From the moment Lady Morrigan swept into the guesthouse, the Alidasht servant found themselves captivated by her presence. The allure of her movements commanded their unwavering attention. Their eyes traced the contours of her body, acutely aware of how her garments artfully accentuated her every asset, as she approached servants who had been present for the Alidasht dinner party. While most didn’t seem to mind talking to her, some eager to engage in gossip, a select few Danrose servants avoided eye contact. 

Lady Morrigan bloomed with delight when she spotted a dinner guest. She trotted over to Lord Smithwood and brushed his arm with her fingertips, drawing his attention to her. He, though momentarily taken aback by the Lady’s sudden appearance, soon composed himself into a polite smile.

As members of the aristocracy in the Northern Kingdoms, they exchanged customary pleasantries. Foreign protocols guided the ensuing conversation. Distance between the two nobles and the Alidasht servant muffled their voices, but the occasional melodious laughter that spilled from the Lady traveled through the air easily enough.

However, as the conversation progressed, a subtle shift tugged at the corners of Lady Morrigan’s face, transforming her once-joyful expression into one of grave concern. Suddenly, her hands flew over her mouth, aghast at the Lord’s words. Based on how focused she was on the Lord’s feet, the source of her distress had to do with his shoes. How this, in turn, warranted her profuse apologies, remained an enigma in its own right. Footwear must be serious business in the North.

For the first time since they started talking, a hush fell between them. Lady Morrigan’s eyes fell, her cheeks tinged pink. The servant thought they detected a shimmer of moisture in her eyes. After a solemn reflection, she summoned the strength to lift her gaze and revealed her thoughts, which caught Lord Smithwood off guard once again.

Initially, Lord Smithwood appeared reluctant about what she said. In the end, when the Lady’s face clouded at his response, he relented, either accepting her request or promising to consider it. Whichever the case, her face brightened upon hearing his answer. She clasped his hands and shook them.

With a decision reached, the nobles bid each other farewell. Lady Morrigan, accompanied by her loyal knight, who clung to her like a shadow, drew close enough for the servant to eavesdrop on the latter half of their conversation.

“Are you sure that was wise?” he asked.

“Well, darling, we shall see how much the cub takes after his dear old daddy, won’t we?” she replied with a hint of amusement.

“Besides, as long as she’s breathing when all’s said and done, he can go on ahead and do as he pleases—chop her into pieces, sizzle her over a grill, earn extra coin as her procurer for the rest of the season. Gods knows, it’s none of my concern.”

She spoke her next words with chilling clarity, the cold steel of an executioner’s ax. “Dead men do not suffer… and she still has much to atone for.”