Briar laid on her cot, staring up at the dirty ceiling above, thinking about her options. She had no weapons, no guards to defend her. The only man who knew who she truly was sat miles away defending a broken kingdom, a kingdom that she was supposed to inherit. She was the Princess of Isalovia, the rightful heir to the throne, she would be Queen someday. And she sat hiding in the servant's quarters of a country lord's holdfast, feigning illness. It angered her, this feeling of hopelessness, this fear. She felt hunted, like an animal. When the door to her room opened she flinched and then scolded herself for the weakness. It was only Elsie entering their shared space, a look of concern on her face that had remained there the past day or so.

"They're gone," she said and Briar nodded and sat up, feeling like a weight had been lifted from her chest. Elsie frowned and walked to her own cot. She sat on the edge of it and watched Briar, obviously in thought.

"What?" Briar asked, trying to keep the annoyance from her voice.

"Are you going to tell me why you were so afraid of those men?"

"I was ill."

"Brenna."

"Fine," Briar sighed, preparing herself to tell the lie that she had known she would have to tell ever since she asked Elsie to tell her when the rebels left. "They aren't just rebels. They are debt collectors too. I told you what happened to my father, how Lord Huntington found me. They are the ones that I was running from."

Elsie gasped and covered her mouth. Briar looked away, hoping that the girl believed her lie, hoping that her terror could pass for a girl who had not so long ago seen her father murdered and fled from his killers. The lie seemed to do the trick. Elsie stood from her own cot and joined Briar on hers, throwing her arms around her in an embrace of female friendship that Briar had never before experienced. She felt uncomfortable, unsure of how to react to the contact, but a strange sense of belonging at the same time. Even though this affection had been given based off of a lie, she felt security in it all the same. She turned to Elsie and smiled.

"Thank you," she said and she meant it.

"Mrs. Woods sent me to see how you were feeling. Are you up to getting back to work?"

Briar nodded and stood, her legs feeling a bit shaky after her day of being cooped up in her small room. She straightened herself up and followed Elsie out to the kitchens. They pulled their aprons on and Briar was greeted by a few of the servants with kind words and a gentle squeeze on the arm. She thanked them all and then headed over to Mrs. Woods for her day's assignments. Mrs. Woods smiled at her kindly as she approached the workbench she had been occupying. The old woman was busy with breakfast.

"Good morning, dear. Elsie says you're feeling better. Are you quite back to yourself?" she asked in a motherly way.

"I am, Mrs. Woods, thank you."

"Of course, dear," she said and she set down the small paring knife she had been using to peel potatoes and turned to focus on the porridge stewing in the pot behind her. Briar eyed the knife. It was no dagger, definitely not meant to be used as a weapon, but it could still cut the flesh of a man if he meant her harm. "You will help serve breakfast with Elsie this morning. I'm giving you a break from the ladies tea time. After your episode yesterday, I don't think Lady Cora is too eager to see you back to your serving. You'll use that time to clean your assigned rooms instead. Then you'll come and help me in the kitchens for dinner tonight."

While Mrs. Woods was talking, Briar nodded along, looking around her at the bustling kitchen to see if anyone were watching. During the bit about her episode during yesterday's tea time, Briar slipped the paring knife from the kitchen counter and into her apron pocket. The moment she felt the weight of the small knife in her apron, she relaxed. It felt comforting to have a bit of protection for herself, however small it was.

"Well?" Mrs. Woods asked, turning to face her, hands on her wide hips. "What are you still standing here for? The breakfast."

Briar nodded, apologized, and hurried off to meet Elsie who was already busy preparing the morning's breakfast trays. One of them was already covered, something they only did if one of the nobles preferred to eat outside of the dining room in one of their own. Briar raised an eyebrow and jerked her head in the direction of the covered tray.

"Lord Huntington," Elsie explained, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "He drank himself to excess last night. Kitty and I had to practically carry him up the stairs. He's asked for his breakfast to be brought to him in his study."

