The table was far too long, Alicia felt. It had been clearly designed to host a moderately sized party of intimate guests. Currently, however, there were only two there; herself, at one end, and all the way at the head, her father.

He was, as always, inscrutable. Insufferably inscrutable, really. If some men wore their emotions on their sleeves, then Duke Senius wore his on a handkerchief; hidden away most of the time, except when extraordinary situations called for their presence. His face was schooled into an expression of mild boredom, and Alicia had rarely ever seen it change; that was seemingly reserved only for his wife or his son.

The supper itself was exquisite, of course. The Senius family could hardly afford not having one of the most talented chefs in all of Estelar in their employment, even if the Duke only lived in Ludestre for ten days out of every month. Tonight it was duck confit with rosemary over a bed of savory porridge, sweet winter greens soup, and thin slices of black pudding served over soft cheese. It was, Alicia reluctantly admitted to herself, one of the best meals she’d ever had. Not that the food was bad back at the estate, but it was clear from the quality of the food here where the Duke had his priorities.

The room was eerily quiet, save for the clinking of silverware on plates. A kitchen maid stood motionless at the side of the table, ready for any requests but otherwise doing her best to be completely unobtrusive. That was one of the things that Alicia had started to notice, ever since she had Bloomed, and had been shown memories of another world. It was harder for her to just ignore the servants, to act as if their presence was completely insignificant. Now, she was aware that each one was a person—not that she hadn’t intellectually known before, but it was different to understand that each servant had their own hopes, their own opinions and thoughts about their lords and ladies. It was… humbling, perhaps, and often humiliating, when she thought of her past behavior.

She wondered how long the Duke would go without speaking to her. It wasn’t that she had made him upset, at least not that she knew, but rather that he seemed to find her conversation neither desirable nor necessary. It was hard for her to not hold this up against her discussion earlier that day with the bookseller’s niece, Elizabeth. There was someone who did not mind a discussion, who would not fear to engage with her due to her position, or else dismiss her due to her sex. She would need to find a way to meet with the child again, at the very least send regular correspondence.

Eventually, Alicia gave in and broke the silence, as she had something she needed to discuss. “Your Grace, I would like to learn how to defend myself,” she said.

He did not respond for a moment, but he did stop eating. He set the tableware down and looked at her impassively. “Do you not trust the guards?” His tone was even, but she felt an implied threat.

“Of course I trust them, Your Grace,” she replied, ducking her head. “Yet, I heard at the tea party that young women of status are sometimes captured and ransomed off to their families. Were I able to defend myself, I would not have to worry about bringing such an embarrassment to our family.”

This was the way, she thought. An appeal to protecting the family’s honor, rather than just protecting herself. That she was lying to him was of little concern, since her words contained a kernel of truth.

“I suspect the other children have been reading too many gothic novels,” he said, with a rare levity to his voice. “Yet, I cannot say the concern has not crossed my mind as well. You are my daughter as well as the future wife of a prince, and that comes with no small share of enemies. There is more protection around you than you might think, Alicia.”

She dipped her head in acknowledgement and wondered if he knew about Miss Hartwright’s prowess; wondered if that was why the governess had been hired. “I understand, Your Grace, but it would give me much comfort if I could protect myself as well. I understand that it is not uncommon for other ladies to learn, especially those gifted with the same affinities as myself.”

He arched one eyebrow. “I have not heard this often mentioned,” he told her.

She looked down, affecting embarrassment. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but it is not such a thing that women openly discuss in public, especially not amongst the opposite sex. But it is far more common than men might think. Miss Hartwright tells me that her brother specializes in such education of young women.”

His gaze sharpened. “Then you would have me hire the brother of your governess, for your education?”

She recognized that as the trap it was and shook her head, demurely. “I make no suggestion as to who you hire, Your Grace. I only know that it is a common practice and it would bring me much peace of mind.”

There was the clink of silverware on a plate, and she looked up to see that he had turned his attention back to his meal. Idly, he said, “I will tell Miss Hartwright to contact her brother, and see if he is available for such tutoring.”

