"Marriage alliance… a mortal female of noble blood," the Earl continued, his voice echoing coldly against the high, shadowed walls of the study. The firelight flickered across the dark wood panels, throwing his stern face into sharp, unforgiving relief.
Becca's gaze sharpened. She lifted a pale, slender hand and pointed at herself. "And I… am of noble blood," she said, her voice flat, stripped of warmth, pain, or anger. It was not soft; it carried no trace of sentiment only the cold, deliberate precision of someone who had long ceased to hope for kindness.
The Earl smiled, oblivious to the void behind her words.
"Yes, dear, you are of noble blood. You shall—"
"Why me?" Becca interrupted, her tone icy, cutting. Her blue eyes pierced him like glass. "There is Melisa. She is older. Should you not—"
"Keep Melisa out of this, Rebecca!" The Earl thundered, his dark eyes blazing like molten obsidian. If eyes could kill, his would have reduced her to ash. There was no warmth there, no fatherly love, only revulsion, regret, and the bitter weight of past mistakes. She was the living testament to his sins.
Becca let out a low, humorless laugh. "Ah, yes… she is the legitimate daughter, borne of love. And I? I am the constant reminder of your infidelity, the shadow that haunts your gilded halls. I am… the stain on your conscience you can neither scrub nor hide."
"Rebecca!" The Earl's voice cracked like a whip, and he flung a heavy folder toward her. Parchment scattered across the floor like fallen leaves in a storm. "I am your father! I will not endure your insolence! I will not listen to your venom!"
Becca did not flinch. She bent with deliberate grace to gather the papers, her movements precise and unhurried. "And what duties, pray tell, of a father have you ever performed for me?" she asked, her voice low and sharp, cutting the silence like a dagger.
"I have clothed you, fed you, protected you beneath my roof! You bear a title because of me! You are of noble blood because of me! What more could you possibly demand, Rebecca?" The Earl's rage trembled beneath his words, heavy and brittle.
Becca placed the folder neatly upon his desk, her blue eyes narrowing. "Clothed in your discarded daughters' gowns, fed upon scraps and sponge cakes," she said, each word deliberate, slicing through the room. "Protected? The only protection I have ever needed was freedom from your roof, your shadow, your name. Sometimes, I almost wish your blue blood does not stain me, so I might belong to nothing, to no one."
The Earl's face darkened, shadowed by a storm of fury. "You dare speak to me with such insolence?" His hand lashed out before she could react, striking her across the cheek. The sharp crack of skin meeting skin echoed through the chamber. Becca staggered back, a flush of fire blooming across her pale cheek, but her gaze remained unflinching, icy and unbroken.
"You dare to look at me as if you have a choice?" the Earl thundered. "I am your father! Your master! And yet you stand there, mocking me! Do you take me for a fool?"
Becca pressed her hand to her stinging cheek, tilting her chin upward. "Strike me, Father," she said, her voice steady, cold, almost serene. "Leave a mark. I will not break. And know this… every scar you leave is a testament not to your strength, but to your weakness. That you must resort to violence to force what should never belong to you."
The Earl's hand trembled mid-air. His eyes narrowed, a storm raging behind them. "You are insolent beyond measure, Rebecca. You would shame me before the council, before the world, with that tongue of yours!"
"I have no need to shame you," she replied, her tone cutting, merciless. "You have already shamed yourself, Father. You cannot command loyalty with rage. You cannot inspire respect with cruelty. You demand I bow, yet you have never shown me what it means to care."
"Enough!" he roared, advancing toward her, hands clenched like iron gauntlets. "You will obey this alliance! You will marry where I decree, and you will do so without hesitation or complaint!"
"And if I refuse?" Becca asked, her voice soft now, almost a whisper, yet every syllable was laden with venom. "Will you strike me again? Shall I count the blows you think will bend me to your will?"
The Earl's eyes glinted dangerously, and with sudden violence, he struck her again. This time, the force sent her stumbling backward into the edge of the desk. The papers scattered once more across the floor. Her cheek burned, but she did not cry out. Her lips pressed into a thin line, jaw set in defiance.
"You are bound to this alliance, Rebecca," the Earl hissed, his voice low, dark as the underworld. "Whether you like it or not. Your life, your honor, your duty everything belongs to my will. Remember this, or you will find there is no limit to the punishment I can mete out."
The Earl's words thundered in the chamber, each syllable a chain meant to bind her will. Yet, Becca's blue eyes remained steady, icy, and unyielding. She bowed her head slightly, a mock gesture of acquiescence but it was only a mask. The alliance would be honored, yes, but only because she had no choice, not because she consented.
"Very well," she said, her voice measured, low, void of warmth. "I shall accept the alliance."
The Earl's expression softened, briefly, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his sharp features. "Finally," he said, voice tight but controlled. "You understand your duty. This is for your honor, for the house—"
"Duty," Becca interrupted, her tone cutting, emotionless. "I understand."
And with that, she turned abruptly, sweeping past the scattered papers and the still-burning fire. Her skirts whispered against the cold stone floor as she moved, each step deliberate, carrying the silent message that she would obey the letter of his command but nothing else.
"You will not leave so soon!" the Earl barked, rising from his chair, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the room.
Becca did not stop. She did not look back. Her lips were pressed into a firm line. "I have no desire to linger in this chamber any longer," she said simply. "Nor to speak further of duty, of honor, or spirit. That conversation ends here."
The Earl's hand twitched, the memory of his earlier strikes still sharp in the air between them. "Rebecca…" he growled, but she was already at the door, opening it without hesitation, without pause.
Once outside the study, she walked down the echoing hallways with an unbroken stride. Her mind was a fortress; her thoughts, silent and impervious. The anger, the injustice, the resentment they would not pass her lips, nor would they give her the weakness of a tear. She would endure the alliance, perform her duties as required, and leave the discussion of spirit, of freedom, unspoken.
Every footstep carried a quiet rebellion. She did not argue, did not rail, and did not protest further. The world could bind her with law, with title, with the threats of a father's rage but it could not force her to speak her will, her mind, her defiance. That belonged to her alone.
By the time she reached the top of the grand staircase, her cheek still tingling from his strike, Becca allowed herself a brief exhale, almost imperceptible. Not of relief, not of fear.
༒☬༒
Mina added more logs to the dying fireplace, the room was already heated up, but the young miss tends to have an unusual temperature.
The door creaked as Becca stepped into her chambers, the dim light from the dying fireplace casting elongated shadows across the polished floorboards. The room smelled faintly of lavender and old parchment, a comforting contrast to the suffocating tension of the study.
Mina, her lady's maid, looked up from tending the hearth, a faint frown creasing her brow. "Milady, your cheek—"
Becca waved her hand dismissively, her voice clipped, emotionless. "It is nothing, Mina. A trivial mark, nothing more."
Mina hesitated, eyes flicking to the faint red blossom across Becca's pale skin. "It is not nothing, milady. The Earl—"
"I do not wish to speak of him," Becca interrupted sharply, her blue eyes cold, unwavering. "Nor of duty, nor of honor. That conversation is over." She removed her gloves slowly, deliberately, and folded them neatly on the writing desk. Her movements were precise, almost ceremonial, as though asserting control over the smallest details of her world.
Mina's lips pressed into a thin line. "Very well, Milady. But perhaps you should rest. The day has been… trying."
"You may leave now Mina." Becca said staring at the logs burn.
Mina stood up to leave misunderstanding the lady's words. "I would return later Milady." She bowed and headed towards the door.
"Don't, Mina." She called softly." I meant, that you may leave, you're no longer bound to me."