She giggled at the conclusion of her explanation. Briar joined in, suddenly wishing she hadn't been so terrified to leave her room as she would have enjoyed witnessing the behavior of a drunk Lord Huntington. The man always seemed so serious, so put together, it would have been interesting to see what it looked like when he let loose. Elsie was still giggling when Mrs. Woods snapped at the two of them to get themselves upstairs. So Briar took Lady Cora's plate in one hand and the Duchess' in the other and ascended the stairs to the dining hall while Elsie took Lord Huntington's tray to an entirely different stairway toward his study.

Lady Cora and the Duchess were already settled into their seats when Briar arrived. She sat their plates down in front of them and they tucked into the food immediately without even a halt in their conversation.

"-have never seen him in a state like that," Lady Cora was saying when Briar entered and continued saying now. "I cannot believe him. He tells us that it's too dangerous for us to attend dinner and then goes and lets himself get blackout drunk around such foes."

"Don't you see what he was doing?" the Duchess asked, rolling her eyes. "If he had treated them as an enemy, they would have treated him the same. It would have been an evening of both parties trying to trick the other into divulging whatever information they wanted to glean from each other. But by treating them as friends, by getting them drunk, he loosened their tongues. Haven't you ever heard men speak to one another when they're drunk? It's all bold and brash and big talk. I'm sure, after last evening, our cousin knows quite a bit more about the true nature of the rebel's visit then he ever would have otherwise."

The Duchess took a sip of her coffee once she had finished. Lady Cora just stared at her in amazement.

"Huh," Lady Cora said after a moment of thought, sitting back in her seat, disappointed in herself. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"The Duke does it too," the Duchess confessed, eating more of her breakfast. "Whenever we have visitors whose allegiance he is not quite certain of, he falls into bed that evening in such a state that I often wonder whether he will awaken the next morning."

Lady Cora laughed at that.

"Forgive me cousin," she said, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. "But I cannot see the responsible Duke of Corinth falling into your bed after a long night of drinking without reprimand."

"Sometimes I scold," the Duchess said with a smile. "But it only ends with him drunkenly shouting back 'for the politics, dear, the politics!'."

The Duchess and Lady Cora collapsed into a fit of laughter and Briar found herself smiling along as she refilled the Duchess' coffee. The women continued their delightful conversation of the Duke and the Lady Cora's interests for the remainder of breakfast and Briar found that it felt good to be reminded that there was more to life than politics. The Duchess spoke of her husband lovingly. Though their marriage had been one made for political and monetary gain, it seemed to have worked out well enough for them. That made Briar hopeful. Though the Duke of Corinth had been a beloved member of the gentry who had been known far and wide for his kindness and willingness to come to the defense of anyone in need. Prince Lucien had a much different reputation, one that Briar had unfortunately witnessed the incidents of herself. She shook her head. That did not need to be dwelled upon today.

When the women had finished their breakfasts, they walked arm in arm from the dining room. Briar was able to clean everything very easily and carry all of the dishes back down to the kitchens in one armful as the two women had been the only attendants of breakfast and had not eaten much at all nor had they made much of a mess. The dishes were done fairly quickly as well as Lord Huntington had apparently eaten much faster and Elsie had already finished the dishes from his breakfast by the time Briar had gotten down there so she helped with Briar's as well.

Once they had finished, they each went off to their separate cleaning duties, each grabbing a bucket of supplies from the closet in the hall and setting up separate stairwells, Elsie to the guest quarters to clean whatever mess the rebels left behind and Briar to the family quarters to clean her assigned rooms there. Lady Cora's was first. Unfortunately, the Lady was inside when Briar entered and had very specific instructions for her regarding how to clean her rooms and what not to touch before she left for her ladies tea. Briar did her best to follow the Lady's instructions, feeling much better about it once Lady Cora left the room and she was no longer under her scrutinizing eye.

