"My lady!"

  I heard distantly an object being placed at my tea table, followed by hurried steps.

  I groggily opened my eyes. The girl sounded alarmed.

  Hana crouched beside me and helped me sit up from where she'd found me lying face down on the carpet. I groaned softly with each movement.

  "Are you injured, my lady?" Her eyes searched for visible bruises and stopped at my feet. The woodland floor had not been kind.

  "I—I'll bring the ointment right away! Anything else—"

  "Pain potion." I managed to whisper without meeting her eyes, too ashamed of my pitiful state. "Something for sore muscles. Please."

  Hana nodded and hurried out.

  I used my arms to slide myself until my back rested against the ottoman at the foot of the bed. My head fell back against the seat.

  Hana returned with not only the potion and ointment but a bottle of oil.

  I downed the pain potion without bothering to measure it. I'd need as much as possible if I was to continue training the following morning. The heat spread through my aching muscles, forcing a sigh of relief. My shoulders fell. My jaw unclenched.

  I watched her carefully clean my feet with a warm damp towel. Once she finished, she started applying the green ointment with delicate fingers. I had to close my eyes to hide the tears gathering there.

  A series of slow movements—applied with more pressure—snapped my eyes open.

  "W-what...?"

  Hana looked as surprised as I was. "I didn't mean to startle you, my lady. I figured you could use a massage. I'll stop if it bothers you."

  Her hands moved away. It immediately felt like a loss.

  "No! It's not unpleasant. At all. I just... wasn't expecting it." I looked down at my feet. It had felt blissful. "Would you continue?"

  Hana smiled warmly. "Of course."

  Her hands went back to working the oil into my skin with practiced pressure. Her thumbs found the arch, pressing into muscles I hadn't known were sore until they began to release. My head fell back against the ottoman, eyes closing. The pain potion and ointment had dealt with the worst of it, but this—this was something else entirely.

  Not just relief. Care.

  "Where did you learn this?" I asked quietly, surprising myself.

  Hana's hands paused briefly before continuing. "My mother and older sister, my lady. They worked in the textile mills in Lumeria. They'd come home with their feet swollen, their backs aching. I was too young to work, so... I'd help however I could."

  I opened my eyes and stared at her. Hana's expression was focused, gentle.

  "The mills." I'd heard of them, of course. Factories where non-magical workers labored in the lower quarters, producing fabrics worn by everyone who could afford them. "That must have been difficult."

  "It was honest work." She shrugged, though her tone suggested there was more she wasn't saying. I didn't push. "My mother always said we were lucky to have it. Many didn't." Her hands moved to my other foot, and I had to bite back a sound of relief. "When I was old enough, my mother and sister paid for my training so I could apply to work in the great houses instead. Better pay. Safer. I was lucky to be accepted by Madam Enora two years ago."

  Two years ago.

  "I don't recall..."

  "Oh, I wasn't fit to work directly for the family right away, my lady. I started cleaning the kitchens, then the corridors. I used to wash the sheets and clean your tea room and closet until a week ago."

  That made sense. I'd never seen her before this week because she'd been invisible—the way the help was supposed to be.

  "I got assigned to attend upon you when Mely got sick and had to go home. I... suppose she'll be back when she feels better."

  My eyebrows furrowed. So Hana was temporary.

  An unpleasant pang struck my chest.

  "Your family—are they still...?" I changed the subject. A good technique when conversation took a sour direction.

  "My sister married a shopkeeper last year." Excitement filled her voice. "She's expecting a baby now. A little girl!" She beamed. I couldn't help but smile. "My mother still works at the mill, though. She refuses to retire. Says she'd go mad with nothing to do."

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Hana shook her head, amused. I could see how fond she was of her family.

  It left a bittersweet taste in my mouth.

  I thought of my own mother—the hazy memories, the face becoming harder to recall with each passing year. A non-magical woman who fell in love with a mage and paid the price with her life, taken by people who feared magic...

  "Does it hurt?" Hana asked suddenly, her hands stopping. "I can use less pressure."

  I realized I'd tensed.

  "No, it's not that." I swallowed. "Thank you, Hana. For this. For..."

