liora knelt on the cold stone floor, shaking, her hands gripping the fabric of her skirt as if it would anchor her. "Aunt, please! I swear on my life, it's not what you think!"
"Not what I think?" Her aunt's shrill laugh was venom-laced.
"Look at yourself! Filthy, dirty, running around with hair loose like some streetgirl. And that boy out there in his undershirt, helping you about the stables while you laugh like a mad thing. Do you think servants are blind? Do you think words won't spread?"
Liora's hands shot up to her hair, too late in the realization that it had come undone and wild strands clung to her tear-streaked cheeks. Her skirt was crumpled and dust-streaked from where she had tripped in the stables, and her shoes were caked with dried mud. She looked every inch at the mess her aunt said she was.
"I didn't do anything wrong!" she wailed, her voice cracking. ". He was just helping me carry the feed. He took off his shirt because it was hot, and I"
"Enough!" Her aunt's hand banged onto the table beside her, and Liora winced at the noise. "Do you hear yourself? Do you think anyone is going to care about your excuses? You were seen with a stable boy, laughing alone!, and they heard voices, god damn voices, I am even ashamed of mentioning it. That's all they need to condemn you!"
Her uncle appeared in the room, his face pale, his brow furrowed in discomfort.
"What's all this shouting about?"
"What is it?" Her aunt turned to him, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your precious niece has been caught ruining this family's name. The servants caught her behaving indecently with a half-naked stable boy. Shall I spell it out for you?"
Her uncle looked at Liora, his expression torn. "Liora, tell me this isn't true."
"I swear it's not true!" she sobbed, wriggling toward him. "Uncle, he was only helping me. That's all. You have known me since I was a child. You will know that I would..."
She's lying," her aunt interrupted sharply, her voice cold and firm. "Even if she wasn't, do you think it matters? The servants have already spoken, and by now the story is spreading. She has disgraced us, and no noble house will ever take her now."
Her uncle fidgeted in his chair, his gaze jumping between his wife and Liora. "What do you suggest we do, wife?
Her aunt straightened, smoothing the folds of her immaculate gown, her lips curling into a cold smile. "We salvage what's left of our reputation. Go to the queen dowager. Tell her we are the family willing to accept the estranged prince for our daughter."
Liora's heart sink, and she stared at her aunt in disbelief. "No! Please don't send me to him. I'll do anything, anything else!"
Her aunt sneered, leaning down until her face was inches from Liora's. "Do you think you have a choice? You are nothing now, a disgrace, a burden we should have rid ourselves of long ago. Consider yourself lucky we're sending you to the prince. At least he'll keep a roof over your head."
Her uncle hesitated. "The prince… His reputation."
"Matches hers perfectly," her aunt snapped. "He's a disgraced former prince, blamed for his wife's death and shunned by the court. Let them rot together far from here. She will never set foot in this house again."
Liora clutched at her uncle's sleeve, her tears falling freely now. "Uncle, please! You know I wouldn't do this. You know I'm innocent."
He looked away, his face obscured by shame. "It's already decided, Liora."
Her aunt straightened, her eyes like steel. "You leave at dawn. You should be grateful we aren't throwing you out onto the streets."
Liora's wails filled the chamber as her aunt swept out, leaving her uncle standing in silence. The door shut behind him moments later, and Liora collapsed onto the floor, her tears soaking the cold stone.
The stable boy was dead. They had hanged him within hours of the accusation, silencing his side of the story forever. And now she was being sent away to a man she had never met, a man whose name carried the same stain of disgrace her family had thrust upon her.
She was no longer Liora of House Miral. She was nothing.
The carriage jolted as it hit a bump in the road, and Liora clutched the side to steady herself. The interior smelled faintly of old wood and damp fabric, and the once-rich crimson upholstery was faded and torn in places. This carriage had once belonged to her mother's family, she was told. A relic of the time that had welcomed her mother into the house of Miral, grace and promise in each of its curved lines and fine details. Now it seemed a mockery of where she had come to now. The one horse that pulled the carriage belonged to her, a dappled gray mare named Mira, the only friend who had ever offered her kindness without expectations. It was almost laughable that they allowed her to keep the horse. Perhaps it was their way of ensuring she arrived at her destination without a ruckus.
Across from her, her uncle sat stiffly, his hands clasped on his lap. He hadn't said much since they left, save for a curt instruction for the driver to move faster. Liora had tried several times to meet his eyes, but he avoided her gaze, his expression clouded with discomfort and shame.
These were pitiful items that accompanied her—a small chest with a few dresses, worn shoes, and a thin golden bracelet that once belonged to her mother.
That was all she was allowed to take. Her dowry, if one could even call it that, consisted of a set of silver candlesticks, a humble mirror with a cracked corner, and a lacquered box that once held spices but now carried empty promises of her worth. Liora finally broke the silence, her voice trembling. "Uncle, please. I… I don't understand how this happened. I don't even remember being in the stables with him." Her uncle shifted, his brow furrowing, but he didn't look at her. "What's done is done, Liora. There's no point in dragging this out."
"But I'm innocent," she said, her voice breaking. "You've known me my whole life. You must believe me."
He heaved a deep sigh and let his eyes fall on the carriage floor. "What I believe is of no account. The gossip has been passed about. Your aunt…" He hesitated and shook his head. "She's arranged it. It's the only way left to save what is of your future."
Her fists were clenched in her lap as frustration and despair welled up inside her. She knew whatever she said, no matter how many tears she shed, would be of no consequence to them. She had been overpowered by her aunt's accusations, and no one cared to listen to her.
The palace gates towered ahead, iron bars etched with the intricate sigils of the royal house. The carriage slowed to a stop as the driver called out to the guards. Liora peeked out of the small window, her breath catching at the grand beauty of the palace grounds. Crushed glass sparkled down the gravel pathway leading up to the gates, and the lush gardens beyond were trimmed to perfection.
Her uncle finally spoke, his tone clipped. "The queen dowager is expecting us. Behave yourself, Liora. Do not embarrass this family further." She swallowed the lump in her throat, nodding silently.
The carriage creaked to a stop, and a servant in a clean uniform pulled open the door. Liora got out, her legs still shaking as she adjusted her dress hem. The dress was one of her good ones, but it didn't compare to the elaborate clothes she saw on palace staff.
Her uncle came after her, his face serious. He looked at her once, as if to make sure she was decent, and then turned towards the big entrance.
"This way," a steward told him, pointing toward the towering double doors that opened onto the main hall.
As she walked, Liora kept her head low, feeling the weight of every gaze that followed her. The whispers of courtiers drifted through the air, their words indistinct but heavy with judgment.
When they reached the receiving chamber, a woman in an elegant but severe gown stood waiting. Her silver hair was perfectly arranged beneath a delicate lace veil, and her eyes, sharp as a hawk's, swept over Liora with the precision of someone who missed nothing.
"The queen dowager," the steward announced while bowing down.
Liora sank into a dignified curtsy, her hands shaking as she attempted to keep her wits.
The queen dowager's eyes lingered on her; a flicker of some curiosity ran through her eyes, perhaps passing through her cold expression. "So," she said finally, her voice measured and commanding. "This is the girl."