Alicia wanted to jump up, to celebrate her success. Instead, she just said, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Several more minutes of silence followed. Alicia barely paid any attention to the meal, her mind busy with schemes and plans. Power came in several forms, and she needed to have as many as possible if she was to avoid her doom. The ‘Alicia’ in the game had relied solely on the power that came from status, and she was utterly destroyed when that was taken away, and so she had bargained for demonic strength at the cost of her mind. Now that she knew how fragile her status truly was, she needed to work on replacing it with the subtler strength that came from social connections, capital, and magic.

The air was awkward between them once more, although it was mitigated by how truly delicious the food was. Yet she found her mind wandering back to Elizabeth, wondering what the girl was eating tonight. Her family seemed to be, if not outright poor, then just barely above that line. Certainly there was no duck or foie gras for her, no chocolate mousse for a small dessert after supper was done.

Wait, why was Alicia thinking of Elizabeth again? The noble girl was well past the age of knowing about the disparity of the classes, even putting aside the memories from Christine. Perhaps it was just that Elizabeth had been kind to her, and uninterested in the malignancies of social status that infested the conversation of Alicia’s peers. It had been so wonderful, to briefly be able to speak with someone as a friend.

Ah, perhaps that was it. She paused, the fork halfway to her mouth. Was she… lonely? Of course, she had her half-brother Lewis, but she had not seen him much since she had Bloomed. Anyways, the company of a younger brother is inevitably quite different from that of another girl her own age, especially one as bright and interesting as Elizabeth.

The girl was shaken out of these thoughts as the Duke set his silverware down with a firm clatter. He had finished the meal and now was looking at her intently. With a start, she set her own fork down as well.

“Alicia,” he began.

“Yes, Your Grace?”

He seemed to want to say something, but he hesitated as if deciding against it. Instead, he said, “His Highness the Prince has sent you an invitation to the opening of a new wing of the National Museum in two days time. You will attend, and you will continue to conduct yourself with decorum.” He drummed his fingers on the table, thinking for a moment. “The Bywins will be in attendance as well; it would be beneficial if you could deepen your connection to their daughter.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” she said, ducking her head in agreement.

He nodded to himself and then stood abruptly, sweeping out of the room. She was left to finish the rest of the meal on her own. For some reason, as delicious as it ought to be, it had now turned bland on her tongue.

~*~

For the past two days, Lucille had taken every opportunity when she was not working to study the fashion book that Miss Hartwright had gifted her. At first, she had justified this to herself by claiming that it was just so she could be knowledgeable for her mistress, but that soon fell hollow. There was just something so wonderful about looking at the illustrations and reading the extensive descriptions that went below, describing a whole world of clothing that she had never known before. For all that Lucille had spent years dressing Lady Alicia, she had largely done so based on the training she had received from the senior maid at the Senius estate. There had been no concept of variability, or of updating the styles to fit with the changing times.

She had finished her tasks in Alicia’s room, sweeping the floor, dusting down the surfaces, shaking and turning the bed, and readying a kettle. Even though she had finished her tasks, however, she ought to continue to make a show of working; it would not do for another servant, or worse still a member of the family, to think that she was lazy. Yet even still she could not help but take a brief moment to sit down with the book. She inspected the drawn women, elegant and stylish in their beautiful dresses rendered in clean lines of ink, and imagined instead her lady (and, though she felt ashamed of such thoughts, herself as well) wearing such delightful gowns.

The figure depicted is clad in a dress of rich green silk, brocaded and trimmed with white lace. This has been carried up to the waist such as to create the illusion of four layered skirts, without encumbering the lady with such a weight. The body is shaped to follow the delicate open fluting preferred by all ladies of taste, and must be carefully crafted to require no whalebone to maintain its shape. This is paired with gloves of a moderate length, cream coloured, and hair held up by a ribbon of similar shade and several manufactured flowers; these can be chosen to match the dress, or the affinity of the young lady in question.

Even though the art was all done in black lines, Lucille felt as though she could see it come to vibrant life through the description; could see in her mind the pleated curves of rich green silk and the long lines of lace. It was alluring, intoxicating, and as much as Lucille tried she could not stop returning to those pages whenever she got the chance.

