Several days had passed since the encounter at the market, yet the unease refused to loosen its grip on Elka. The memory of the servant’s recognition lingered like salt on Elka’s skin. She told herself it meant nothing. He was a single man in a crowded square, someone from another life who had probably moved on already. Still, the reassurance rang hollow.

She tried to return to the routine that had become her salvation. Each morning she rose with the sun, carried her bucket to the vegetable garden, and tended the plants she had coaxed from the soil with her own hands. Every time she passed by her flowers, she always stopped to stare at the stunning blooms.

The petals should have brought her the same pride they always did. Instead, her fingers trembled as she worked.

More than once that day she caught herself pausing to run her fingertips along the raised scars hidden beneath the back of her dress. The old welts, gifts from her father’s whip, seemed to itch and burn whenever her mind wandered back to her old life when she still lived under her parents control.

Even the sea, usually a source of endless comfort, felt different now. During her walks along the cliffs, she found herself glancing over her shoulder at every distant figure on the path. At night she kept her knife closer beneath her pillow, its handle a cold reassurance against the dark.

Mara noticed the change, of course. The older woman had grown remarkably perceptive where Elka was concerned.

"You’ve been quiet, my lady," Mara said one afternoon as they shelled peas together on the small bench in the kitchen. "Ever since you returned from the market. Is something troubling you?"

Being the daughter of a prestigious noble family meant she had never been expected to concern herself with domestic chores such as cooking or cleaning, nor had she ever shown any interest in learning. But after hiring Mara, Elka often found herself lingering by the kitchen doorway, captivated by the ease with which the woman moved about the space and the effortless grace she brought to even the simplest tasks.

It did not take long before Elka began volunteering to help whenever she had no pressing matters of her own to attend to.

Elka forced a small smile before responding. "It is nothing. Truly. You have nothing to worry about."

She almost believed her own words.

On the fourth day since her market visit, as the late afternoon light slanted across the grassy rise, a knock sounded at the front door.

Elka was in her parlour, mending a tear in one of her simpler dresses, just like Mara had taught her. When she heard the noise, her heart gave a single, startled thud.

Mara, who had been cleaning the kitchen, set her broom aside and moved to answer it.

Elka heard the door creak open, followed by Mara’s polite but cautious greeting. Then came the voice that turned Elka’s blood to ice.

"Forgive the intrusion," the voice said, smooth and carefully modulated. "I am looking for my daughter."

Elka would recognize that voice anywhere. It was the same one that replayed in some of her worse nightmares. Her mother’s voice.

She rose slowly, the dress slipping from her fingers onto the floor. She stepped into the doorway between rooms just as Mara turned to look at her, a question in her eyes. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

Laena stood on the threshold, framed by the bright light of the setting sun. She looked much the same as Elka remembered, elegant even in simpler traveling clothes, her posture straight, her face arranged into an expression that resembled maternal concern. But Elka saw through it instantly. She had spent a lifetime learning to read every false note in her mother’s face and voice.

"Elka, my dear," Laena said, her face softening into a practiced smile as their eyes met. "There you are. You have no idea how much I have missed you." Then her gaze briefly scanned the cottage’s interior, lips thinning slightly in displeasure. "What a... charming little place you have found for yourself."

The faint note of condescension was unmistakable.

Elka’s eyes hardened. She remembered too many nights when that same voice had filled the halls of their house while her father’s whip cracked against her back. Laena had never raised a hand against Elka but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t complicit in the abuse. She simply preferred to watch without lifting a finger to help her daughter. Sometimes she would even offer quiet words of "guidance" afterward, explaining how Elka’s stubbornness had brought the punishment upon herself.

Mara hovered uncertainly. "Shall I prepare tea, my lady?"

"No," Elka said, her voice cold. "There is no need. My mother will not be staying."

Laena’s smile faltered only slightly. She stepped forward without invitation, forcing Mara to move aside. "Come now, Elka. Is this how you greet the woman who gave birth to you? After so long apart? I have been so worried about you since everything that happened. Your husband was killed and we never heard a single word from you. Of course, we got worried."

Laena moved closer to where Elka stood rigid, her gaze sweeping over the simple furnishings, the woven rugs, the vase of fresh flowers Elka had cut from her own garden that morning.

"It is certainly... simpler than what you are accustomed to," Laena continued. "But I suppose it suits you in a way. Though I must say, I never imagined my daughter living like a commoner."

Elka felt the old familiar rage and fear twisting together inside her. She remembered the nights her mother had stood silently in the doorway while her father taught her "obedience." The same voice that now called this cottage "charming" had once told Elka she should be grateful for the beatings that would make her a suitable wife for the prince.

"Why are you here?" Elka asked flatly. She did not offer her a seat, nor did she soften her tone.

Laena sighed, as if disappointed by her daughter’s lack of hospitality. "We have settled in a village not far from here. Your father and I. It seemed... prudent, given the king’s men are still searching for those connected to the rebellion. We heard that Ragnar has shown you kindness. That he granted you your dower and treated you with respect despite your marriage to Hairan."

Elka’s stomach twisted. Of course they knew.

"We only want what is best for the family," Laena continued, her voice taking on that familiar persuasive lilt. "If you were to speak on our behalf—use your connection to the new king—we might receive more lenient judgment for our part in the rebellion. A word from you could mean the difference between imprisonment and... worse. Ragnar has already apprehended Lord Rycoff and Gareth Alwen, your father and I are next on his list."

For a moment, Elka said nothing. The sea breeze drifted through the open window, carrying the distant crash of waves, but it brought no comfort now.