  I gestured vaguely, unable to articulate what I meant. For caring. For sharing your story. For the company. For treating me like a person. For not ignoring my pain.

  Hana's smile was small but genuine. "Anytime, my lady."

  The next few days blended into weeks.

  I fell into a routine: waking before dawn, forcing down breakfast, training until varying levels of exhaustion with Magister Valdosta, then crawling back to my room to find Hana waiting with dinner, potions, and the occasional ointment.

  And massages. I'd discovered the pleasure of calf massages—and shoulder massages—when particularly brutal sessions left me unable to lift my arms above my head.

  The training itself grew more intense.

  Valdosta pushed me past what I thought were my limits, then past those limits as well. I could drain a full-grown shrub in under a minute. A cluster of wildflowers in seconds. Then I learned to pull from different sources at once—three plants, then five, then seven—the energy flowing to me like streams feeding a river.

  Valdosta taught me to feed the excess energy to storing crystals. Or to release it all at once before it became dangerous. Shockwaves, he called them. And he’d made clear he’d seen what happened when mages failed to learn restraint.

  It should have felt like victory.

  Instead, it felt like something was changing inside me.

  I caught myself looking at the garden differently one morning. Instead of admiring its beauty, I wondered how much energy it could feed me. How quickly I could drain it.

  Then one evening, returning from a vapid event with Father, I studied the ancient oak by the entrance and wondered—could I drain something that old? That large?

  "You're getting faster," Valdosta commented one morning, watching me drain a young tree without breaking a sweat.

  Coming from him, it was practically effusive praise.

  I felt a flicker of pride, then disgust at my reaction.

  Three weeks into my training, I sat in my room as Hana worked the knots from my shoulders. The evening routine had become something I looked forward to—perhaps the only pleasant thing in my days.

  "You're quieter than usual, my lady." Hana's thumb pressed into a particularly stubborn knot. "Rough day?"

  "They're all rough days." I winced as she found a tender spot. "But... yes. Today was worse."

  I didn't elaborate. I wasn't curious to find out how she'd react to knowing I'd drained an entire section of the forest. That I'd felt the life leave dozens of plants at once. That the rush of power had felt exhilarating.

  That I had nightmares where I did unspeakable things with all that energy.

  "Would you like me to draw you a bath tonight? I could add some of the lavender salts. It might help you sleep."

  She'd never explicitly asked about my sleeping troubles, but one day she'd left a vial of sleeping potion on my bedside table.

  "That would be nice." I hesitated as she moved toward the door. "Hana?"

  "Yes, Lady Alya?"

  "Do you ever worry that you're becoming someone you don't recognize?"

  Hana stilled, then lowered her eyes, deep in thought.

  "I think... everyone changes, my lady. Change is important—necessary to grow. The question is whether we're changing into someone better or worse." Her eyes found mine. "And whether we have people around us who will tell us the truth about which direction we're going, when we're not sure ourselves."

  I closed my eyes, letting the words settle.

  "I'm glad you're here," I whispered.

  "I'm glad to be here too."

  We shared a soft smile. Then Hana went back to work.

  Five days later, when Mely woke me up, my blood ran cold.

  "Is Hana sick?"

  The girl raised her eyes from the tray she was arranging. "No, my lady. Hana is working in the kitchens, I believe."

  We stared at each other—one in confusion, the other in silent fury. I knew it wasn't Mely's fault that Hana was gone.

  But her absence was unacceptable.

  Getting Enora to reassign Hana back to me was surprisingly easy. The difficult task was convincing the rigorous housekeeper that Mely had done nothing to displease me.

  That evening, Hana was in the room to welcome me back, much to my relief. She was beaming.

  We didn't mention her fleeting absence. Just went back to our evening routine like it had never happened.

  But something had shifted.

  The weeks continued. Autumn deepened into early winter. The trees in the forest lost their leaves—though I tried not to think about how many of those leaves I'd drained in the woods.

  My body changed. Stronger. Leaner. My hands developed callouses that Hana insisted on eliminating. My magic grew sharper.

  More hungry.

