Isolde went flying backward from Cedric’s kick, crumpling to the ground with a sharp thud
Sit Alaric stood frozen, his expression pale.
“You… you’re the daughter of Lord Hawthorne?” he asked hoarsely.
The Duchess of Northvale stepped forward at last, composed but visibly shaken.
“I attempted to intervene,” she said with measured calm. “But Sir Alaric insisted Lady Elowen was unfit for such treatment. He forbade me to act.”
Without a word, Cedric struck Alaric hard across the face–once, twice. Blood splattered from the knight’s nose and mouth as he dropped to the ground, dazed.
I stood frozen, my swollen face expressionless, eyes dulled by all I had endured.
Cedric turned to me, saw the bruises and the lifeless look in my eyes, and his fury only deepened. He swept me into his arms and whispered gently, “El, how do you want them punished? Say the word, and I’ll see it done.”
“Your Grace, please–have mercy!” Alaric spat blood onto the stone, still clinging to some semblance of dignity. “I am a sworn knight of the Crown! You cannot disgrace me like some common felon!”
I had nearly forgotten–his parents were long dead, but the Queen Dowager, a kinswoman of royal blood, still offered him her favor.
My mother once pitied that lonely boy. She stayed when he wept, thinking she could mend what was
broken.
But she had only ever been nursing a viper.
Cedric’s voice turned to ice. “The King may judge you as he sees fit. But striking the lawful daughter of House Hawthorne–before witnesses of courtly rank–is a stain no title can absolve.”
Alaric paled. He knew well–if Cedric spoke, every noble here would leap at the chance to bear
witness.
With trembling lips, he turned to me.
“El… Elinor, I’m your father. Please–plead for me. Spare your brother. Spare Isolde…‘
I curled into Cedric’s arms, blinking innocently.
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“Uncle Cedric, Lady Isolde sald If you acknowledged Mother as your sister, she’d apologize bei
us all.”
“Is that true?” Cedric chuckled, his voice like ice wrapped in velvet. He motioned to the guards
“Wake her up. Let’s hear her apology.”
The footmen hauled a bucket of cold water from the garden fountain and doused Isolde.
She jolted awake, shrieking, “Alaric, help me!”
Cedric arched a brow. “She can either kneel and apologize, or… you can strip down and run three
laps around the courtyard. Your choice, Sir Alaric.”
Alaric’s jaw clenched. After a long pause, he muttered,
“I will accept my punishment. Just… let my wife and unborn child go free.”
He looked toward my mother as he said it. His words were meant for Isolde, but his gaze begged
something from her.
I saw her hesitate–then her jaw set.
Later that day, Sir Alaric ran naked through the streets. Plenty of onlookers saw it happen.
Isolde sobbed miserably, but I wasn’t in the mood to pity her.
I stepped toward her, leaned in, and pinched her face until it bled.
“I changed my mind. You want forgiveness? Start by kneeling before my mother.”
“Elinor…” My mother stepped forward, but Cedric gently held her back.
“No. Let her decide. This is how she learns never to cower again.”
“You little brat,” Isolde hissed under her breath, eyes full of hate.
I glanced at her belly and whispered in her ear,
“If you don’t do it, I’ll tell Father everything–who you really are, and whose child you’re
carrying.”
Her face went pale. That was all the proof I needed–what he told me had been true.
She dropped to her knees, voice trembling as she begged, “Lady Elowen, I was wrong. Forgive me.”
My mother’s voice was quiet but firm. “I’m no longer Elowen.”
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“My name is Marianne Hawthorne.”
And from that day on, I was no longer Elinor Storme,
I was Elinor Hawthorne.
When we returned to Hawthorne Hall, a small head popped up from behind the wrought–iron fence, grinning smugly.
“Well?” the boy teased. “Wasn’t the Springtide Banquet fun?”
But when he saw my bruised cheek and messy hair, his face went pale. His little fists clenched.
“Who dares lay a hand on someone under my protection? Are they begging for death?!”
