The scent of lye soap and damp, heavy wool hung thick in the morning mist, clinging to Sabrina's skin as she scrubbed the sheets, her knees pressed against the hard stone. Her knuckles were raw and scrubbed red against the wooden washboard. Every muscle in her arms throbbed with a dull, sickening ache—a constant reminder of what she had been reduced to.
Two weeks ago, her hands had been brushed with scented oils. But because of that bastard sister of hers, she was now a common maid washing bedsheets alongside commoners.
Sabrina gritted her teeth as she reached for the laundry line, lifting a damp linen sheet to spread it, when a harsh force shoved her shoulder. She stumbled, her feet slipping on the slick, wet cobblestones.
Before she could regain her balance, a hand cracked across her left cheek. The sting was instant, a burst of heat that set her ear ringing. Tiny stars danced across her vision.
"That's my space," a voice sneered.