After she felt as though the Lady's room was exceptionally clean, she left the room carefully, closing the door quietly behind her, and shuffled off down the hall for the next room on her list. The lord's own study. Before she approached the door, however, Arthur came bounding up to it. He paused with his hand on the doorknob and smiled when he saw her. Then he leaned casually on the door she had been heading for.

"Miss Brenna," he said in a tone that seemed to be an attempt at seduction. Oh dear.

"Arthur," she said kindly. "I haven't seen you in the kitchens for some time. Lord Huntington is keeping you quite busy I imagine."

"Very," he told her as if it were something to boast about. She supposed that, for him, perhaps it was. Being chosen as the lord's personal servant, having the responsibility of handling all of his most precious correspondences, being entrusted with overhearing his business was all a very high honor for a servant. Remembering that Arthur was the one who made frequent visits into town to send off letters or purchase goods, Briar decided it might be a good idea to indulge this flirtatious behavior of his as it might prove to be useful in the future.

"It is true that you are present for almost all of Lord Huntington's important business?"

"I am," his chest was puffed up like a pigeon.

"He must trust you very much," she said, batting her eyelashes. She had drawn closer to him. His eyes were wide as he realized just how close she was. He visibly gulped. This was the moment in which a woman knows whether she is dealing with a boy or a man and the absolute terror in Arthur's eyes told her that she was in fact dealing with a boy. So she simply put a hand on his chest, a touch which made him shudder, and whispered. "Would you mind telling him I'm here to clean?"

The boy nodded emphatically and knocked on the door a bit too loudly in his harried state. The lord bid him enter and he did. She heard him stuttering all over himself inside. She smiled, trying not to laugh.

"L-lord Huntington, sir, sire, my Lord," he struggled.

"Spit it out, boy," Lord Huntington told him.

"There's a servant in the hall, needs to come in and clean, wanted your permission."

Brenna poked her head around the corner in time to see Lord Huntington wave dismissively. He began to sit but rose quickly back to his feet when he saw her, banging his knee painfully on the desk in front of him. To his credit, he did not cry out, just grunted and rubbed the sore spot with a hand while waving Arthur out. The boy hurried past her, avoiding eye contact at all costs. He had begun a bit of flirtation that he was not properly equipped to handle it seemed. Briar sat her supplies down and began to pull what she needed from inside. Lord Huntington chuckled as he sat back down.

"What have you done to the poor boy?" he asked, smiling as he gazed down at his papers.

"That boy wanted to attempt seduction. It seems he wasn't quite ready for the art," she said and Lord Huntington laughed at that, the same genuine laugh that she had heard on the balcony the night of the ball. It made her smile to hear it again. She grabbed the book from her apron pocket and crossed the room to the bookshelves behind him. She placed it back into its empty slot and turned to look at him, feeling his eyes on her. "Thank you for allowing me to borrow this. It has made an otherwise dreary life that much more vibrant."

He smiled and stood, walking to the other end of the bookshelf. He plucked another volume from the end and held it out to her.

"Well, then, let us seek to add even more color still," he said. She took the volume from his hands and ran her own across the ornate cover. Touches of Autumn by Antionette Cloutier. She glanced up at him curiously. He was smiling at her. Was this a hint to her quotations of the evening of the ball?

"Antionette Cloutier," she said, remembering. "The sunset."

"I've read it again since hearing you quote it. I had forgotten how wonderful it was."

She smiled and started to tuck it into her apron.

"I want you to have it," he said and she snapped her attention back to him.

"No, I couldn't," she said and she began to hand it back to him.

"Please," he said, reaching out as well. His hands clasped her own and he froze for a moment, staring down at them. She looked too. His thumb started to move across her skin but then he quickly pulled away, turning back to his desk and clearing his throat abruptly. But it was too late. That slight movement had sent fireworks across her skin. She felt herself breathing heavily. He was turned away from her but she saw his own hands shaking as well.

