11. Lady Margaret

I narrowed my eyes and stopped in my tracks, waiting for her to approach. As soon as her orange, bobbing hair made a swift turn toward me, I cocked my head and looked her up and down. “Can I help you?” I asked sternly.

She stopped, her lips parted. She clearly was expecting someone easy to belittle. She shook her head and straightened her back once more. “I should be asking you that,” she sneered. “You know you have to pay for that, right?”

Her two friends’ giggles grew a touch louder as they approached me from behind.

I smiled. “I’m well aware. That’s why I was walking toward the shopkeeper and not the door. Did you get confused on your route? I know directions can be difficult for some. It’s very easy to get lost in such a small, square room.”

“You don’t have to be so condescending,” she snapped, then motioned her neck for her two friends to join her side and blockade me from the counter where I wished to pay for my things. “I was merely trying to help. Clearly, you’re not from around here.”

I stifled my groan and maintained a cool composure. I don’t have time for this petty nonsense. “Well, if you’re finished, ‘helping’ me, I’d like to purchase this dress now.”

The brown-haired friend in a sea green gown held out her arm to stop me. My brows furrowed, and I shot her an icy stare.

“Lady Margaret!” The old woman from behind her counter shouted. “Leave her alone.”

Margaret. Which one might that be? When the redhead rolled her eyes, my question was answered immediately. “Know your place,” she said sternly. I could barely hear her over my own blood boiling.

“Move,” I commanded, dropping all forms of pretense. These women didn’t deserve it.

She scoffed and stepped forward. “Make me.” She held out her hand to shove me, and I smiled as I grabbed her wrist and twisted it back far enough to hear that crack that told me her wrist was broken.

She shrieked and fell to the ground, her makeup becoming a complete mess and her babblings growing increasingly incoherent as she laid there. I paid neither her nor her two friends any mind as they picked her up and dragged her out of the store. I sighed heavily as I heard that blasted silver bell once more. What a nuisance.

I made sure to force a kind, apologetic smile that reached my eyes before I addressed the shopkeeper once more. “I’m incredibly sorry about that.”

The old woman was paler than she was before, but she was clearly forcing herself to remain calm and cordial for me. I pressed my lips into a thin line. I hated revealing the monster I was, but when the situation demands it, I don’t have much of a choice. I maybe could have gone without breaking her wrist completely, but frankly, I feel she should be thankful I didn’t do more. Most of the other people I know would have—including Isobel if she’d heard the comment Margaret made to the shopkeeper.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“It’s quite alright, dear. I’m sorry they were causing you trouble.”

I handed her my dress and watched silently as she grasped it with trembling fingers. “Do they cause you that kind of trouble regularly, miss?”

“You may call me Catherine, my lady.”

“I’m no lady.” I shook my head.

When a soft chuckle escaped the old woman’s lips, I felt my own lips twitch as they tried to curl upward despite the palpable tension that still clung to the air. “I suppose I should have assumed that.”

“What gave it away? My pants or my attitude?”

“Perhaps a bit of both. Might I ask where you’re from?”

I bit my lip and thought for a moment. “I’m just visiting from the Southern Isle.”

The shopkeeper lifted her head toward me, her brown eyes brimming with curiosity beneath those massive glasses. “That’s quite a long way my lad—I mean, Miss. What brings you here?”

“Just some personal family business.” I leaned in a bit and plastered a smile on my face. “I’ve also heard the Opoulsios parties are to die for.”

“They are nothing to gawk at, not in this district at least—maybe the Northern Palace—but they are quite nice.”

My shoulders relaxed now that some of the tension had subsided. “Tell me, do nobles normally treat others like that here?”

Catherine sighed as she handed my dress back to me. “Not all, but many do. Especially in this district where so many of these young lords and ladies have parents who are counts or well established nobility within the framework of the Empire. Lady Margaret is one of them. Her father is Duke Richt; he’s the duke over the entire Western District. It doesn’t help that there’s been rumors of her possibly receiving an engagement from another wealthy family, though I can’t quite remember who. I get lost in all the names once people outside of my home district start to be mentioned.”

I nodded and placed three gold coins on the counter before her. Her wide eyes and open mouth were amusing. “For all the trouble, and the conversation. Have a nice day, Miss Catherine.”

I found an inconspicuous place to slip into my dress and then spent the rest of the day walking around the town and eavesdropping on any conversation that graced my ears. Not many were particularly interesting. Most conversations were about mundane things like upcoming weddings, the latest gossip among the noble class, the fast-approaching ball, and a few tournaments that were being planned for the warmer months. I did catch wind of a few disgruntled people complaining about taxes, and I made a mental note to follow those threads later on. Taxation and frustration among common people often lead to a Council member pulling the strings.

When I returned to the inn, I found both Isobel and William already present. Isobel smiled, while William tried to force a smile but winced as he did, his massive black eye preventing him from fully doing so.

“Nice dress, kitty cat,” he teased.

I rolled my eyes. He stopped calling me that years ago. This must be his way of making amends. “What did you do to your face? Try to steal someone’s lunch again?”

“No,” he chuckled. “Made a few friends around the taverns, including some knights that I gained a lot of useful information from.”

“Like?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Like a target. James Cultieroy of the House of Ables. This ball has finally become interesting.”