“Welcome, gentlemen, to the City of Plenty! The only place in the Empire where coin flows faster than wine, and I assure you we have more than our fair share of the latter as well.”

  -Duke Etienne Carphopoulos, upon greeting a delegation of the Kuyūthi Mercantile Consortium

  It wasn’t long after that Sabrina finally took her leave. She lounged for a while, making small quips and mocking remarks as the maids continued to prepare Dahlia, but after what was still an uncomfortable length of time, the Baroness left the room in order to get herself ready for the night’s affairs. It was only after the woman left that Dahlia let herself relax and breathe again.

  “Fuck me, that was awful.”

  She didn’t bother keeping quiet, already far past caring if anyone overheard her and, much to her surprise, one of the maids snorted in response. Young, dirty blonde, and with a remarkably pretty face; Dahlia might have thought she was attractive had the same maid not made a habit of tripping her a few months back. Adina was her name, if her mother’s earlier snark was anything to go by. After quirking an eyebrow at her though, the maid just shrugged and responded.

  “The Baroness is a bitch, we all know that. It’s just that some of us know better than others.” The woman glanced at the other two maids in the room before continuing. “Most of the mansion knows the ‘Queen Bitch’. You know, the one that acts like she owns the place and the rest of us by extension. And don’t get me wrong, she’s awful, but—”

  “But Queen Bitch also doesn’t give a shit who you are.” One of the others, a red head —Rosali?— had cut in. “Once you start dealing with the Baroness for real though… it gets different. She takes an interest in you and once she does she just never stops. Guess she’s always kinda been that way with you but, well, you can see the difference. You have my condolences because it’s not going to be getting any better for you.”

  Dahlia levelled a long look at the maids, trying to gauge what had them so talkative. She went to speak —to pry and learn more— but her mother’s words came to the front of her mind. She was bad at intrigue, no matter how good she’s gotten at reading others over the years, so why bother dancing around the topic.

  “So why be so open with me now? Did I join your little club of complaining about my mother? Actually, why does she even care about you? From the sounds of things, she tends to keep a low profile so…”

  “What do you think? We’re blackmailed you dolt.” It was the third one, Estelle, that spoke up and unlike the other two, there was something sharp in her tone. “The Baroness watches everyone, spying for sport, and when she digs up something with enough leverage she uses it to get us nice and obedient. We’re not some little club you privileged bitch, we may as well be her slaves.”

  Dahlia felt her blood run hot and had to bite her tongue to try and ground herself. The insinuation —the mere thought— that she could be considered privileged after everything she went through made her want to throttle the maid and it was only thanks to years of restraint that she held back. Even after holding herself back though, all that hard work was only met with Estelle scoffing as she approached the girl from behind.

  “Awww, is the little princess upset because the mean maids are bullying her?” Hands ran into Dahlia’s hair, grabbing fistfulls and pulling tight as the maid began to go through the motions of starting a braid. “Does she think she deserves pity?” Another yank, firm and harsh. “Or maybe she thinks she has it worse? Like the blackmailed servants are the ones who are privileged? Well? Is that what you think you little cunt?”

  Estelle’s voice was closer to a growl than anything else and her grip never loosened, even as she pulled Dahlia's hair back and snarled in her ear.

  “Oh, maybe daddy treats you worse, I won’t argue that. He’ll go and fuck us like we’re from the street corner but at least he saves the rest of the torture for you. But mommy? Sabrina holds back on you, did you know that? You leave the room and she takes out any remaining sadism on the rest of us and there’s nothing that we can do about it. So excuse us if we happen to be a bit chatty and excitable because we just found out that, not only are you finally going to leave, but apparently the Baroness plans to follow. I hope she stays true to her word. I hope she never leaves you alone and tortures you like a plaything you—”

  “Estelle!” It was a snap of one of the others that interrupted the maid and Dahlia finally felt the grip on her hair loosen. “Go. Take a walk. We can take care of this.”