Yet the book did not contain only dresses: no, it was far more extensive than that. There were instructions for the production of knitted flowers, descriptions of how chemisettes now favored a v-shaped neck over the square shapes that were formerly preferred, and new designs for headdresses made from chenille fabric. The maid felt a strange desire begin to stir, one she had rarely known before; it was a desire to have these things, to wear dresses made of luxurious silk rather than the rough cotton of her uniform, and put up her hair in thin nets of woven chenille adorned with beautiful roses. She wanted above her station, a desire that she had previously kept deeply hidden and buried, and it left her ashamed.

So when the door to the room abruptly swung open, Lucille positively leapt out of her chair and hid the book behind her back. Lady Alicia swept in like a hurricane, looking at once irritated and exhausted. She stormed past Lucille without saying a word and then, without removing any of her overgarments, fell forward onto the bed.

This was a bad sign. Lucille knew from experience that this was the state in which her lady’s manners suffered the most, when she would be prone to lashing out with harsh words and thrown objects. It had been several weeks since she had last seen Lady Alicia in such a state, weeks in which she had seen the lady undergo a series of rather drastic changes. In a way, it was almost a relief to still see her act this way.

Almost, because she still might need to avoid a thrown pillow or a flying shoe.

“My lady, are you alright?” she asked, after a moment. She kept her voice soft and comforting, and her body braced to dodge.

“Mmmph imm fmmm,” the lady responded, her voice entirely muffed by the blankets.

“I see,” Lucille said, although she very much did not.

The young lady rolled over onto her back. “It was a long day, Lucille. And now I must prepare to meet the prince tomorrow.”

“Ah, I see,” Lucille said, and she very much did. She knew that Lady Alicia found the prince to be difficult, although the girl hid her distaste from everyone else. Nor did she particularly blame her lady; the few times that Lucille had seen the prince, he had been quite dreadful to Lady Alicia. Although she would never dare speak such things aloud, as it was halfway to treason, the prince reminded her most of the rich merchant’s son back at her village, who treated all around him as his personal entertainment. Instead of speaking these dangerous thoughts, she said, “Would you like me to comb your hair, my lady?”

“I would indeed,” Lady Alicia said as she sat up. “Thank you.”

The words almost caused the maid to drop her comb in shock. She could count on one hand the number of times Lady Alicia had said those words to her, and all of them had been since her Blooming ceremony. Perhaps the brush with illness had been more traumatic than she had originally thought.

Lucille quickly got over her surprise. She sat down gingerly on the bed behind the girl and began to slowly run the comb through the young lady’s thick golden curls. After a few moments, Lady Alicia seemed to relax her shoulders, leaning back against the maid. Lucille began to hum softly as she worked, gently undoing some of the rougher tangles at the bottom of the locks and working her way upwards.

Several minutes passed before Alicia spoke, clearly deep in thought. “I realized that I have been quite lonely, Lucille.”

Lucille felt her breath catch and had to force herself to not jerk the comb at this admission; this was much more open than she had ever seen the girl before. She didn’t know how to respond—how was a servant meant to respond to something like that? But she had to say something, so she said, “I am sorry to hear that, my lady.”

Lady Alicia laughed then, but there was little mirth in her voice. “You of all people should not be sorry, Lucille. You are one of very few people who have stood by me these past few years. I have not done right by you, I fear.”

This was dangerous territory, and certainly not a discussion she had ever expected to have with the young lady. “I am afraid I do not know what you are referring to, my lady,” Lucille said carefully.

“I am sure that you do, but no matter,” Lady Alicia said, and she waved a hand dismissively. “They say that one’s actions hold ten times the weight of one’s words. I would offer you an apology if I thought you might accept it. Instead, I will make you a promise.”

The lady turned around on the bed, so that she could face Lucille directly. “You have taken care of me well, even when it has cost you the respect and kindness of those around you. It is my duty as a noble to take care of you in return. If you ever face grave difficulties in the future, please come to me first, and I will deal with them.”

