Coming down from the carriage, Freya's gloved hand nestled in her mother's, she tilted her head back to take in the towering mansion that loomed ahead. It was enormous so much larger than their own home, so grand she thought it might scrape the clouds if it wished. Her eyes darted across the rows of windows lined like soldiers, the stone lions guarding the gate, and the wide entrance framed by ivy-covered pillars that curled like green serpents.
So this was the Garfield estate.
She had heard rumors about it from the maids when they thought she wasn't listening, and she'd caught snatches of more serious talk through her father's study door. The Garfields were old in title, very rich, and their son was turning ten. A grand age, apparently. Old enough to ride horses alone and speak to grown-ups without a tutor breathing down his neck.
Freya, at six, already knew what it meant to be born noble. She could curtsy so well the governess rarely corrected her anymore, and she'd mastered the art of walking with her back straight even when her shoes pinched. She also knew how to smile just with her mouth never with her whole face unless someone deserved it.
Her father offered his hand, and she took it delicately, as if her bones were made of porcelain. Her mother's hand hovered behind her like a guide-rope, just in case. Together, the three of them entered the mansion, their entrance quiet but meaningful.
The air inside was warm and laced with lavender and beeswax. Overhead, a chandelier the size of a small boat glittered like it was showing off. Freya stared at it for a heartbeat too long. She imagined what it would feel like to climb it. She wouldn't fall. Maybe just a quick swing, nothing too scandalous. But she kept that thought folded and hidden, right where no one could find it. She was six, not reckless.
Their footsteps echoed across polished floors as they made their way to the hosts. Her eyes flicked toward the long table already groaning with sweets, and toward the knot of children gathered at the back. There he was the birthday boy in a green sash and a face far too serious for his cake, he stood with his parents greeting other members of the noble that were paying their wishes.
Her eyes sparked with something not quite proper, excitement perhaps, but mischief too. As soon as her parents stopped to exchange pleasantries, she took her chance.
With a half-step back and a tug of her skirt, she slipped away, hands lightly clutching the fabric to keep from tripping. She headed for the cluster of children near the garden doors, their laughter spilling into the great hall like wind through a crack in the window.
"Careful, Freya!" her mother called gently but not sharp, just enough to remind her that she was being watched.
Freya didn't turn she marched on.
The marble beneath her slippers gave way to velvet carpet, then cool stone again as she ducked beneath an archway leading to the open-air garden. The air outside was crisper, fresher laced with the scent of trimmed hedges and something faintly citrus. Somewhere, a string quartet dragged through a waltz as if they all secretly hated it.
The children were scattered across the lawn like chess pieces. Most of them looked bored or terribly proud of themselves. A few whispered behind fans they had no business holding. The boys stood in clusters like soldiers in a truce, trying not to be caught playing.
Freya smoothed her curls and straightened her back not because she had to, but because it annoyed the girls who noticed. Then she stepped forward with all the confidence of a girl who could name every servant in her house but only answered to three.
A girl in pale blue looked her way, eyes narrowing with interest. A boy fiddled with his cravat like it might bite him.
So Freya smiled widely enough to show dimples.
Freya hadn't taken more than a few steps onto the garden lawn when she heard the giggles.
"Oh look who it is... it's Freya," came a sugary voice from a little knot of girls near the rose trellis. The words floated out like petals, but the thorns were easy to spot.
She recognized them instantly, daughters of minor barons and wealthy merchants dressed up in ribbons they hadn't earned. She told herself to ignore them. That would have been the proper thing. The graceful, ladylike thing.
But Freya didn't always do proper. She liked precise, and sometimes precision came with teeth.
She turned on her heel, soft curls bouncing slightly with the motion, and gave the group her best curious smile.
"Oh Crusella," she said, letting the name roll slowly off her tongue like it tasted sour. "You were also invited? How... distasteful. I didn't know lowly merchant were also invited, if I had known I wouldn't have come to such lowly ground."
Her tone was light. Her lips were pouted just slightly, as though she might be sad about the whole thing. But her eyes sparkled the way they did when she was winning at chess or catching her governess in a mistake.
The reaction was immediate.
