****

Back in the Marquis’s estate, the silence of the master suite was broken only by the sharp, rhythmic clink of metal as Penelope struggled against the shackles.

A gnawing unease twisted in her gut.

It wasn’t just the humiliation of the menacles, but a bone-deep intuition that her absence at the palace was a catastrophic mistake.

She needed to reach the palace before the King’s favor shifted irrevocably.

But how?

She bit her bottom lip, her mind racing through her limited options. The keys mocked her from the nightstand, just an inch beyond the tips of her finger. Just as she was starting to run out of ideas, a soft, firm knock on the heavy door snapped her back to reality.

"My Lady, may I come in?"

The voice that spoke from beyond the threshold belonged to a female.

Penelope blinked, momentarily startled. Between Vincent’s overwhelming, solitary presence and the way he had personally tended to her, she had almost forgotten that the Marquis actually maintained a full staff of servants. She quickly composed her expression, masking her desperation with a hint of aristocratic calm.

"Yes," she called out, her voice steady despite her racing heart. "Come in."

The door creaked open, and a young maid stepped inside. Her eyes were fixed firmly on the silver tray to avoid looking directly at the bed. She wore the crisp, dark uniform of the Marquis’s household, her movement efficient but stiff with a palpable underlying tension.

"I’ve brought some morning tea and some light refreshments, My Lady," the girl murmured.

Penelope didn’t move. Her wrists rested heavily against the headboard as she watched the girl approach.

"What is your name?" She asked.

The girl finally looked up, her eyes meeting Penelope’s. Unlike the reaction Penelope had expected, the maid did not seem at all fazed by the sight of her mistress in chains. She looked as though she had already been briefed on the state she would find the room in.

"Martha," she replied simply.

Penelope didn’t waste time with the unnecessary pleasantries. She gestured sharply with her chin toward the nightstand. "Martha, you see that key over there? I need you to unlock these shackles. I have to make it to the palace on time, so help me out here."

Martha set the tray down on a small table with a soft clatter. She looked at the brass key and then back at Penelope, her expression composed.

"I can unlock the chains, if that is what you wish, My Lady," Martha replied, her voice steady and devoid of judgment. "But I cannot let you leave this room. His Lordship has given strict orders that you are not to step foot out of the estate. My duty is to ensure you’re comfortable... but kept within these walls."

With that, she used the key to unlock the shackles, and they fell away, freeing Penelope’s wrists. She rose from the bed, her movements stiff but hurried, her eyes searching Martha’s with a desperate intensity. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

"I know his Lordship must have given strict orders, but you must let me go to the palace," Penelope urged, her voice trembling with the sheer force of urgency. She stepped closer to the maid, hoping for a flicker of understanding. "I have a feeling he needs me there. This is very urgent. I fear he is walking straight into a trap because of me. Just... how about you look the other way instead? Pretend you never saw me leave."

"Forgive me, but I cannot," Martha replied. Her tone was respectful, but her eyes remained cold and immovable. "I am afraid we cannot trust you. I do not mean to sound rude, My Lady, but His Lordship has endured enough on your account. If you were to vanish now, the consequences would fall on us. Even if I stepped aside, the estate is heavily guarded. You wouldn’t be able to leave the grounds at all."

Penelope opened her mouth to argue, but the words died in her throat.

Martha was right.

To these servants, she wasn’t just a woman trying to save her husband, but a liability who had already nearly ruined their Lordship.

She sank back slightly, the silence of the room feeling oppressive. How was she supposed to get to the palace if she couldn’t even leave the room?

Damn you, Vincent!

"Please, have your meal, My Lady," Martha said, her voice regaining that professional, detached edge. "I shall have your dress prepared, as well as your bath. We must ensure you are presentable should His Lordship return."

The maid bowed deeply, moving with ghost-like efficiency to carry out her tasks. Penelope watched her, feeling the seconds tick away like drops of blood.