  Not seeming to need any further convincing, Estelle left the room without hesitation, only muttering a soft ‘Sorry’ to Rosali as she passed. The door slammed and a few silent moments passed, an uncomfortable tension remaining even as Adina took position behind Dahlia and began to start the braid over again. Letting out a long breath though, the maid finally broke the silence though her tone was far tighter than before.

  “I’d ask you to not hold it against her but I don’t think a single one of us really cares what you think. She hates you, you know? We all do, but Estelle most of all. But honestly… I can’t say I agree with her on everything. I don’t care if you leave and get tortured, or die, or whatever. Hell, you could live and be successful and I couldn’t bring myself to give a damn. So long as you and the Baroness are gone, I couldn’t care less. So, if you take away anything from this let it be this. Once you leave? Once you’re finally gone and leave us behind? Don’t you dare, even for a moment, consider coming back. Because if you give us that hope —if you let us finally be free of you and your mother— only for that to be taken from us? You will have a line of maids ready to kill you themselves, got it?”

  With those last words, Dahlia could feel the elaborate braid finally pinned into place and Adina paced around, admiring her work before finally looking at the girl head on. She smiled, though it never reached her eyes before performing a small half hearted curtsey.

  “I hope the debutante goes well for you Dahlia. Truly. I sincerely wish that whatever plan you’ve concocted goes flawlessly, because I hope I never see your face again.”

  With that she turned, pausing to briefly mutter something to the final maid before walking out the door. It was surreal, Dahlia thought, that this was how her first real conversation with maids in years would go. And yet… well, it wasn’t particularly enjoyable, but the girl couldn’t help but feel like it could have been worse.

  Those who were complicit in her abuse happened to also be abused themselves and she… really didn’t know how to unpack that. A part of her said that she should care: that she should empathise and want to help them but she just… didn’t. She didn’t care —couldn’t care— in the same way that they couldn’t care about her. If anything, it all just cemented the way she felt. She had nothing here. No attachments that she would miss nor anyone who would miss her. All the servants wanted was for her to leave, and so who was she to argue?

  What followed in the next hour was a remarkably more enjoyable affair. The last remaining maid, Rosali, seemed merely uncomfortable, fidgeting and twitching anxiously as she silently painted Dahlia’s makeup. There were no snarky comments involved, and not even a single passive aggressive comment or threat! All things considered, Dahlia had to admit that she quickly came to like Rosali quite a bit more than the other two, though in the end even she left without so much as looking back.

  And then there was just Dahlia.

  She remained seated in her room, lost in her own thoughts as she let time pass. She imagined most nobles would take these few moments to prance in front of a mirror, strutting about like a peacock, but Dahlia couldn’t be bothered. Of course, she hoped that she looked presentable so she might finally meet ‘Grandma Amarei’ and be able to leave a good impression, but it wasn’t as if she knew how to pretty herself up enough to try and improve the maids’ work. So instead she just sat, relaxed, and let herself take the last few calm breaths she might have in quite some time.

  A lot had happened that morning, but it hardly changed anything. Her mother was a sadistic lunatic, but what part of that was actually news? Sure, Sabrina knew more than she should, had magic far more impressive and terrifying than some no-name baroness should have, and seemed to be notably more manic and maddened than first thought, but that hadn’t actually affected the girl’s plans at all. Nor did the maids for that matter, regardless of their feelings or behaviour.

  In the end, nothing had truly changed, so Dahlia didn’t let her focus waver. She breathed, deep and slow, centering herself, going over her plans again and again, and finally it was time. There was a knock at her door and a guard greeted her. She ignored the sneer in his tone as he commanded her to get a move on. She ignored the disgusting comments he made too, as his gaze lingered and leered at the way her dress emphasized her curves. He led her along the corridors as if she didn’t already know the halls like the back of her hand and she ignored the stares and catcalls of other servants and guards as she passed them.

  She ignored all of it and just did her best to focus.

  The degree to which their eyes tracked her had goosebumps form all over and sent a shiver down her spine. It had been like this since she was far too young; the same servants who treated her like dirt had the gall to also leer at her like a slab of sexual meat. They acted like her low status in the household was proof they could get away with it, that it was even encouraged and —based on the lack of retaliation from her parents— they may as well have been right.

