Dydra paced back and forth in Leonard's room, her fingers tangled in her fiery red hair, tugging lightly at the strands as if it could pull away her unease. The sun had just begun to rise, streaking golden light across the marble floors, signaling that Oryen would be arriving at the castle any moment. Her stomach knotted with anxiety. She wanted to confront her, demand answers for the cruel trap she had set, but the thought of wandering the castle unaccompanied terrified her. She did not know the layout well, and in the clothes she wore now, anyone who saw her might spread rumors. Worse still, if she were caught by the wrong person, she could be accused of impropriety or worse—her life at stake simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
A light knock on the door made her freeze mid-step. Her ocean-blue eyes darted toward the source. Who could it be? Did they know she was here? Or were they here for the nobleman she had seen? She searched desperately for somewhere to hide, but the thought dissolved when a familiar voice spoke from the other side.
"Dydra," the voice whispered, careful and soft. "He sent me here to assist you."
Her heart stuttered in her chest. He? Who is he referring to? Could it be… the elite? The possibility sent her pulse racing. She backed toward the far wall, instinctively scanning the room for something to shield herself.
The doorknob twisted, the door creaking open, and a figure stepped inside, holding a folded dress. Relief and recognition flooded her at once. It was Megan.
Leonard, ever meticulous, had compelled the young maid to come directly to Dydra's room, delivering a maid's uniform without asking questions. She was instructed to guide the red-haired girl through the castle until she felt at home, all while remaining silent on the prince's identity. Leonard wanted to observe Dydra, to understand the girl's character before allowing her full awareness of his presence.
"Hello, Dydra," Megan greeted, a soft, practiced smile on her lips.
Dydra froze, her mind racing. How does she know I'm here? Reflexively, she bolted to the door and locked it. Her heart hammered in her chest. "What are you doing here?" Her voice trembled, a mixture of panic and suspicion.
"Didn't you hear me the first time, silly?" Megan replied, calm and cheerful. "He sent me here."
Dydra exhaled sharply. She had heard it the first time, but her anxiety demanded confirmation. Her gaze narrowed. "Who is this 'he' you're referring to?"
"The tall, handsome, dark-skinned Lord," Megan said matter-of-factly. "He said to give this to the little fox in his room." The nickname hit Dydra like a key turning in a lock. Relief washed over her; she knew immediately it was Leonard. Her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, though her pulse still raced.
Megan held out the maid's uniform. "Here. He said you should change into this."
Dydra took the uniform with shaking hands. Megan stepped aside immediately, giving her privacy. She changed quickly, adjusting the oversized garment to fit her small frame as best she could, then carefully tucked the heart-shaped locket and the hummingbird seal into her pocket. Once ready, she followed Megan out of the room, moving quietly down the castle corridors.
They reached the kitchen, where the air smelled of fresh bread, roasting meat, and herbs. Dydra tried to focus on her task, but her gaze constantly flicked toward the castle windows and hallways, searching for Oryen. Nothing. Was she avoiding me deliberately? the thought gnawed at her.
Sandra soon arrived and assigned them, along with another maid, to fetch items for Princess Naiya in the town square. Their task: retrieve a pair of shoes for the princess. Dydra and Megan waited outside the shop while their companion went inside. The shopkeeper had refused entry to anyone not dressed appropriately, citing that the presence of "lowly maids" would drive away elite customers. Dydra lowered her gaze, scanning the ground as she waited, trying to avoid drawing attention to herself.
Suddenly, a roar of cheers erupted from the square. Both girls lifted their heads and saw a crowd gathered behind three guards. The throng parted as two guards held up a man in chains while the third led them forward. The man was forced to the base of a massive oak tree. His face pressed against the rough bark, his arms and legs bound tightly. A thick rope gagged his mouth. The guards ripped his shirt open, exposing his bare back.
The first guard lifted a scroll with the royal seal and read it aloud. "This man has been subjected to a hundred lashes for accusing our Crown Prince Leonard of treason without evidence. This punishment was ordered by the Prince himself!"
The crowd erupted in murmurs, some voices trembling with excitement, others in fear. "How dare he accuse our Crown Prince?! Make it a thousand lashes!" someone shouted, prompting cheers from those around him.
Dydra's stomach churned. She had never witnessed anything like this. Isn't freedom of speech supposed to exist? she thought, staring at the man, Benedict. Her blue eyes widened as she took in the scene, each whip mark appearing more horrifying than the last. The crowd cheered at every strike.
The guard lifted the whip again, and the leather cracked against Benedict's back. "One!" the crowd shouted. Tears streamed down the man's face, his muffled cries swallowed by the rope, his body writhing with pain. Dydra's fists clenched at her sides, her heart aching. How could people find joy in such cruelty?
"I hope he survives," she whispered, almost unconsciously.
Megan's eyes widened, and she glanced around before leaning in to speak. "He cannot survive. No one ever has. That's the consequence of speaking against the Crown Prince." Her voice was hushed but firm, a grim acceptance in her tone.
Dydra shook her head, refusing to accept it. "Don't we have freedom of speech? Isn't the Crown Prince… isn't this too much? Does the King even know about this?" She could not tear her gaze away from Benedict. She saw the pain in his eyes, raw and human, and it shook her.
Megan looked alarmed, glancing at the crowd and then back at Dydra. "Don't say that aloud," she warned. "If anyone hears, you'll be in trouble."
Dydra swallowed, the words lodged in her throat. She only nodded silently, unable to look away from the man as the whip descended again. Benedict's back turned crimson, blood streaking down his spine. She caught herself noticing how his skin quivered with every strike, imagining what it would feel like if she were in his place. The humanity of it, the sheer helplessness, left her chest heavy.
If Benedict were not human—perhaps a vampire or werewolf—the whip would have had other properties: wood, silver, wolfsbane. But he was entirely human, vulnerable, exposed to the merciless enforcement of royal law. The spectacle left Dydra trembling slightly, a silent witness to a system that demanded obedience under the threat of unspeakable pain. She squeezed her hands into fists at her sides, wishing she could intervene, yet knowing that any action would place her own life in danger.
As the whipping continued, Dydra's mind was a storm of confusion, anger, and fear. She had entered the world of nobility barely a day ago, and already the cruel realities of the Crown Prince's rule were laid bare before her.