Chapter 66:


    “I know my worth,” Isolde said. “Unlike you, who has never earned a dor in her life.”


    Seraphina raised the crop, leveling it at Isolde’s face.


    Isolde didn’t move a muscle. She didn’t flinch. She simply held Seraphina’s gaze with an unnerving stillness, her voice dropping to barely a whisper — quiet enough that it cut through the humid air like a shard of ice.


    “Don’t,” Isolde said. “That’s a very expensive toy. It would be a shame to have to take it from you.”


    The threat wasn’t physical, but the implication of absolute capability hung in the air like smoke. Seraphina saw something in Isolde’s eyes — not fear, not anger, but a cold, calcting certainty that unnerved her far more than any raised voice would have. Her bravado faltered.


    Seraphina stumbled back.


    “Get out!” Beatrice barked from her wheelchair. “Seraphina, go check the horses. You smell like manure.”


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    Seraphina’s face went red. She shot a hateful look at Isolde and stomped out of the srium.


    Beatrice sighed. “Useless. All of them.”


    She motioned to Isolde. “Come here. Closer.”


    Beatrice reached into the side pocket of her wheelchair and withdrew a small wooden box, old and worn, its varnish long since peeling away.


    “Your grandmother,” Beatrice said. “She left this. It was in the attic for forty years. I never knew what to do with it. But after watching you yesterday, I see her spirit in you — the same fire. I kept it until I found someone worthy of it.”


    Isolde took the box. Her grandmother had been a maid here. A quiet woman who had died when Isolde was very young.


    She opened the lid.


    Insidey a leather-bound diary and a heavy metal badge. Isolde lifted the badge. It was silver, tarnished with age, depicting an eagle clutching a lightning bolt.


    It was not a servant’s pin. It was a military insignia. Early Air Force. Special Operations.


    Isolde’s heart skipped a beat. Why would her grandmother — a maid — have carried a special ops badge?


    “She wasn’t just a maid, was she?” Isolde asked, looking up at Beatrice.


    Beatrice smiled — a cryptic, knowing grin. “Read the diary. But not here.”


    “Dinner is served,” Mrs. Higgins announced from the doorway, her voice clipped and cold.


    They moved to the dining room. The long mahogany table was set with silver and crystal. Seraphina was already seated near the head, a smirk already forming on her lips.


    Beside her, there was a conspicuous gap. No chair for Isolde.


    “Oops,” Seraphina said pleasantly. “We seem to be short a chair. I suppose you’ll have to eat in the kitchen with the staff. For old times’ sake.”


    Grayson frowned. “Mrs. Higgins, get another chair.”


    “We don’t have any matching ones, sir,” Mrs. Higgins replied smoothly.


    Isolde handed the wooden box to Effie. “Hold this, baby.”


    She walked over to Seraphina.


    “Get up,” Isolde said.


    Seraphinaughed. “Make me.”


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