"I'll come back and clean once you've finished your business," she said quickly and then strode to her bucket of supplies and gathered them hastily before rushing past the entering Duchess and out of the study.

Briar rushed down the stairs and into the parlor. She leaned against the wall there to catch her breath and tried to understand what had just happened. The lord had remembered her Cloutier quote, had even reread her writings once she had mentioned her to him. They had touched hands accidentally but that small movement of his thumb, that had been no accident. And the way she had felt when he had simply touched her skin, there was no denying that either. Her heart was fluttering, her palms were sweating, her breath was coming in quick gasps.

She put a hand on her chest and stood up. She was being ridiculous. The man had simply touched her hand. Men had grasped her hand before. She had even kissed a few of them, suitors mostly and almost entirely on the cheek but still that contact had been far more than this. She pulled herself together. She should be used to the attentions of men. She had lived her whole life as a subject of interest to them. She had been wooed by some of the finest gentry in the land. But that had been for her title, for what she could offer him. Lord Huntington had spoken to her simply as an individual with an interest in literature. He had cared enough to see what she cared for and offered what humble item he could to improve her circumstances. He could not be after the kingdom if he thought her to be only a servant. So what was he after?

Briar knew that a man of his station only ever took notice in servant girls for one reason. The thought of which both terrified her and, as embarrassed as she was to admit it even to herself, thrilled her. Of course, she would never allow it if given the choice and she did not think Lord Huntington to be the kind of man to take a woman by force. But even though she knew it could not be an option for them and she would never allow herself to stoop to such a low position, something about the idea excited her. Not the idea of being some lord's hidden mistress but the idea of Lord Huntington himself. She shook her head violently and stood up straight. She was acting like a child.

She set her cleaning supplies down and got to work on the parlor, distracting herself from such ridiculous thoughts in the best way she knew how: menial labor. If she had been back in the palace, she would have sought out the Combat Master and fought him for a distraction. Her legs ached at the thought of their sparring. She missed the rush she felt as they spun deftly around each other avoiding blows and trying in vain to land one of their own. She missed the exercise. She wondered how unsavory it would be for a kitchen maid to go for a run around the grounds. It was unsavory enough for a princess but at least no one questioned a princess.

Once the parlor was cleaned, she consulted her mental checklist once again. Lady Cora's bedchamber, Lord Huntington's study, and the parlor. Two of those were done. She glanced up at the daunting stairs leading above and decided the study hadn't looked too untidy when she had been up there earlier. It could go a few more days without a dusting. So she gathered up her supplies and headed back down to the kitchens where Mrs. Woods immediately put her to work on the dinner. Briar was not asked to serve this meal so she stayed below, helping Mrs. Woods check the inventory list with what was actually in the stores. It was tedious work but did wonders to help Briar relax from the odd day.

After a while, Elsie and Kitty brought the finished trays down and got to work washing the dishes, laughing amongst themselves at some joke Kitty had told. Lucy was busy cleaning the kitchen and Mrs. Woods and Briar kept at their work with the inventory. Mrs. Woods was making a shopping list for Arthur to get during his trip into town the next day and was speaking out loud as she did so. "Butter, then. We'll need more butter. And are there any-"

She stopped. Briar looked up from her place behind a few cartons of eggs to see Mrs. Woods staring back into the kitchen.

"Mrs. Woods?" she asked but when she stepped out from the pantry, she saw the reason Mrs. Woods had frozen in the midst of her list. Standing at the center of the kitchen, looking hopelessly lost, was Lord Huntington himself. Everyone had stopped working. Lucy stood still, her hand grasping the cloth she was using to wipe down the counters. Elsie and Kitty had stopped their laughing and were staring at the Lord, arms immersed in dish water up to their elbows. All of the other servants had stopped their bustling as well, frozen to their spots, staring at the lord. He saw Mrs. Woods then and smiled, visibly relaxing.

