Gazel couldn't remember the last time she'd been so out of place. Her stepmother had insisted she attend yet another ball, though it was clear she only wanted to parade Susan before the city's noblemen. A baron, a count perhaps even a knight if luck allowed it—would do. Anything to climb out of the crumbling life they were living, where her father still carried his title but none of its wealth, and where whispers of hunger and revolt stirred beyond their manor walls.
Though she was the eldest daughter of the baron, Gazel had never been welcomed into the world of gowns and candlelit halls. She was a shadow from a past her stepmother wished gone, the child of the first baroness whose death had been spoken of only in lowered voices. For years, she had been treated as an inconvenience—tolerated, but never acknowledged.
That changed two weeks ago.
For reasons Gazel still couldn't grasp, her stepmother had summoned her, ignoring Susan's protests, and declared that she would make her debut at last. At eighteen. Old enough to be considered a leftover by noble standards, and yet suddenly worthy of being seen.
Now, sitting stiffly in the back of the wooden carriage her father had rented to maintain appearances, Gazel folded her gloved hands in her lap. The dress was exquisite—soft silk that felt borrowed from another life—but the corset bit into her ribs, and every bump in the road made her wince. The seat beneath her was hard and narrow, her body sore from the long ride, but not as uncomfortable as the feeling of her stepmother's and stepsister's eyes fixed on her.
They watched her too quietly, too intently.
Something was being planned. She could feel it. Because kindness never came without reason in that house, She swallowed hard and took a deep breath As the faint memory of last week flashed before her eyes whens he had attended her first ball in the city that must have caussed the shift in her stepmother's attitude.
-
The ballroom looked as though it had been pulled from a dream she had no right to see. Light from a thousand chandeliers glimmered against silverware and crystal goblets. Tables were lined with delicacies she'd only ever heard of roasted quail, sugared figs, pastries dusted with gold flakes. The air smelled of perfume and power.
Gazel tried not to stare, but the shimmer of silk gowns and the heavy glitter of jewels made it impossible. Every woman there looked like a painting—composed, luminous, and terrifying. Compared to them, she felt like a child who had wandered into the wrong story. So she did the only thing she could: kept close behind Susan, moving quietly, hoping to be invisible.
That fragile hope ended when Susan collided with another noblewoman near the refreshment table. A sharp gasp broke the hum of music as red wine splashed across the lady's pale gown.
"Watch where you're going!" the noblewoman hissed, her tone slicing through the chatter around them.
Susan's face hardened. "You walked into me."
The murmurs began immediately—low, hungry whispers circling like vultures.
The woman's lips curled. "Apologize properly," she said coldly, extending her foot. "If you wish to be forgiven, you can start by cleaning my shoes."
Gazel's heart sank.
Susan scoffed, tossing her hair. "You must have mistaken me for your servant."
The lady's expression turned cruel. "Then perhaps you should learn some grace before pretending to be one of us."
The heat in the room rose with every pair of eyes turning toward them. Gazel felt her palms dampen, her throat tighten. This was going to reach her stepmother's ears within minutes—if it hadn't already.
Before Susan could make it worse, Gazel moved. Her knees touched the marble floor as she reached for a napkin.
"Please forgive her, my lady," she said softly, dabbing at the spilled wine before anyone else could speak. "It was an accident."
A hush rippled through the nearby crowd. For a moment, the noblewoman looked taken aback—then satisfied. She allowed Gazel to finish cleaning before gliding away with a dismissive flick of her wrist.
Susan stood frozen, her pride shattered but her tongue still sharp. Gazel didn't look up. She could feel her stepmother's burning gaze from across the room, and that was enough.
When they returned home later that night, the silence in the carriage was thick and suffocating. Her stepmother said nothing, but the look in her eyes told Gazel everything. Something had changed, and not for the better. And now it was today, Gazel once again on her way to a second ball.
"Gazel, remember what I told you," Silvia hissed, adjusting her gloves with practiced precision. "You will behave exactly as I instructed. Do I make myself clear?"
Her tone carried the authority of a strict mother, though she had never been one. Gazel nodded without a word, knowing any argument would only invite another lecture about propriety how meeting a noble's eyes for too long was considered insolence, how every gesture reflected on their name.
The carriage slowed, and Gazel dared to glance through the window. Her breath caught. The Countess's manor towered ahead like something out of a fable—walls of pale stone, high arches crowned with golden light, and guards in polished armor standing like statues. For the first time, she understood what true wealth looked like.
Her stomach tightened. The people her stepmother wanted her to meet were inside. Why they wanted to meet her was still a mystery, but the warning had been clear: speak as little as possible.
When the carriage door opened, their names were called out. "The Baroness of Gluftown, Silvia Gluftown and her two daughters."
The words echoed through the vast hall, but hardly anyone turned. Nobles continued to sip their drinks and exchange practiced smiles. To them, they were nothing more than background noise.
Except for one woman.
She turned sharply at the announcement, her gaze locking on Silvia with irritation as she swept toward them. "Is this the time you choose to arrive?" she demanded, her voice cold enough to silence those nearby. "The Duchess has been waiting. Do you wish to fall out of her favor?"
Silvia visibly paled, nearly losing her balance as she stammered, "I, I'm terribly sorry. I had no idea she summoned us so soon. But I brought her." She gestured toward Gazel as though offering proof of her obedience.
"The Duchess?" Gazel repeated quietly, confusion furrowing her brow. "The Duchess wishes to meet me?"
The woman turned her attention toward her, raising her fan with an air of disdain. She tilted Gazel's chin upward with its edge, examining her face like one might inspect a piece of marble for flaws.
"This one?" she said dryly. "Hmm. She'll do."
Before Gazel could react, the woman seized her arm.
"Ah!" Gazel gasped, the sudden grip making her stumble.
"Act like a lady," the woman snapped, her eyes flashing like polished steel. Then, without another word, she pulled Gazel down the corridor toward a pair of towering doors at the end of the hall.