Knights and men entered Lady Ori’s new room without ceremony or greeting. There was an older man she didn’t know, and her Uncle Foix. He was much older then she remembered.

Lady Ori stared at them. She wore only her open undergarments. The blood splattered gown she had ripped off her body lay on the floor.

Her hair, face and hands shone with the dried blood of Sir Jonathon and the late Contessa de Rohan. Her black eye made her face look grotesque and distorted.

The men’s jaws fell open. They made loud, startled noises, and pushed the disgruntled knights outside. In a frenzy, they closed the door behind them.

Lady Ori rolled her eyes by habit, which sent stinging and whipping pain through her face and skull. “Augh, ow.”

“H-how dare you!!” Count de Artois was bellowing from behind her door, “Get Lady Ori a maid and washing water at once! Are you all insane?! How long have you kept a lady alone in this state?! Are you all bereft of reason?!”

“O-Ori? I-is that really you?” Her uncle called from behind the door. He sounded afraid.

Her heart melted a bit. “Yes, uncle, it’s me.”

From behind the large white door, Foix balled his fists and looked down at his shoes. He could not even recognize his own niece. It disturbed him. His brain churned. He had never seen a woman with a black eye in his life.

With the fury of a father, Foix began yelling curses at the knights around him. He growled for someone to tell him when Lady Ori had last eaten.

Of course, she’d not been fed.

Lady Ori listened. After a pause, there were sounds of tussling and shouting. The door crashed and bumped on its hinges as men settled scores.

Lady Ori sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, bored. It had been about a day since she had slit her mother’s throat. She was thirsty.

A woman’s voice joined the fray, and a KNOCK-KNOCK came at the door. “Little lady? May I come see you?”

A maid cracked open the door and peered inside. She screamed in horror at the sight of Lady Ori’s face and state of dress.

Lady Ori did not react.

“My Lady, my little lady!” The maid sobbed, picking up a basin from the doorway and setting it in the washing station. “What has your mother done to you now? By god and the devil. By god and the devil.”

Lady Ori felt annoyed by her dramatics.

The maid was quick to start her job. She removed Julie’s undergarments, sobbing all along. “My god, my god, my poor little baby.” She sniffled at the old bruises on Lady Ori’s back. “I only stayed working here for you! You sweet innocent thing.”

Lady Ori eyed her with suspicion. This maid had indeed worked at the estate for as long as Lady Ori could remember. “Don’t lie.”

The maid continued to profess her loyalty as truth. The soapy water turned red, and she stepped outside to ask another servant for serval more basins.

When Lady Ori had washed and dressed in a loose nightgown, she was placed in another clean room. The walls were a pleasing green, and it contained a sitting area.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Now that Uncle Foix and Artois were here, the servants and the knights hustled under their orders. A doctor came to address her wounds.

Lady Ori sat, eating breakfast and supping tea. She practiced feeling her body, instead of feeling herself inside the body. It was actually a lot more comfortable then she thought. Although, the pain was terrible.

The doctor, a woman, gestured for Lady Ori to stand. She sucked in her teeth and tutted as she examined Lady Ori’s back and thighs. “These are three days old, give or take.” She told the men, gesturing at her back. “Her eye is new. She’s underweight.” She turned to Lady Ori, “When have you eaten last?”

Lady Ori shrugged, motioning to her maid to pour more tea.

With quick, professional hands, the doctor covered Lady Ori’s face in medicines. Pasty salves, odd smelling oils, and bandages. “It will heal in, perhaps, three weeks.”

“This is unheard of,” her uncle growled, looking away. He seemed ready to murder someone himself. The reddish tint of his hair was more pronounced with his face flushed with anger. “Who did such a thing to you?”

Lady Ori looked up at her uncle with one beautiful blue eye. She had never told anyone out loud before. Would they even believe her? “Uncle…did you know that mother was beating me?”

All the redness of her uncle’s face drained away. He had gone deathly pale. “My…sister in law did this?”

Artois watched the two of them in silence.

—-

After hearing Lady Ori’s explanation of events, Count de Artois’ plan was very clear. He would present the beaten and bruised Lady Ori to the King as soon as possible. This way, the King could bear witness to her before she healed. The shock of a noble lady with such a visible wound would greatly help their case.

He held out his hand to help her out of the carriage. His brown eyes glimmered with sympathy.

Lady Ori took his hand. She slashed her chilling glare at him.

He offered her a weak smile. “I promise you that you’ll have access to pain medication in just a bit, my lady. For now, please endure it until after the King’s evening meetings.”

Lady Ori looked away and stepped down from the carriage. The bumping of it had been excruciating. No matter how relaxed she had tried to keep her face, the muscles still spasmed with each movement. The pain made her livid, and the ride had taken too long.

The older maid who had washed and dressed Lady Ori that morning stepped out of the carriage as well. She looked miserable.

Uncle Foix came down from his seat next to the coachman. “Are you ready?”

Lady Ori looked at him. She was wearing a new dress, and her hair was braided. Her face was bare and bandaged. The contrast of it was ridiculous. “Yes.”

An attendant bowed to them, and led them through the labyrinth of gardens and rooms.

The large dark doors of the King’s evening meetings were flanked by royal knights.

“Do not be afraid,” Count de Artois told her as he escorted her through the doors. “Do not be humiliated, either. Only tell the King the truth.”

Open gasps and mutterings of horror followed them as they walked.

Count de Broglie, her intended’s father, blew out breath from his lungs, incredulous. Was that really his future daughter in law? He could not recognize her.

Lady Ori walked with purpose, her back straight. There was no difference between a night club and a throne room. Her presence demanded attention, and she was not ashamed.

The King frowned and leaned back into his throne.

Artois and Foix bowed to him, and Lady Ori curtsied. They greeted the King with reverence.

The maid stepped to the side, invisible.

Artois started the show. “Your Majesty, please allow us to remove Lady Ori’s bandages.”

There were furious calls for the King to refuse this request. They bellowed that they worried for Lady Ori’s marriage prospects, and her honor.

The King turned his eyes to Lady Ori. “Will you show the Court your wounds, my lady?”

She stared back at him with one sharp blue eye. “I will, your Majesty.” Let them see. This nasty black eye had only been bringing her good luck so far.

The King held up his hand and the court went quiet.

The palace doctors snipped away at Lady Ori’s bandages. “We shall re-set them after the meetings, my lady.”

Someone yelped. Another person shouted, “Oh!” but most stood frozen. They covered their mouths with their hands, or looked around in shock.

The King looked upon her, speechless. He took a breath and collected himself. “Lady Ori de Rohan.”

Lady Ori settled her gaze on him. He was not quite old and not quiet young, at age thirty-five. He was graying, but still handsome. “Yes, your Majesty.”

The King eyed her. “I have met you countless times, from banquets to balls. Never did I expect to see you before me in this way. I have only one question for you.” He leaned forward in his throne, and looked down upon her. It gave the impression that he had grown larger. “Did you murder your mother—Contessa de Rohan—Lady Ori?”

Lady Ori’s bare lips flashed into an imperceptible smile, then vanished. “Yes, your Majesty.”