At the manor's courtyard, Liana hangs damp linens to a clothesline, the morning breeze teasing her hair. Nearby, a cluster of maids gossiped, their voices bubbling with curiosity. One leaned in, eyes wide. "So, the Young Lord hasn't laid a hand on you since the incident?"
Liana's smile was soft but knowing. "Not even a rude word. He's a gentleman now." She lowered her voice, a playful glint in her eyes. "Plus, he's chatting up plenty of girls at the academy."
The maids burst into giggles, one nudging her. "Lucky you! No more of his punishments. We were terrified for you, Liana. Honestly, why'd you stick around after all the awful things he did?"
Liana's gaze softened, a memory of Duchess Seraphina's final moments, her frail hand squeezing Liana's, a promise. "No reason in particular," she said lightly, brushing it off.
A maid sprinted up, interrupting. "Liana! The Young Lord's about to spar with the soldiers on the training grounds! Everyone's gathering to watch!"