  I saw Father only at formal dinners, where he asked perfunctory questions about my progress. Grandfather attended twice, silently assessing. He only nodded when Magister Valdosta reported my advancement.

  No one asked if I was alright.

  No one except Hana.

  Our evening conversations grew longer, more personal. I was hesitant to share much of myself, but always intrigued by her stories.

  "When I was seven, my sister convinced me that if you added enough soap to the washing, the clothes would get clean twice as fast." Hana's eyes glinted in the fireplace light. It had taken some convincing, but she was finally sitting with me by the fire. How ironic—something Father would deem unnatural felt like the most normal thing in my life.

  "I'm assuming that's not how it works?"

  "Oh no, not at all." Hana laughed softly. "I dumped half the bottle in while my mother was at the market. By the time she arrived, half the backyard was filled with bubbles. Knee-deep. Our neighbor's chickens were running through it, and they looked like little white clouds with legs!"

  She covered her laughter with a hand. "The neighbors tried to gather them into the pen, but they kept running around leaving trails of bubbles. They were too slippery to catch! My mother was furious. My sister blamed me entirely, of course. I had to do the washing by hand for a week."

  Despite myself, I couldn't contain my laughter. "Chickens covered in bubbles?"

  "Like tiny, angry snowballs!" Hana confirmed, eliciting more laughter. "One chased me around for days after. I'm pretty sure she held a grudge."

  I stretched my sore muscles. Even laughing was mildly painful.

  "Your training..." Hana hesitated. "It seems very tough. I thought mages trained at the academy."

  "Usually, but not always. Grandfather hired a private tutor, Magister Valdosta. He's quite demanding. The training is arduous, but his lessons are... valuable."

  Hana nodded, but I noticed something held back in her eyes. I smirked. "Just say it. What's on your mind?"

  "I just—I'm sure those lessons are very valuable. Just... so valuable you never get to rest? You look so tired when you come back. And you're away for hours. I never see you have lunch..."

  Her voice lowered to a whisper.

  She was worried.

  I smiled softly. "Hana?" Her eyes met mine. "You can never show concern, or any other emotion, outside this room. It's imperative we never show ourselves vulnerable. Alright?"

  She nodded solemnly.

  Over the days, I learned more about Hana. How her sister planned to name her baby Rose. How her mother stubbornly refused to slow down despite her age.

  In return, I found myself sharing small things—my frustration with the training, my exhaustion, even carefully edited memories of the gala and the uncomfortable attention.

  I never mentioned the Wielders. Or Sirius.

  That felt too private, too confusing to articulate.

  Then one morning in early winter, everything shifted.

  I sat in my tea room, picking at breakfast while Hana refilled my cup. The newspaper lay folded beside my plate—Father insisted I read it every morning. I unfolded it absently, scanning the headlines.

  And froze.

  UNION RALLY DRAWS THOUSANDS: Lioren Heir Speaks on Equality Reform

  Below the headline was a photograph. Sirius stood on a platform, mid-speech, his golden hair bright even in the grainy newsprint. He looked passionate, alive—so different from the careful interrogator in the cell, or even the concerned man at the gala.

  My fingers played nervously with my bracelet.

  "My lady?" Hana's voice seemed distant. "Is something wrong?"

  I forced myself neutral. "No, nothing. Just... politics."

  But my mind raced.

  Sirius Astarion Lioren, speaking publicly. Making waves. Pushing for reforms that would threaten everything my household stood for.

  And I—learning techniques the Union would consider dark magic. Becoming something sharper, colder, more dangerous.

  For what?

  Goosebumps erupted on my skin. I allowed myself to wonder why Grandfather was paying for me to learn these things.

  "You always use that one bracelet. You have so many... is that your favorite?"

  I blinked. "I suppose you could say so." I smiled sadly.

  "Would you like a shower before your training, my lady? You still have an hour before Magister Valdosta arrives."

  I snapped out of my troubled reverie. "Sure. Thank you, Hana."

  Once Hana left, I carefully tore the article from the paper.

  It's to read later, I insisted in my mind.

  But no amount of insisting could convince me of the lie.