Crusella's eyes widened, mouth hanging slightly open like she hadn't quite caught up to the blow. One of the other girls let out a small gasp and elbowed another in the side. The group stood frozen for a breath just long enough for Freya to pivot away again with the perfect balance of poise and triumph.
She didn't need to look back to know Crusella was already blinking too fast, trying not to cry. Freya hadn't shouted. She hadn't even raised her voice.
But oh, it had landed. And the best part? She hadn't even broken a rule.
Freya had barely rejoined the others near the fountain when she felt it that telltale prickle at the back of her neck. The weight of adult eyes.
She turned just enough to see her governess, Miss Halbridge, standing near the hedgerow, hands clasped tightly before her. Her face bore the expression Freya had come to recognize all too well, tight-lipped disappointment, the sort that came before lectures about decorum and family dignity.
Of course she had seen, and she was also invited how so? But that was the least of her concerns
Freya shifted her weight to one foot, feigning great interest in the fountain's carved cherubs. She could almost hear the coming conversation. 'A young lady's words are her signature, Freya,' or, 'Silk gowns mean nothing if you behave like a tavern brat.'
She huffed softly through her nose. Well, Crusella had deserved it.
Still, when Miss Halbridge swept over, her heeled steps silent but sure, Freya turned to meet her like a general facing a superior officer.
"Lady Freya," the governess said quietly, her voice clipped and controlled. "A word, if you please."
Freya curtsied. She was nothing if not consistent.
They stepped aside, past a row of trimmed hedges humming with bees, and paused just out of earshot from the other children.
"You were heard," Miss Halbridge said flatly. "Clearly."
Freya looked up, eyes wide and sweet. "Oh? What was I heard saying?"
Miss Halbridge didn't take the bait. "You're not a fool, so don't act like one. That remark was unkind, and unbecoming of your station."
"Cruel honesty is still honesty," Freya muttered.
Her governess's jaw ticked. "Sharpness may win you stares, child. But stares are not allies. And that kind of cleverness, if used carelessly, will earn you nothing but quiet enemies."
Freya dropped her gaze more for strategy than remorse. She did understand, somewhere under the mischief. Her father's position, her family name they were ladders others waited for her to slip on.
"I'll apologise," she offered, though not entirely sincerely.
"You will do more than that," Miss Halbridge said. "You will find Crusella and say something kind. And you will mean it."
Freya opened her mouth to protest but then shut it again. She knew better than to argue. She nodded once, slowly, as if granting a royal pardon.
"Very well."
And just like that, she turned and began walking back across the garden with all the grace her stiff shoes allowed.
But in her mind, she was already crafting the perfect apology. One that Crusella wouldn't be sure was a compliment or a jab. Something... educational.
After all, there was more than one way to win.
Freya found Crusella by the rose arbor, alone now, plucking petals off a bloom like she was deciding who to hate next. Her blue ribbon was crooked, and her lower lip stuck out ever so slightly still stung from the jab, no doubt.
Freya approached with what she imagined was regal poise, hands folded neatly before her like she'd seen her mother do at luncheons.
"Crusella," she began, voice light as a breeze, "I came to say something kind."
Crusella blinked. "...What?"
Freya's lips twitched. "You look quite nice today. Much better than usual."
There. An apology, that what Lady Halbridge wanted
Crusella stared, then narrowed her eyes. "Do you think I don't know what you're doing?"
Freya tilted her head. "I haven't the slightest idea what you mean."
Crusella smile was sharp and unexpected. "You your silly insults are enough to make me cry."
Freya blinked, caught off guard. "i didn't think it should have been honestly..... I thought you were just a cry baby"
Crusella raised one brow. "Your presence alone is a disaster I bet Lady Halbridge told you to apologize."
Freya's spine stiffened. "well technically she did...."
"Good to know you listen, apology accepted." Crusella curtsied sweetly. "But thank you for your compliment. I'll treasure it."
And just like that, Crusella turned on her heel and walked away, chin lifted like a girl who had just reclaimed her crown.
Freya stood there, momentarily stunned, a thousand perfect comebacks rushing to her tongue but too late to be useful. For once, she was the one left blinking.
Somewhere near the hedges, Miss Halbridge was watching but this time, she looked mildly amused.
Freya crossed her arms. So the other girl had claws after all.
She would have to sharpen hers.