This Woven Kingdom(This Woven Kingdom #1)(67)

“Well if you’re sure—”

“I am.”

Another pause.

“You may go,” Duchess Jamilah said in a colder tone, ostensibly to the servants present.

Alizeh’s pulse quickened—this was her chance. If she could only scramble upright in time, she might disappear with the others, decant herself into another room, busy herself with a task. It would be a mite tricky to manage with a soapy bucket and brush in hand, but she’d no choice. She’d have to make it work if she didn’t want to arrive at the ball tonight with a swollen eye and a bruised cheek.

As quietly—and quickly—as she was able, Alizeh jumped to her feet. She all but ran to catch up with the others, but the hot water in her bucket sloshed as she moved, splashing her clothes—and, she feared, the floor.

For a mere half second Alizeh glanced back to scan the marble for a spill, when she suddenly slipped in the very puddle for which she was searching.

She gasped, reflexively throwing her arms out to recapture her balance, and only made the situation worse. The jerky movement disturbed the bucket entirely, heaving a scalding wave of soapy water all over her skirts—and onto the floor.

Alizeh dropped the bucket in horror.

In her desperation to flee the scene she moved without thinking, the toe of her boot promptly catching on the wet, dragging hem of her skirt. She fell forward with cruel force, catching herself with both hands only after slamming one knee into the marble.

Pain rocketed through her, branching up her leg; Alizeh dared not shout out, muting the cry in her lungs to a single, dull sound of discomfort.

In vain she implored herself to stand, but the pain was so paralyzing she could hardly think straight; indeed, she could hardly breathe. Tears pricked her eyes in shame, in anguish.

Alizeh had feared many times for the end of her tenure at Baz House, but she knew now without question that this was her finish. She’d be cast out on to the street for this, and today, of all days—when she needed a safe place to ready herself for the ball—

“You stupid, thoughtless girl,” Mrs. Amina cried, rushing toward her. “What have you done? Get up this instant!”

Mrs. Amina didn’t wait for Alizeh to move; she grabbed the girl roughly by the arm and wrenched her upright, and Alizeh came as close to screaming as she dared, her breath releasing in a tortured gasp.

“I— I beg your pardon, ma’am. It was an acci—”

Mrs. Amina shoved her, hard, in the direction of the kitchens, and Alizeh stumbled, agony shooting up her injured leg. She caught herself against the wall, excuses dying in her throat. “I’m so desperately sorry.”

“You’re going to clean this up, girl, and then you’re going to clear out your things and get out of this house.” Mrs. Amina was livid, her chest heaving with an anger even Alizeh had never before witnessed. The housekeeper lifted her hand as if to slap the girl. “Of all the days to be clumsy and brainless. I should have you whipped fo—”

“Put down your hand.”

Mrs. Amina froze, blinking at the unexpected sound of his voice. The housekeeper’s hand fell with theatrical slow motion as she turned, confusion sharpening in her eyes, in the language of her body.

“I— I beg your pardon, sire—”

“Step away from the girl.” The prince’s voice was low and murderous, his eyes flashing a shade of black so fathomless it terrified even Alizeh to look at him. “You forget yourself, ma’am. It is illegal under Ardunian law to beat servants.”

Mrs. Amina gasped, then fell into a deep curtsy. “But— Sire—”

“I will not repeat myself again. Step away from the girl or I will have you arrested.”

Mrs. Amina released a sudden, fearful sob, scrambling inelegantly to put distance between herself and Alizeh, whose heart was beating so fast she felt both dizzy and faint with fear. Pain spasmed relentlessly in her knee, taking her breath away. She did not know what to do with herself. She hardly knew where to look.

There was a sudden rustling of skirts.

“Oh, my dear!” Duchess Jamilah rushed over, grabbing hold of the prince’s arm. “I beg you don’t trouble yourself. The fault is mine alone for exposing you to such ineptitude. I pray you will forgive me for subjecting you to this incivility, and for inspiring your discomfort—”

“My dear aunt, you misunderstand me. My discomfort, if any, is inspired only by an overt disregard for the laws that govern our empire, and which we have a duty at all times to obey.”

Duchess Jamilah gave a nervous, breathy laugh. “Your strict adherence to our governance does you a great service, my dear, but surely you must see that the girl deserves to be punished—that Mrs. Amina was only doing as she saw fit t—”

The prince turned sharply, disengaging himself from his aunt. “You surprise me,” he said. “Surely you don’t mean you would condone such cruelty against your servants? The girl was carrying a bucket of water and slipped. There was no harm done to anyone but herself. You would toss her into the street over a mere accident?”

Duchess Jamilah directed a strained smile at the prince, then glared at the housekeeper. “Get out of my sight,” she said acidly. “And take the girl with you.”

Mrs. Amina paled.

She bobbed a curtsy, said, “Yes, Your Grace,” and grabbed Alizeh’s arm, jerking her forward. Alizeh stumbled on her throbbing leg and nearly bit through her tongue to keep from crying out.