The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(72)

“Nicholas, you must help me,” she whispered.

“My lady, what can I do?” he said with anguish. “I am the king’s servant.”

“Yes, but can you deliver a message to him? Please, Nicholas!”

He shrugged helplessly. “It will not do any good, my lady.”

“Just tell him that I wish to see him. That I wish to plead my case to him.”

He fidgeted. “I will try. That is all that I can promise you. I am sorry, my lady. You deserve . . .” His voice trailed off. He did not trust himself to finish the sentiment.

A rough man walked up to her. “The gown too, lass. We were told to take it all.”

She stared at him. Though Nicholas had warned her, she was galled by this man’s effrontery. “You will take it from me by force?”

“If I must, lass. My orders are from the Lady Shilton. You are to appear before her in a servant’s smock. Off with the gown then.”

“No,” Maia countered. “I am the Princess of Comoros.”

Nicholas flinched. “My lady, that is in defiance of the king’s command.”

“You are the king’s bastard,” the man said with a smirk. “If you won’t give it over, then—”

He reached for her and she stepped hastily back. “Let me change, you villain! Unhand me!”

The kystrel grew warm against her skin as her heart simmered with fury. She had to calm herself. She fought against the surge of power billowing inside of her. If her eyes went silver, everyone would know. If they stripped the dress from her, they would see the kystrel around her neck, the small shadowstain on her chest beneath the chemise. If they saw that, she would be executed.

“Whatever your pleasure,” the man said dryly.

“Give her a moment of privacy!” Nicholas implored. “Please, can we be civil? Is someone fetching a servant’s gown? Ah, there it is. Bring it forward, man. Come on, hand it forth.” He clutched the fabric. It was gray with a hint of green. The collar and the sleeve edge had a design on it. That was the only finery to it. She stared at it, at the lack of color and fashion. Lady Deorwynn sought to complete her humiliation. Maia clenched her teeth and took the garment.

“Let me change,” she said stiffly. They relented and shut the door. Maia leaned back against it, battling the wrenching sensation in her stomach. She wanted to cry. Instead, she squeezed the fabric to her face, willing herself to be calm and steady. The gown smelled as stale and dusty as it looked.

Knowing these were not patient men, Maia quickly discarded her gown. Her mirror had been carried away already, so she could not even use it to change. She closed her eyes, struggling to master herself. There was a firm knock on the door.

“We have orders to present you straightaway!” came the rough man’s voice.

Maia pulled on the servant’s dress. It was too short, exposing too much of her ankles and wrists. It was tight across her chest. There were lacings in the back that she could not reach. But it covered the medallion and the shadowstain. She opened the door.

“Nicholas, can you help me?” she pleaded.

The rough man snatched her fallen gown from the floor with a grunt and stuffed it under his arm.

Nicholas frowned and nodded, and he helped tie up the lacings in the back with clumsy fingers. Maia felt humiliated and angry, but she kept control of her expression. When he was done, she thanked him.

She stared at her room one last time, missing it already and feeling strange and uncomfortable in her new dress. Nicholas escorted her down the stairs to the bailey, where the men had assembled to escort her to Hadfeld. She recognized one of them as the new Earl of Forshee—Kord Schuyler. The previous one had been stripped of his title and sent to Pent Tower with all of his sons, save one. He had been given the title for one simple reason. He fawned over her father and did whatever he was asked to do. She would get no sympathy from him.

The new Earl of Forshee was a large man with a hooked nose and iron-gray hair. As he stooped from the saddle and looked at her without compassion, he smiled. “Are you ready to pay your respects to Princess Murer, Lady Maia?” he asked condescendingly, his mouth twitching with a smile.

She stared up at him, her eyes like daggers. “I know of no other princess in Comoros except for myself. The daughters of Lady Deorwynn have no claim on such title.”

He looked delighted. “Well, we shall see how long your stubbornness lasts, lass. We shall see.”




Maia’s life at Hadfeld was intolerable.

Though her title was a lady-in-waiting, she was given the most horrible room in the manor house, a dormer room in the attic with a cracked window that let in the cold and no brazier for warmth. Lady Shilton refused to give her a gown that fit her better, so her wardrobe was limited to the one ill-fitting garment that had been tossed to her in her old bedroom. She discovered immediately that Lady Shilton had been ordered by her daughter, Lady Deorwynn, to humiliate Maia routinely. Her illegitimate station was rubbed in her face at every meal, at every encounter. She watched with resentment as Murer had Maia’s clothes altered and enhanced, having gems and jewels sewn into the bodice and trimming. The new princess treated Maia with disdain and ordered her about the manor, forcing her to do arduous chores meant to demean her.

The cold, chafing environment crushed Maia’s spirits, and she found herself frequently ill, with a persistent cough nagging in her throat. She knew no one at the manor cared for her. The other servants stayed away from her for fear of having their own work increased if they were caught assisting her or associating with her in any way.