"Mrs. Woods," he said and Mrs. Woods shook her head, coming out of her state of shock at having the lord himself in her kitchens, and set down the inventory report to approach him.

"My Lord," she said as she reached him. "My apologies. The place is a bit of a mess. I hadn't expected to see you down here."

"Nor should you have," he told her. "I'm quite sorry for having intruded."

"No intrusion at all, my Lord. It is your house after all."

He smiled at her and took her by the arm, leading her away from the prying eyes and ears of the various servants around them. Taking the hint that he would like to speak privately, Mrs. Woods barked out at them all. "Back to your work!"

But Briar had no work to be done without Mrs. Woods and her inventory list. Elsie and Kitty returned to their dishes, glancing up not so subtlety time and again at the strange conversation taking place before them. Lucy continued her scrubbing but did so on the counter closest to the lord, craning her neck to hear their words. Briar just picked up the list that Mrs. Woods had set aside and pretended to read it while trying to read their lips instead. She felt her heart hammering as they spoke. She had tried to forget what had occurred between her and the lord that afternoon but she worried now that he was displeased with her and the way that she had reacted. If he had been offended and were dismissing her from service, where would she go? She would be forced off the grounds into the dangerous forest miles away from the nearest friendly face, with hundreds of rebels between them.

"Brenna," Mrs. Woods called suddenly and she felt as though her worst fears had been confirmed. She took the next few steps forward as if she were walking to her own execution for she very well could have been. When she approached, Mrs. Woods smiled kindly at her. "Hello dear. It appears Lord Huntington needs some help in his study. He has asked for you personally."

Briar looked down at the floor and nodded. She had been too bold before, quoting literature and borrowing the lord's books. She had spoken to him too plainly, blurred the lines between their stations too often, and now she was going to pay for it. The lord turned and headed for the stairs and she followed after, each step another nail in her preverbal coffin. She felt for the knife in her pocket. It was still there, tucked safely away, hidden. She would have to find better weapons then this if she were to protect herself in the wilderness of the north. Maybe she could sneak into the armory before she left the grounds, grab a real sword, maybe even a bow and arrows. She would need something to keep her warm as well, a fur of some sort. She believed she saw on in the stable but that was weeks ago. There was no way to know if it would still be there.

They had reached the first floor and turned to begin the ascent for the second. Her mind was still reeling with thoughts of her escape. They would make her leave but they wouldn't follow her out. She had a chance of gathering all the supplies she would need if she were careful and made sure no one was around when she did. It would be some time before they noticed the missing items. She could be well into the forest by then. She was just attempting to remember what little she had been taught about hunting when Lord Huntington turned the knob to his study and they entered. It was dark inside but he went to work at lighting some of the candles. She stood there awkwardly. Was she supposed to help him? A servant would. But in a few moments she would no longer be a servant.

When the last candle was lit, the room was noticeably brighter and the light was soft, warm. He walked to his desk and pulled a bottle of wine from the drawer, then gestured for the seat across from him as he uncorked it. Confused, she sat.

"Would you like some wine?" he asked. "I noticed you seemed to care for it at the ball."

She just stared at him.

"Um, I mean, I didn't notice. I just... well, there was wine at the ball and I thought you might like to have some again."

She looked down at the two glasses on the desk, at the glow of candlelight in the room, and suddenly felt as though she were in quite a different kind of danger. She leapt up from her seat and backed away so hastily she knocked the chair over. It fell to the floor with a loud crash. He set the wine down and creased his brow in confusion. She reached into her pocket for the knife and gripped it, still hidden, backing away from him. He didn't seem to understand. Then he glanced down at the wine and at the candles and it seemed to have dawned on him.

"Oh no, no, no," he said defensively, putting his hands up as if in surrender. He took a step forward, she jumped back. "No, please. I- oh dear, how do I keep making such blunders with you? Look, I didn't intend for this to seem so... I'm not trying anything, okay?"

