The days of "exercise" in the tower courtyard were monotonous and oppressive. Aside from Knight Kaelen's almost tangible surveillance, Elara spent most of her time lost in thought, warily observing her extremely limited surroundings, or... recalling her past life, honing her will to survive with hatred.
However, peace (even superficial peace) is always fleeting. A few days later, a new, hostile presence intruded upon her small "territory."
That afternoon, Elara was sitting on the stone steps in a corner of the courtyard, head bowed, watching a few busy ants on the ground, trying to draw some strength from their tiny lives. Suddenly, a rustling sound, mixed with a strong floral fragrance and the swish of silk, reached her ears.
Elara looked up warily.
A young woman, flanked by two maids in decent livery, appeared at the courtyard entrance. Knight Kaelen still stood guard like a sentinel, but facing this woman, his posture seemed... to shift ever so slightly? Still silent, but perhaps... a fraction less purely cold, with a hint... of the tacit acknowledgment one gives to an equal (or at least someone of similar standing)?
The woman looked about seventeen or eighteen, quite beautiful, even stunning. She wore an expensive lavender silk gown embroidered with intricate floral patterns, its wide skirt swaying gently with her movements. Her hair was styled in a complex updo fashionable among noblewomen, adorned with pearls and tiny jeweled pins that glittered faintly in the afternoon sun. Her skin was fair and delicate, her features holding an innate, perhaps pampered, air of petulance and arrogance.
Elara recognized her instantly. Though she had only caught glimpses of her from afar or amidst chaos before, this face, and the aura she carried—so distinct from the other servants in the castle—had left an impression. She seemed to be a woman of special status within the castle—Isabelle. As for her exact identity—a distant relative of the Duke? The daughter of some fallen noble sent here? Or... perhaps a former secret mistress of the Duke? Elara had no way of knowing, only that she seemed highly regarded, far above Elara's own status as "Object Seven."
Isabelle was clearly here for Elara. Ignoring Knight Kaelen as if he were part of the scenery, she walked directly towards Elara, stopping a few steps away. She looked Elara up and down with a condescending, critical, and hostile gaze.
Her eyes finally settled on Elara's lips, still slightly swollen and bearing faint scars, and a flash of malicious pleasure glinted in her eyes.
"Well, well, isn't this the 'little plaything' His Grace brought back?" Isabelle's voice, like her appearance, was delicate yet sharp and biting. "Sitting here all alone? You look... truly pitiful."
The two maids behind her let out suppressed, ill-intentioned snickers.
Elara's heart sank. Trouble had arrived. This Isabelle was clearly jealous of the Duke's "interest" in her (however perverse that interest might be) and had come looking for trouble.
Elara said nothing, merely rising slowly to her feet, lowering her head in a posture of respect and humility. She didn't want trouble, especially under Knight Kaelen's watchful eye.
However, her silence seemed to infuriate Isabelle further.
"What? Cat got your tongue?" Isabelle stepped closer, lightly tapping her palm with an ornate, jewel-encrusted feathered fan, her eyes scornful. "Or perhaps... you've forgotten your own name? Right, for someone of your lowly status, a name... what meaning does it hold anyway?"
The words struck Elara like poisoned needles! The designation "Object Seven" was the deepest humiliation she bore!
Elara trembled almost imperceptibly, clenching her fists hidden in her sleeves. But she still didn't look up, didn't retort. She knew Isabelle wanted to provoke her, make her lose composure, so she could find fault.
"Tsk tsk, how dull." Seeing Elara react like a wooden block, Isabelle seemed bored, but the malice in her eyes didn't lessen. Suddenly, as if remembering something, she covered her mouth in feigned surprise. "Oh dear, my memory! Didn't Frau Helga instruct you to clear the fallen leaves in the courtyard? Look at the ground, still so much dirt! How did you manage your task? Were you trying to slack off?"
Elara's heart chilled. She had just swept the courtyard that morning. While a few new leaves might have blown in, it was nowhere near the "so much dirt" Isabelle claimed. She was clearly trying to frame her!
Elara looked up, wanting to protest, but meeting Isabelle's calculating, venomous eyes, she swallowed her words. She knew arguing was pointless; Isabelle wasn't here for reason.
"Forgive me, Lady Isabelle," Elara finally chose forbearance, her voice low. "It was my oversight. I will clean it immediately."
"Hmph, wise of you." Isabelle seemed satisfied with Elara's "submission" but had no intention of letting her off easily. She pointed with her fan towards a pile of thick, damp branches recently pruned from the trees in a far corner. "Those are an eyesore too. Clear them away as well. Remember, be quick about it. Before I leave, this place must be spotless, as 'clean' as your face!"
With that, she ignored Elara, turned, and, surrounded by her maids, walked to a stone bench on the other side of the courtyard. She sat down, adopting the air of a supervisor, watching Elara with those poison-laced eyes, full of malicious amusement.
Elara looked at the pile of thick, heavy, damp branches, then at her own thin arms, her heart turning cold. Isabelle was deliberately making things difficult, wanting her to make a fool of herself, or even get injured, right in front of Knight Kaelen!
The first bloom of venom, carrying a deadly fragrance. Elara knew this was just the beginning. Isabelle's hostility would be the most direct, most insidious threat she faced in this castle, apart from the Duke himself.