Unseen hands bathed her and dressed her in clean clothes, but Malisa couldn't make any sense of it. Nothing made sense anymore. There was no reason for anything that had happened or for what would happen to her now. Ander was dead— murdered—

She didn't remember who found her sobbing over Ander's remains, or who carried her back to the manor. She heard her mother's hurried requests to get her cleaned up, and her father's booming demands through her bedroom door to see her immediately. And now she walked between two guards towards her father's personal study, which served as a meeting room for local dignitaries when there were more formal conversations to be had.

It was also where he finalized any legal decisions brought to him for judgment.

Dressed in a simple dress of black velvet, Malisa kept her head down, her damp hair hanging over her face. Her bare feet padded over the carpeted floor with each step towards her father's study. She felt as numb and cold as the congealed blood that still stained her hands, the red ichor that would never fade.

The opening of the wooden door had her lifting her head, only to see her mother's drawn countenance peeking out from the other side.

"Leave us," she muttered to the guards, who didn't hesitate as they turned and left, depositing Malisa like an overdue parcel.

Lady Anyma looked as somber as Malisa felt, though for a moment there seemed to be a hint of sympathy in the glance her mother gave her. It disappeared, however the moment the door opened and Malisa made eye contact with her father from where he sat behind his enormous desk.

The look he gave her was cold, demanding, and disgusted.

Malisa startled as her mother shut the door behind her once she was standing before her father's desk, hands clasped before her and refusing to move any further. But she held her father's gaze. As despondent as she felt, she refused to let him see it as a weakness. For in this moment, she would remain rigid just long enough for him to say whatever he needed to.

He wasted no time, the moment the door shut.

"You will tell me what you were doing in the stables."

"I was unaware the stables were off-limits."

"They are when there are more important things you should be doing than traipsing around the manor property with whoever dares trespass. And now we have a dead vagrant with his blood on your hands and I need answers."

"Ander was not trespassing, nor is he a vagrant!"

"Was," her father corrected cruelly. "How did you know him?"

"He lived at the property next to us."

"That does not explain how you knew him."

Malisa gritted her teeth tight as she stared at her father. "I knew him... personally. Intimately."

"Did you care for him?"

"Yes," she ground out.

A small glace passed between her father and back to where her mother stood behind her. Only for a moment before his attention returned fully to her. "You're to be bound to your room until this mess can be cleaned and the proper parties notified. And so help me if this affects your marriage bid—"

"That's it?" Malisa snapped. "No care for who he was or what happened to him or why? All that matters to you is that it doesn't tarnish how you appear to others?"

"Yes."

The red Malisa saw now was not the blood from Ander, but the rage and anger of how little her father cared. For anyone or anything. Forcing herself to rip her attention from her father, she turned to her mother, who looked absolutely pallid while she watched their exchange.

"Do something," she demanded.

Anyma pursed her lips, and after daring another glance towards her father, spoke. "You will do as you're told, for your safety and the security of the rest of us."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," her father cut in, "that you will do what is demanded of you and not what you feel is more important. You will remain in your room and speak to no one. You will be called upon only when you are needed, and I will not have your stubbornness ruin any more plans I have made for the best interest of this manor."

"So it is all about you?"

"It's never been about you."

The words stung as he said them, only because she knew it to be true. It never was about her— for as long as she could remember.

Lord Boreas looked to his wife. "Take her back to her room. Lock it, if you have to. She'll emerge only once needed." His tone was dismissive, as if Malisa was nothing more than an annoying gnat he was ready to swat away.

Anyma nodded and opened the door, motioning for Malisa to exit. Malisa instead dared one more glance back to her father, whose attention was already focused on the paperwork spread out in front of him. Wasting any more breath on him was exactly going to be that—a waste— so with a huff, she turned and marched out of the study, not even waiting for her mother to follow her back to her rooms.

Questions brewed within Malisa with each step, but she knew asking them would be pointless— her mother never answered anything previously and most definitely wouldn't deign to give her any response now. It didn't matter if Malisa's own well-being depended on it— nothing Malisa wanted ever mattered. So she clenched her jaw and kept her fists at her side as she returned to her bedroom.

Only once they took the corner and began down the hallway that led to her quarters did her mother speak.

"A moment, Malisa."

Her mother had paused a few steps away. Without saying a word she turned to face her, waiting.

Only once Malisa stopped did her mother closed the distance between them. "There's something you need to know..."

Perking a brow in question, Malisa waited for her mother to continue. Lady Anyma, however, looked nervous, wringing her hands in front of her as if trying to determine the best words to say next.

"This... is not the first time someone close to you has died. And it makes Boreas nervous."

Malisa peered at her mother, still unable to find the words to ask for further explanation. Luckily she didn't need to, and her mother continued with a heavy sigh.

"When you were younger, there was an... incident."

"What do you mean by incident?"

"First with the midwife who bore you into the world, and then with the nursemaid who helps care for you as an infant."

"That's more than one incident," Malisa corrected her mother. "What happened to them?"

But her mother shook her head. "You've heard him. He calls it your malediction. I won't be able to go into it now... but he has been extremely cautious with who he allows into the manor ever since, and we believed that it was just a chance of bad luck. But now..."

"Whay about now?"

"Just do as he says," her mother said instead of answering. "Remain in your room until this is resolved. And don't test him."

"Or what? He's already looking to pass me off to the highest bidder."

"I assure you, he will find a way to make it more miserable for you than you believe things are now."

"So why are we still here?" Malisa's patience was running thin. "We both know how horrible he is— let's just leave."

"It's not that easy. The world beyond the manor is not as safe and secure as you may believe. There are forces beyond these walls far more dangerous than the power Boreas possesses. And if you continue to challenge him, he'll be more than obliged to let you discover it for yourself."

"So we remain here as his prisoners?"

"He keeps us sheltered and fed and protected. There is no more you should need. Or want."

"And yet he feels the need to marry me off to the one that pays him the most for me?"

"He has a manor to support... and you will be one less mouth for him to feed."

The red once again returned to the edges of her vision. She was tired— tired of being treated like livestock, tired of being seen as less than a member of the household. And tired of having the same half-conversations with the one person she would even consider cared for her.

Shaking her head, Malisa turned her back to her mother, with nothing else to say. And her mother let her leave, without even a goodnight.