Her stare was so bright and intense that Lucille had no choice but to look away, cheeks flushed from the intensity of those words. “I thank you, my lady,” she managed to get out.

Then abruptly, Lady Alicia’s voice changed tone, becoming far more playful and curious. “What is that?”

Lucille followed the direction of her lady’s gaze, and her heart leapt up into her throat. She had been distracted and had simply set the book down on the bed, without any consideration of keeping it a secret. But there was no keeping it from her now. “It is a book of fashionable designs, my lady,” she said softly. “Your governess gave it to me, so I might be better suited to helping you dress.” It was the truth, so why did it feel like a lie?

The young girl reached over and picked it up off the bed. She paged through the book, examining the artwork and skimming some of the passages. A few times she nodded to herself, although whether it was in appreciation or something else Lucille couldn’t tell.

Finally she closed the book, handing it to Lucille. The young lady looked at her with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Which design is your favorite, then?”

“What?” The maid asked.

“Which design is your favorite? Say, which one would you want to wear if you could,” Lady Alicia replied. Her smile was sly yet kind, an expression Lucille had never seen the girl wear before. That didn’t make the maid any less flustered.

“I’m sure I haven’t considered it, my lady,” she said, ducking her eyes down. “It would be improper for me to think of myself wearing such clothing.”

“I understand, Lucille, I really do,” Lady Alicia said, as she stood up from the bed, crossing the room toward the small oak desk below the window. “Yet, suppose you had to pick a favorite; which one would it be?”

Of course Lucille knew the answer to that question already; she knew exactly which design most tugged at her deep-rooted desires. A part of her worried that this was a trap, but that had never been in Lady Alicia’s nature. The girl could be rude and bad-tempered at times, but never deliberately cruel or sadistic. So she opened the book and quickly flipped through to the right page.

The young lady returned to the bed, carrying with her a charcoal pencil and her drawing pad. She looked down at the illustrated woman on the page. Her eyebrows raised slightly, although whether in surprise, condemnation, or something else entirely, Lucille couldn’t tell. Then, without another word, she sat down in front of the maid and began to move the pencil rapidly across the drawing pad.

“My lady, what are you—” Lucille said after a moment, but she was quickly cut off by a shush from the girl. Occasionally the girl would look up at Lucille, and occasionally she would look back at the book. Her face was wrought into an expression of intense concentration as she drew.

Several minutes passed this way. Lucille tried her best to stay quite still, and to ignore any questions and suspicions she had about what her lady was drawing. Still, the questions that Lady Alicia had asked seemed to point to only one answer. That thought left the maid at once terribly anxious and cautiously excited. At the least, it seemed that this was a welcome distraction for the girl, as her face was now set in concentration and not twisted with frustration.

At last, Lady Alicia set the pencil down on the bed and turned the drawing pad around for Lucille to inspect. Her heart leapt as she saw the depiction: it was a bit rough and clearly a quick sketch, but the woman in the drawing was unmistakably Lucille herself. She was wearing the same silk dress as the woman in the book, her hair bound up in the same ribbon and wearing the same long gloves. Yet she could so clearly see the familiar curve of her own nose, her high cheekbones and thin eyebrows. It all felt so very illicit, yet delightfully so; like when she had snuck a pasty from beneath the careless gaze of one of the chefs, back when she was a girl.

“Here you are,” Lady Alicia said abruptly, unclipping the paper from the board and handing it to Lucille. “It’s rather rough, but it’s the best I can do for you right now.”

“I will treasure it, my lady,” Lucille said, her voice quite sincere.

The young lady flushed and looked away. “Do as you will, it makes little difference to me,” she replied. “In any event, I should like to bathe now. Prepare the waters.”

Lucille ducked her head in assent. Carefully, she slid the drawing in between the pages of the book and placed it on the dresser. As Lucille bustled off to prepare the bath, she chanced a look behind and saw that the young lady had flopped back down on the bedspread, her arms spread. The maid still did not quite know what to make of the changes that her lady had been experiencing, but that was alright. For the first time, Lucille thought she might actually be quite fortunate to have Lady Alicia as her charge.