She cocked her head to the side, watching him. He looked stunned at the very thought that that would be his intention. He was blushing furiously. She couldn't help it. She laughed. He relaxed then, smiling.

"I didn't mean for this to seem like that," he told her. "I hadn't even considered it might. I just wanted you to feel comfortable. Please."

He gestured toward the seat again and she walked forward. She released the knife, leaving it hidden in her apron, and sat. He went back around to the other side and sat in his own chair.

"Why am I here?" she asked. He looked up at her.

"Yes, well, here's the thing. I like talking to you. You appreciate literature and art. You are a wonderful conversationalist. I just felt that it would be nice to have someone to talk to outside of my family. And I thought it might give you a break from the mundane life of servitude as well."

When he finished, he was blushing again. She couldn't help the laugh that escaped her this time either.

"What?" he asked, embarrassed and offended.

"No," she said through tears of laughter. "No, my Lord, please. I don't mean any offense. Only... well, I thought I was being dismissed."

"Dismissed?" he asked, shocked. "Why would you think that?"

"Well, earlier when I ran out of here, I thought-"

"Oh no," he said, blushing still. "No, think nothing of that. I do not blame you at all. I blame myself. I should never have... well, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

She smiled and felt much more at ease.

"So I'm here then to be your..." she searched for the appropriate word and settled on one that still did not seem to quite fit. "Friend."

He smiled.

"Yes," he said. "A friend. I would very much like that."

"But what about Douglas?" she asked. "He is your friend."

"Douglas has very different interests than I. He doesn't understand why a man would spend so much time reading when there is hunting to be done. I enjoy hunting. Truly, I do. And sword sparring and horseback riding. I enjoy it all as any other man. But there is more to this life than all of that and I can appreciate the finer things as well. Unfortunately, I seem to be relatively alone in this thought."

She smiled and picked up the wine glass he had poured, taking a sip.

"Well then, Lord Huntington, I'm your friend for the evening," she said and he laughed, pouring his own glass. They clinked them together and drank. "What do you propose we talk about?"

"I propose a game of sorts," he said, grinning. "It's simple enough but one my brother and I used to play when we were teenagers. You take turns. One of you says a fact, some story about your life, from the past, or something that has happened to you. And the other has to guess if it is true or false. If they are wrong, they drink. And then it is their turn. In this way, you get to know one another but it adds a bit of fun to it. What do you say?"

"Sounds fine to me," she told him, realizing how much lying she was going to have to do tonight. She decided that she would select only the stories that could be true of anyone and change only minor details to fit her persona. In this way, it wasn't truly lying. "You first."

"Very well," he said, sitting back in his chair, face turning to stone as he told her. "Once I dared my sister to eat a worm and she did it."

Briar narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing his expression. She stared into his deep blue eyes but there was no indication there. Still, she could not see the elegant Lady Cora shoveling a worm into her mouth.

"False," she decided.

He tapped her glass with his own and her mouth dropped open in surprise as she brought it to her lips.

"True," he told her, smiling as she drank. "But she would deny it to this very day."

She laughed.

"Your turn," he told her. She sat her glass down and composed herself.

"My father used to read me histories to fall asleep," she told him.

"Histories," he repeated. "Like facts, figures, and dates?"

"Yes,"

"Not a very entertaining bedtime story. Most fathers read fairytales to their children. I'm going to say false."

"Drink."

He laughed and took a sip and then said. "Histories? Truly? That sounds like a rather dull childhood."

"Maybe at the time. But I know nearly everything that's happened in the last four hundred years and I suppose that knowledge may be worth something some day."

He laughed. She gestured for him to go next.

"My brother once bested me in a sword fight," he said.

"False," she said instantly. He raised a brow.

"Flattery will get you no where," he told her. "But you're right. That one's not true."

She figured it hadn't been. She had seen his skill with the sword one afternoon while she had been walking the grounds. He had been sparring with Henry and the way he moved so easily on his feet would have made even her combat master proud.