Soon enough, Penelope had washed up and was being fitted into her garments. She stood like a doll as Martha worked, the heavy silk of the gown feeling more like a shroud than a garment.

The dress was breathtaking– a deep, emerald that should have made her feel like the most powerful woman in all of Aelgard. But as the corset was tightened, she felt the air leave her lungs in more ways than one.

She looked at herself in the tall, gilded mirror. Her ash-brown hair was pinned up in an intricate web of braids and jewels, and her dark-brown eyes looked wide and haunting. She looked every bit the Marchioness of Aelgard.

"You look beautiful, My Lady," Martha murmured, smoothing out a stray crease in the skirt.

Penelope merely looked toward the curtain-draped window, wondering how long it has been since Vincent left.

She needed information, and she needed to know exactly who she was dealing with if she was going to find a crack in the suffocating estate.

"How long have you been in the Marquis’s service, Martha?" Penelope asked, her voice hushed but probing.

"Since I was a girl, My Lady," Martha replied without looking up, her focus entirely on the garment. "My family has served the House of the Marquis for three generations."

Those words gave Penelope the chills. That meant Martha wasn’t just an ordinary maid; she was a woman whose loyalty was woven into her very blood.

"And your role here? Is it always to tend to the guests?"

Martha paused for a fraction before pulling the lace tight. "I am your assigned lady’s maid, My Lady. His Lordship appointed me to your personal service, but I was not to disturb you so early in the morning. I am to be your shadow,to ensure that all your needs are met, your wardrobe is impeccable, and your safety maintained."

"A shadow," Penelope murmured, catching the girl’s eyes in the mirror. "Or a gaoler with a silk ribbon?"

Martha didn’t flinch at the sharp words. "I am whatever His Lordship requires me to be for the sake of this house. He trusts me to look after you because I understand the weight of his name. He has many enemies, My Lady. My role is to make sure you don’t accidentally become one of them."

Penelope turned slightly, the heavy emerald skirts swishing around her ankles. "And if I were to command you, as the Marchioness? Does my word carry no weight against his?"

"Your word is law in all matters of the household, My Lady," Martha said, finally stepping back and offering a shallow, respectful bow. "But His Lordship’s word is the foundation upon which that law stands. He has forbidden your departure for your own protection. I cannot break the foundation to follow a command that would lead you to ruin."

Penelope looked at her, realizing with a sinking heart that Martha wasn’t just a servant—she was a hand-picked sentinel. If she was going to get to the palace, she couldn’t out-argue Martha. She would have to out-maneuver the entire household.

"I’d like to have some privacy," Penelope said, her voice dropping to a weary whisper as she sank back onto the edge of bed. The weight of the emerald silk felt like lead against her skin.

"As you wish, My Lady," Martha replied, her tone soft but firm. "I shall be right outside the door should you require anything at all."

With a final, practiced bow, she retreated, the heavy doors clicking shut with a finality that echoed through the silent room.

The moment the latch caught, Penelope was on her feet. The weary mask fell away, replaced by a frantic, sharp-eyed resolve. She hurried toward the window, peeling back the heavy velvet curtains just enough to peer into the courtyard below.

Martha hadn’t lied.

Black-clad guards were stationed at every exit, their silhouettes sharp and unforgiving against the morning sun. But as she stood there, her breath fogging the glass, she began to monitor them– not with the eye of a frightened wife, but with a cold, focused calculation. She watched the way they paced, the brief seconds where their backs were turned as they swapped positions. There was a pattern, a heartbeat to their vigilance.

If she couldn’t walk out of the estate, then she would simply climb out of it.

A desperate, dangerous idea began to take root in her mind as she looked at the dizzying drop. The window was terrifyingly high,the stone walls sheer and unforgiving. In her past life, she had taken far worse risks for that scumbag William.

What’s one more risk for a husband I actually intend to save?

She turned back to the room, her eyes landing on the heavy silk bedsheet and the sturdy post of the bed. It was madness, but it was the only path she had left.