Florence

The seamstress arrives the next morning. I hadn’t expected her so soon, but I find that I am pleased things are moving along so quickly. Outwardly, there is nothing to suggest she is anything other than an ordinary seamstress. Her appearance is neat and tidy, her dress is plain and in fashion, and the tools she brings are high quality. Is she truly an accomplice of Sir Thorne?

When Mary leaves us alone to take the laundry away, I decide to risk it and ask her some questions.

“How do you know Sir Thorne?”

“Sir Thorne?” she repeats, a grin spreading across her face, breaking the mask of politeness. “He recruited me from down on Gallows Street. It’s a nasty place, m’lady. In a way, you could say he rescued me.”

“I see,” I say, though I don’t see at all. Why would Sir Thorne be in a place called Gallows Street, seeking the services of a seamstress? And…where exactly is Gallows Street?

“If you want the proper story, you’ll need to ask him. I’m not at liberty to say, m’lady.” Her mass of thick black curls is pinned back in a mess of a bun, and a thick band of russet ribbon that matches her dress wraps around her head like a headband. She glances up from measuring my ankle. “I owe him my life.”

“Hm.” Well, he did seem the chivalrous sort, escorting me back home and all. I decide to switch topics. “Do you make this kind of clothing often? What you’ll be making for me?”

“No, not too often,” she replies. “Please raise your arms, m’lady. Thank you. But I always enjoy it because it means there’s another one of us in the making.”

I glance at her and she looks down, her cheeks rosy. Is she embarrassed? Or perhaps...ah. Proud.

“Do you know what you’ll be wielding yet?” she asks.

Wielding? Wouldn’t that be a sword? But…I think of all the large, heavy swords I’ve come across. I don’t think a sword will be an option for me.

I shake my head.

“Not to worry, I can always make alterations later on, if need be. Thorne knows where to find me.”

It’s only after she leaves that I realize I didn’t ask her name. Not that it matters…I won’t be the one dealing with her, will I?

“Is something the matter, Lady Florence?” Mary asks. “You seem upset.”

Do I? Perhaps I am. But…why? “Send for some tea and biscuits, will you?” I say, then take a deep breath to try and relax the muscles in my face—I can feel the tension of the scowl.

“Yes, my lady.” Mary dips a curtsy and leaves.

What in the Saint’s name is bothering me?

I sink onto the edge of my bed, then throw myself backward onto the soft mattress. As the thoughts drift through my head like patchy clouds, I chew on my lip, frustrated that I can't figure out what it is I'm feeling, let alone what's causing it.

My time for self-reflection, however, is cut short when Mary returns and announces Miles has summoned me to the main house. I immediately lose my appetite for the delicious-looking jam-filled biscuits she brought—what could my brother possibly want with me?

♥♥♥⸸

Miles

Miles sat at the desk in his study, staring off into the distance, thinking about what his father had told him not even an hour ago—

“Florence is to attend the Academy under the King’s command…and not only that, but she must graduate within two years!”

Duke LaVelle had been drinking, a habit he did not often indulge, when he had called for Miles. He recounted what had happened at the Royal Palace, and Miles’ heart sank deeper and deeper the longer his father spoke.

The situation was dire…and the LaVelle family's reputation was in a perilous position.

“This is not Florence’s fault,” he reminded himself. Yet, it was hard to find someone else to blame. For so long, she was the one asleep in the annex, oblivious to the heartache she caused their parents. She had no idea what all of them had gone through, especially the first few years after she’d suddenly fallen asleep…and started screaming as if she was being murdered. She had slept through it all.

But the rest of them—mother’s heart had broken long ago, her health along with it, Elaine’s engagement was broken due to the recent scandal, the Duke’s now been labeled the Fool of the Kingdom, and Miles, well…out of everyone, he supposed he’d suffered the least. Now that his friends knew, they tormented him relentlessly, but the gossip hadn’t impacted his social standing in any real way.

Now, any moment—

“You called for me, broth—er, Miles?” Florence stood in the open doorway, timid. Small.

He kept forgetting how small she was, compared to their sister—tall, regal Elaine.

Starved. The word hissed through his mind, the ensuing guilt clearing away any remaining blame he held for Florence at that moment.

His face relaxed and his shoulders dropped. It’s not her fault.

“Yes, come in, Florence,” he said, raising a hand and gesturing for her to come forward. “Have a seat.”

Miles took a moment to study her face in the afternoon light. He had gotten somewhat used to her new hair, though it was still a shock every time they crossed paths. Her aqua eyes—he’d called them “little tidepools” when she was younger—were still the same color, a clear blue-green, but they no longer held the inquisitive innocence of her youth.

This puzzled him, but he had to tuck it away to mull over later; now, there was something important to discuss.

“I’ve heard you’re to enroll in the Academy,” he said, resting his hands on the desk.

“Yes, that’s correct,” Florence replied, offering no further explanation. Her hands rested neatly in her lap.

Was she frightened of him?

“Ahem. Well, then. You must do well, both to live up to the LaVelle reputation and to meet His Royal Majesty’s command to graduate within two years.” He peered at her, blue eyes beneath a wave of auburn hair. “Tell me honestly, Florence: do you think you can manage it?”

“I’ll have to,” Florence shot back. Then, she sighed, sinking back into the chair. “I don’t mean to sound impudent, Miles. I understand the gravity of the situation, believe me. But I’ve always been a good student, you know that. I’m sure the king will be more than happy to let me skip a few unnecessary classes in order to meet his deadline, don’t you think? Which…by the way, have you ever heard of anyone graduating in two years?”

“Three years, yes,” Miles replied. “Two years…no.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.” Now it was Miles’ turn to sigh. Next to his desk, he had a pile of books, which he now lifted and placed in front of him. “Since you have a few weeks before you start, you should read as many of these as you can. You might be able to test out of a few classes straightaway.”

Florence stared at him, her dainty, angular brow drawn in confusion.

“You’re…helping me?”

“You’re a LaVelle, aren’t you?” he asked.

“I…supposed so.” Her downcast expression irked him.

“You are. And your debut still counts, even if that bast—ahem, I mean, idiot ruined it for you. So no matter what the king wants you for after you graduate, you need to do the LaVelle name proud in the meantime. Is that clear?”

“Yes, brother.”

“Good. You can leave now. I’ll have a servant deliver the books for you.”

“Thank you, Miles.” Her voice was warm, pleased.

For a moment, he was transported back in time to when a younger Florence had said those same words, in that same, soft voice. She always thanked him whenever he did anything for her, no matter how small.

But that little girl was long gone. There was a hardness in her eyes that reminded him of some of his friends—comrades of his who have seen battle.

He nodded, sure he wouldn’t be able to speak past the lump in his throat.

Then, she was gone, leaving Miles alone to pick at his tangled knot of emotions.