Chapter 3
My mother had once been the cherished daughter of Lord Hawthorne. Fifteen years ago, during a midsummer festival, my mother vanished-spirited away in the chaos of the crowds. Some said she was taken by slavers. Others whispered darker things.
She was their only child. That night, Lord and Lady Hawthorne’s hair turned gray with grief.
Now, even if she’d returned in rags, even if she’d been nothing more than a beggar on the street-it wouldn’t have mattered. She was alive. That alone was enough.
When I saw the older woman who looked so much like me, I called out instinctively, “Grandmother!”
Lady Hawthorne’s eyes welled up. She pulled me into her arms and whispered over and over again, “My sweet girl… you’ve suffered too much.”
The return of the long-lost daughter of House Hawthorne stirred no end of gossip across noble society. Everyone was desperate to know what the missing young lady looked like after all these years.
But I couldn’t care less.
Now I had maids who played with me all day, new friends in the estate, warm baths, sweets, and safety. For the first time, I felt like a child again.
Then one day, Lady Hawthorne accepted an invitation on Mother’s behalf-from the Duchess of Northvale. And so Mother was sent to attend the Springtide Banquet.
We hadn’t expected it, but that was where I saw them again.
Isolde, heavily pregnant, draped on the arm of Sir Alaric, smiling bashfully as she greeted noblewomen one after another.
And then someone in the crowd gasped, “Isn’t that Elowen-the famed Jewel of the Swan?”
Heads turned. Sir Alaric’s eyes found us.
Everyone in the city knew the stories. How the young knight once loved her. How he had vanished, and she had disappeared with him. And now, he was here-holding another woman in his arms.
His expression twisted, like someone had driven a dagger into a festering wound.
Then, as if the sight of us was an unbearable shame, he marched over-not toward Mother, but toward me–and struck me
across the face.
The ringing in my ears was deafening.
Mother surged forward, ready to demand an explanation, but Sir Alaric cut her off before she could speak.
“Elowen,” he said, voice raised for all to hear. “Strange… I don’t recall seeing your name among the freed. Shouldn’t you be scrubbing chamber pots in the Quarry pits, where Rowan left you?”
“Or have you come crawling back, hoping I’ll offer you scraps of favor again-like some cast-off wench begging for a place Chapter 3
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in my household?”
He spat on the ground, covered his nose in mock disgust. “Too bad. You disgust me now.
Laughter rippled through the banquet garden.
The guards of House Northvale stepped forward to seize us.
Mother tried to resist. “Who dares lay hands on me? I am-”
“Elowen,” Isolde interrupted smoothly. “What’s past is past. My husband and I wish you no harm. But this is a noble gathering. Surely you understand… you’re not suited for such company.”
A noblewoman scoffed. “Had someone like that shown up at my door, I’d have her drowned in a punishment barrel by
sundown.”
Another chimed in, “Ah, but Lady Isolde was raised in gentler households. She probably doesn’t realize how low-born
women will go to secure a title. Best to deal with her quickly.”
Isolde gently patted her belly and smiled sweetly. “She meant no harm, I’m sure. Perhaps she simply missed him…
terribly.”
I couldn’t take it anymore.
“But weren’t you just like my mother?” I shouted. “You weren’t born to nobility either, were you? You were never—”
Before I could finish, a rough hand clamped over my mouth.
Sir Alaric didn’t spare me a glance as he turned to one of the guards.
“Drag the brat out. Let her cool off in the garden fountain if she can’t hold her tongue.”
Then he turned to Mother. “If you won’t discipline your child, then allow me.”
The fountain wasn’t deep, but I was only eight. The water reached my chin, cold and dark.
I couldn’t scream. I could barely breathe. I looked toward Mother, eyes wide and pleading.
“Sir Alaric!” she shouted, voice trembling with rage. “That’s your daughter!”
He laughed. “Elowen, you told me once not to look back. I haven’t.”
“My life is good now. Why drag that wretched child here to upset my wife?”
Then he leaned closer, whispering at her ear.
“Or is it that your pride couldn’t take being passed around by other men, so you’d rather hand me your unborn child-for
medicine?”
Mother’s voice cut like steel.
“You think I’d give my child to you? The man who tried to drown his own daughter?”
Sir Alaric flinched.
But Isolde was quick to glide between them again..
“They’re just a mother and daughter with no patron to shield them. If it pleases you, perhaps the girl could be put to use at House Storme. In the scullery, maybe. She’d be fed, clothed, and… kept occupied.”
A few ladies nearby exchanged looks and nodded, lips curled in amusement.
Sir Alaric wrapped an arm around Isolde, eyes shining with staged emotion. “To have a wife so kind-hearted… I must have saved kingdoms in a past life.”
I glanced at Mother, but the handmaid who had stood at her side when we arrived-gone. Vanished the moment the guards stepped forward.
In that moment, the Duchess of Northvale arched a brow as her steward leaned in and murmured something, a folded guest list in hand.
“Lady Hawthorne’s daughter?” she murmured. “I was told she had arrived. Where is she?”
