Obedience was survival. That was the second lesson I learned in the Drevon household.
The first was that I was worth a single silver coin.
But even a well-trained dog would snap if kicked enough times.
I woke before the sun, the cold air biting through the thin sheets of my bed. My body ached from the night before. Scrubbing wine out of fabric was exhausting work, and the punishment for staining it had been worse. The head servant, Madame Elka, had whipped my hands raw as a warning.
It was always the hands.
The Drevons didn't like damaging faces—faces were meant to be seen, displayed like fine paintings. But hands? Those could be hidden beneath sleeves.
I flexed my fingers, wincing at the sting. The skin was swollen and red, the welts hot to the touch.
I dressed quickly, pulling on my servant's uniform—a simple gray dress, the fabric rough against my skin. I bound my hair at the nape of my neck and left my room without a sound.
The household was still asleep, but that didn't matter. The servants always woke first, working in silence, preparing the house before the masters ever opened their eyes.
I made my way to the kitchen, my steps careful, quiet. If I walked too loudly, someone would remind me of my place.
Lady Drevon always said girls like me should not be heard.
I reached the back of the kitchen where the loaves of bread were kept. I wasn't supposed to eat until midday, but hunger had its own rules.
I hesitated only a moment before reaching for the smallest crust. My fingers brushed against it—
A sharp voice cut through the air.
"Stealing again, stray?"
My stomach dropped.
I turned slowly to find Valic standing in the doorway, arms crossed. He was dressed in his training uniform—black tunic, high boots, a blade strapped to his hip. He had been training since before dawn, likely preparing for whatever war the noble families were brewing.
His eyes gleamed with something cruel.
I let my hand fall away from the bread. "I wasn't stealing."
His lips curled. "Lying doesn't suit you."
I said nothing. Arguing with Valic was pointless.
He stepped forward, his boots clicking against the floor. "Kneel."
My throat tightened.
I didn't move.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. He was waiting for me to obey, expecting me to lower myself like I always did.
I should have.
I knew what would happen if I didn't.
But something inside me snapped.
Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was hunger. Or maybe I had finally reached my limit.
For the first time in years, I lifted my chin and met his gaze without fear.
"No."
The word tasted strange on my tongue. Foreign. Forbidden.
Silence stretched between us.
Then Valic's hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, fingers digging into my bruised skin. I bit back a gasp, but he saw the flicker of pain in my expression. He smiled.
"I must have misheard you." His grip tightened. "What did you say?"
I refused to speak.
His smile widened. "Good. I was getting bored of this game."
He wrenched me forward, dragging me out of the kitchen. I dug my heels into the floor, but it was useless—he was stronger, taller, trained for combat. I was nothing but a stray in his eyes, a thing to be toyed with.
I knew where he was taking me.
Lady Drevon's chambers.
Fear coiled in my stomach, but I refused to let him see it.
Not again.
Lady Drevon sat in front of her vanity, brushing her golden hair when we entered. She didn't look at us immediately, only meeting my gaze in the mirror.
Her expression was unreadable.
"What has she done this time?" she asked lazily.
"She disobeyed," Valic said, shoving me forward.
Lady Drevon sighed, setting her brush down. She turned to me, her ice-blue eyes sharp as a blade. "Tell me, Liana," she murmured. "Do you think you are equal to my son?"
I swallowed hard. "No."
"Then why do you act like it?"
I didn't answer.
She rose gracefully, stepping toward me. Her fingers caught my chin, tilting my face up.
"I took you in out of kindness," she said softly. "And this is how you repay me?"
Kindness.
The word made me want to laugh.
But I didn't.
I only held her gaze, waiting.
Lady Drevon's nails dug into my skin.
Then, with practiced ease, she struck me across the face.
The force of it sent me to the floor, my hands catching my fall. The pain burned, but I didn't cry out.
Crying wouldn't change anything.
Lady Drevon turned to Valic. "Take her to the courtyard."
His grin was slow, satisfied.
I clenched my teeth.
Whatever was coming, I would endure it.
I had no choice.
The courtyard was empty when we arrived. The sky was a dull gray, the air thick with the scent of rain.
Valic led me to the center, where the ground was damp and cold. The stone beneath my knees bit into my skin as he forced me down.
He unsheathed his blade.
My breath stilled.
He wasn't going to kill me.
Not yet.
Instead, he dragged the tip of the knife along my arm, pressing just hard enough to break the skin.
A shallow cut.
A warning.
Blood welled up, dark against my pale flesh.
"Let this be a lesson," Valic murmured, his voice almost gentle. "You exist because we allow it. Remember that, stray."
Then he stood, leaving me kneeling in the dirt.
I stayed there long after he was gone, the cold seeping into my bones, blood trailing down my skin.
I stared at the wound, at the thin red line that burned like fire.
It wasn't deep. It would heal.
But it would scar.
Like everything else.
Pain became a familiar thing. A quiet companion.
The cut on my arm healed after a few weeks, but the scar remained, a thin silver line against my skin. It wasn't the first mark left on me, and it wouldn't be the last.
Valic didn't touch me again for a while, perhaps satisfied that I had learned my place. Or maybe he was simply waiting for the next opportunity to remind me of it.
I spent my days the same as always—waking before the sun, working in silence, staying invisible. It was easier that way. Safer.
But at night, when the house was still and I was alone in my small, windowless room, my thoughts wandered to the past.
To the slums.
To the life I had before.
Not everything about it had been miserable.
There had been moments—small, fleeting ones—that I still held onto, buried beneath the weight of suffering.
I remembered the way the market smelled at dusk, thick with the scent of roasted meat and spice. I remembered the sound of children laughing as they ran through the narrow alleys, their feet bare against the dirt.
I remembered warm hands wrapping a tattered cloak around my shoulders on a cold night.
His hands.
Jaro.
He had been older than me, sixteen to my ten, and sharper than the world allowed boys like him to be. He had lived like a shadow in the streets—stealing, bartering, surviving. But to me, he had been something more.
A protector. A friend.
"Hold still, Liana," he had murmured once, crouching beside me as he wrapped a scrap of cloth around a cut on my knee. "You're always getting yourself hurt."
I had grinned up at him, despite the sting. "Only because you never let me do anything fun."
He had scoffed, tying the bandage tighter. "Fun gets you killed."
I hadn't believed him then.
I did now.
I wondered if he was still alive, if the streets had swallowed him the way they had so many others. If I had never been sold, would we have still been together, stealing bread, dodging guards or would I have ended up in a grave like the rest of the forgotten?
I would never know.
The past was a different world now, one I could never return to.
And maybe that was for the best.
She didn't exist anymore.
Morning came, pulling me back to reality.
The Drevon estate was just as cold as it had always been. Just as merciless.I went about my tasks, moving through the halls like a ghost. I scrubbed floors, carried trays, bowed when spoken to.But something felt different.I could still feel the weight of my memories pressing against me, the ghost of a warmth I had long since lost.I had spent so many years trying to forget. Trying to bury the past beneath obedience and silence.
But maybe I didn't need to forget.
Maybe I needed to remember.
Not just the pain. Not just the scars.
But the fire.
The fight.
The girl who had once been more than this.
I wasn't her anymore.
But maybe, just maybe—
I could be something even worse.