"I have no siblings," she told him. He narrowed his eyes at her, trying to decipher her expression.

"False," he guessed. She tapped his glass. He sighed and drank.

"I've known Douglas my whole life."

"True."

"Right. That was an easy one."

"I'm a terrible singer," she said and he laughed outright, nearly spitting out the wine he had just sipped. She smiled.

"What an odd fact about yourself to bring up," he said and she just shrugged, daring him to guess. She was, of course, thinking about the time when she was in her adolescence, that a bard had come to perform at the palace. He had told her she could be a singer herself if she chose but had quickly changed his tune once he had heard hers. After that, he assured her that statecraft would be her true passion. Lord Huntington continued now. "So it must be false."

She shook her head. He sighed and drank again. It went on like this for some time. She turned out to be considerably better at the game than him and had gotten so few questions about him wrong that she had actually taken to taking a few sips of her wine from time to time simply because she was parched. After well over an hour of their trading tidbits of their pasts, Lord Huntington seemed to be swaying a bit in his seat. But his mind still seemed to be there as he somberly told her. "I've never kissed a woman."

She just stared at him, surprised by the honesty.

"Now, that must be false," she said kindly.

He laughed. "There. I knew I could make you drink."

She did, laughing along with him. Then he sat down his glass and sighed.

"I'm afraid you've bested me at this game," he told her. "We'll have to quit or I may embarrass myself more than I have."

She smiled. "You've done no such thing, my Lord."

"Thank you for your company, Brenna," he told her. "It's been a truly wonderful evening."

Then he stood to leave but swayed a bit on his feet and dropped his hand down onto his desk to steady himself.

"Let me help you," she told him and she walked around the desk to offer her support. He smiled at her and leaned against her only slightly as they made their way to the door. Once they crossed the hall to the door to his bedchamber, he reached out and unlocked it with the key in his pocket. She stepped back, remembering what Elsie had told her about Lord Huntington wanting no one else to set foot in his bedchamber. It was a sacred place to him, a private place, not to be visited by servants. But when he opened the door and walked inside, she could see that it didn't look so sacred. It was just a bedchamber with the usual furnishings. In fact, it seemed even a bit under decorated for a man of his stature. He turned around to see her taking it in and smiled.

"You don't have to be afraid," he told her. "It's only a room."

His speech was a bit slurred and he stumbled a bit more as he turned toward the bed. It looked as if he were about to fall over. She rushed forward to catch him and then helped him gently into the bed. He was out the moment his head hit the pillow. She chuckled quietly to herself and covered him up, being sure to turn him on his side. Then she left the room, shutting the door behind her. As she turned away from the door, she ran right into another figure in the hall. It was Lady Cora. She stood still in front of her, candle in one hand, other on her hips. Her eyebrow was quirked and her lips were pursed. She did not look happy. Suddenly, Briar realized what it must look like. Lady Cora had ascended the stairs to see Brenna, a servant, exiting her brother's bedchambers, a place where all of the servants knew not to be, in the dead of night.

"Oh no, Lady Cora, forgive me. This isn't what it looks like," Briar said quickly.

"It looks like you're leaving my brother's room very late at night."

Perhaps it was exactly what it looked like.

"But it isn't-"

"My brother is the Lord of Northbrook. He has many, many agreeable prospects for marriage. You are not one of them. Whoring yourself out is no way to climb the social ladder in this world."

"I'm not-"

"But I will be damned if I allow this scandal to become common knowledge. So if you breathe even a word of this to anyone, and I mean anyone, including your wretched servant friends, then I will have you branded a whore and send you to a place where you can be paid for your true profession."

Briar felt tears welling up in her eyes despite herself.

"If I ever see you near my brother again in any way in which you are not holding a tray of food or a mop, I'll have you shipped to the nearest brothel and you can see if you've truly got a taste for the sport."

Briar sprinted past Lady Cora and down the stairs behind her, tears flowing freely as she went.