By the time Marcella returned to the manor, the morning sunlight was spilling across the gardens. Verona hurried her inside, casting nervous glances over her shoulder as if the very flowers might gossip about Marcella's inappropriate escapade.
Her bare feet padded against the polished stone floors of the entrance hall, but before she could catch her breath, the heavy oak doors of the drawing room swung open.
"Ah, there she is," came the sharp, clipped voice of her mother, Lady Agnes Valemont.
Marcella stopped in her tracks, her gaze snapping to the woman standing in the center of the room. Lady Agnes was the picture of aristocratic elegance. Her red hair was swept into an intricate braided bun, with not a strand out of place. A string of pearls adorned her slender neck, and her gown—an emerald-green silk masterpiece—fit her tall, regal frame with perfection. She held a delicate porcelain teacup in one hand, her nails painted a soft pink, and the other rested lightly on the edge of the tea table.
Beside her sat Marcella's elder sister, Rachel, who was as radiant and poised as their mother. Rachel's golden-blonde hair, the very image of their father's, fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and her powder-blue morning dress enhanced the delicate fairness of her skin. Her lips curved into a faint, smug smile as her sharp blue eyes landed on Marcella.
Behind them, three maids stood in a neat line, their hands clasped in front of them.
Lady Agnes's frown deepened as she set her teacup down with a sharp clink against the saucer. "Look at you now," she said coldly, her eyes narrowing as she took in Marcella's appearance. "You're the daughter of the High Priest, yet you look like a wayward peasant girl."
Marcella stood in the doorway, her nightgown still damp from the morning dew and her hair in wild, unruly curls around her face. She lifted her chin, her lips curving into a faint, defiant smirk. She knew exactly what was coming.
"Mother," Marcella said, her tone light, almost playful, "you've started your lecture before I've even had a chance to sit down. Shall I fetch a quill so I can take notes this time?"
Rachel let out a soft, tinkling laugh behind her hand, but Lady Agnes's eyes flashed with fury.
"Don't you dare try to make light of this, Marcella," Agnes snapped, pointing an accusing finger at her youngest daughter. "How could you dress like this and run outside? You regularly disregard your elders and ignore family rules. Fine, I can bear that, but this? Running through the streets of the capital in your nightgown?" Her voice rose with each word. "Do you have any idea what people will say? The disgrace this will bring upon our family?"
Marcella stepped fully into the room, meeting her mother's glare head-on. "Oh, I'm sure people will talk, Mother," she said smoothly, folding her arms across her chest. "They always do. But I imagine they'll be far more interested in what you'll do to cover it up. Perhaps you'll start spreading rumors about an impostor running through the streets?"
Lady Agnes's jaw tightened. "Enough of your insolence, Marcella!" she barked, slamming her hand against the table. "You've embarrassed this family one time too many. I must teach you a lesson this time."
Her smirk faltered, her shoulders stiffening as Agnes turned to one of the maids.
"Fetch the stick," Agnes ordered sharply. "She needs to understand the consequences of her actions."
Marcella's stomach clenched, but before she could react, a figure darted past her.
"Milady, please!" It was Verona, her maid. She fell to her knees before Lady Agnes, bowing so low that her forehead touched the floor. "Please forgive Milady this time. She's still a child, and I assure you she won't repeat this again."
"Verona," Marcella said, her voice low, her hands curling into fists at her sides.
"Stand aside, Verona" Agnes said coldly, not even glancing down at the woman kneeling before her. "She has been coddled enough. It's time she learned her place."
Verona didn't move. She remained kneeling, her voice trembling as she said, "Please, My Lady, I beg you. Punish me instead if you must, but spare Milady."
Marcella's heart twisted painfully at the sight of her loyal nanny bowing and begging on her behalf. She remembered Verona in her first life—how she had belittled her, shouted at her, treated her as little more than a servant despite the woman's unyielding loyalty.
And now, Verona was here, once again throwing herself into harm's way for someone who had never deserved her devotion.
The head maid returned with the stick—a thin, flexible stick meant for discipline.
Agnes spoke without hesitation, her eyes narrowing. "Very well," she said coolly. "If you insist on shielding her, then you can take her punishment."
Verona 's shoulders stiffened, but she didn't flinch as the first strike came down across her back.
"Stop it!" Marcella shouted, stepping forward, but Verona turned her head sharply, meeting her gaze with a look of silent pleading.
"Milady, please," Verona whispered. "Let it be. I can endure this."
Her blood boiled as the second strike came down, the sound sharp and sickening in the air. Her hands curled into fists, her nails digging into her palms.
No. Not this time.
With a sharp inhale, Marcella lunged forward and snatched the stick from the head maid's hand. The room fell into stunned silence.
"You dare?" Lady Agnes hissed, her voice low and dangerous.
Marcella turned to the head maid who had delivered the blows, her dark eyes flashing. "Since you enjoy flogging so much," she said coldly, "let's see how you like being on the receiving end."
Before anyone could stop her, Marcella brought the stick down against the maid's arm—not hard enough to leave a serious mark, but enough to make her cry out in shock.
"Marcella!" Agnes's voice was a sharp, furious crack.
"Mother, calm down. Your health is the most important." Rachel stood from her seat and tried consoling her mother.
Marcella dropped the stick to the floor, her head snapping up as she met her mother's furious gaze. "Don't you dare touch Verona again," she warned. "If you have a problem with me, Mother, then deal with me directly. Don't punish the one person in this house who actually has a heart."
Agnes stared at her; her lips pressed into a thin line. Her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the table.
Marcella stepped back, turning to Verona, who was still kneeling on the floor. "Get up, Verona," she said softly, reaching out to help her to her feet.
"Milady…" Verona's voice was trembling.
"I'm fine," Marcella said firmly, though her hands were still trembling. "Let's go."
Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode out of the room, leaving the stick lying on the floor behind her.