The corridors of the estate had grown narrower. Not in their stone, not in their measure, but in the way eyes followed me.
Servants lingered too long at the edges of doorways. A maid folding linens glanced up as I passed, her hands stilled, her gaze quickly lowered. Two guards posted at the outer hall shifted their stance the moment I stepped into view.
They thought I would not notice. They thought silence hid their watching. But silence was a language, and I had learned to read it as well as ink on a page.
I moved with composure, each gesture flawless, each step balanced. Let them look. Let them search for cracks. They would find none.
By the stairwell, I found him waiting—my father's chosen attendant. Young, well-bred, dressed in the muted livery of House Veylen. His posture was rigid, rehearsed, like a blade that had not yet tasted blood.
"My lady," he said with a bow. "Your father requests I accompany you. For your guidance."
The word guidance hung heavy.
My eyes lingered on him a moment too long, until he shifted beneath the weight of my silence. Then I inclined my head, as though in acceptance.
If they wished to watch, then I would let them. Let them write down every step, every breath. My life had been studied since birth, but now, their fear made the study clumsy. And clumsy eyes could be misled.
I walked on. He followed, his shadow lengthening across the marble floor.
The halls opened into a gallery lined with portraits of my ancestors. Brides of the Veil, painted with faces serene, their hands folded as though in prayer. Their gazes met mine as I passed, hollow, dutiful, erased.
My attendant glanced at them too, though quickly, almost nervously. As if the painted eyes could judge him as well.
I paused before one portrait—an ancestor whose name had been blurred in the family records. Her face was delicate, her mouth fixed in the same quiet smile as the rest.
I lifted my hand, brushing a speck of dust from the frame. "Do you know her name?" I asked the attendant, my voice smooth, cold.
He blinked, hesitated. "No, my lady. The records—"
"—were lost," I finished for him. "As they always are."
I turned away, letting the silence stretch until it pressed against him like a weight. Then I walked on, calm, unshaken, while he followed me like a tethered hound.
Let them watch. Let them whisper. The more they tried to bind me, the more they revealed their fear.
And fear, once seen, could be broken.