THREE
I didn't run.
Not that day.
Not the next.
I stayed.
And that, I quickly learned, was the most dangerous choice of all.
I forced myself to breathe through the panic that still sat like a blade under my ribs and did what survival had taught me long ago—I performed. I smoothed my face, softened my eyes, and let the fear drain from my posture until I looked like the same tired, grateful daughter they all expected me to be.
When the servants returned, I let them in.
I let them bathe me, dress me, brush my hair until it fell in gentle waves down my back. I smiled when they complimented my glow. I laughed softly when one of them said pregnancy suited me.
All the while, I watched.
I watched who spoke first when instructions were given and who waited for permission.
I watched who avoided my eyes when my father's name was mentioned.
Fear wore many faces here.
Some hid it behind obedience.
Others behind devotion.
I noticed how information moved.