  Men and women both looked at her unrepentantly, with even the servants that were usually better than that eyeing her up for a different reason, their contempt and envy clear in their eyes: she really was dressed to the nines. Her makeup was elegant while her hair was elaborate and accompanied by a povyazka headdress. Meanwhile, following more contemporary trends, her dress was a sarafan, sown with the Liontáriou’s yellow and orange in satin and accented by hundreds of faintly glowing moonstones. The appearance seemed to scream how the Barony still overflowed with wealth despite how the dress was now one of the most expensive things they owned.

  She despised it.

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  It didn’t take long until Dahlia found herself entering the carriage, finally able to free herself of the dozens of eyes that had been following her until then, and yet she was hardly more comfortable. Rather than ride separately the way they had for the sake of her awakening, this time she would ride with her parents — arriving separately would be unbecoming at such an important event after all. And as she entered, quicker than a wick, every single part of her body began screaming for her to escape.

  Eyes that burned like embers in the carriage’s dark light watched the girl as she entered and she could practically feel them as they trailed over her, the Baron sneering as he took in her appearance. She couldn’t help but tremble, her body so full of adrenaline that it wouldn’t stay still despite how desperately she tried to hide it.

  There was a pause then, where his eyes met hers and she felt herself freeze, but as fast as her father's attention landed on her, it just as quickly shifted away accompanied by a disinterested nod.

  “It'll do,” he spoke in a clipped tone. “Frankly, I can't help but feel disappointed: it's the first time you're properly interacting with high society and yet the first impression you'll make is looking like a primped up whore. I suppose it was wrong of me to expect anything classier though; at least the Carphopoulos boy is likely to enjoy the show.”

  As the Baron spoke, Dahlia could feel her face burning with shame. She wasn’t dressed particularly provocatively —she knew that— she was wearing more wealth than any Baron's daughter had any right to but, despite that, it hardly challenged the norm. If anything, she was dressed rather modest when compared to some more contemporary neck lines, but her scars needed to remain concealed. Frankly, were it not for those scars, she suspected her father would have encouraged a plunging neckline and the sluttiest dress possible if it meant even the slightest improved chance of seducing the young lord and, for the first time in her life, Dahlia found herself thankful for all those injuries she'd suffered. Regardless, the girl couldn't help but be ashamed of her appearance. Her father's words only reinforced the gazes she felt earlier and she knew that she was far from the end of it. An entire evening awaited, rife with self entitled nobles that she could only pray would have the decency to not take advantage of their position.

  Thankfully, after the initial berating Vincent appeared to lose interest, his gaze shifting back to a set of paperwork without another word, and it was only then that Dahlia let herself take a seat, trying her best to ignore the remaining set of eyes on her. Ever since entering, her mother had been quietly watching, seeming to take in every micro-expression and suppressing a smile as the girl squirmed in shame and discomfort. It was a new special type of torture, more psychological warfare than anything else, and the girl found herself longing for a return to normalcy.

  It wasn't that she desired abuse, but the simple truth was that beratement and lashings were familiar. She knew them —understood them— in a way that made it easier to cope with. There was no secret, no hidden agenda, and no depth to it: it could be taken at face value, compartmentalised, and set aside for future-Dahlia to deal with. What her mother was doing now, while notably more pleasant, was far more unsettling to her; something which she suspected her mother was all too aware of if the knowing smirk was anything to go by.

  Seeing the girl's expression, Sabrina couldn’t help but chuckle. There was something remarkably refreshing that came from seeing the girl squirm and that had only gotten more pronounced since their meeting that morning. She revelled in Dahlia's discomfort and, while she felt Vincent's disinterested and scathing comments lacked any flare or finesse, she could certainly still appreciate the effect he had on her daughter. Simply enjoying the show, the Baroness didn't immediately speak up, instead just sitting back and relaxing, but after a half grain passed and the carriage finally rocked into motion, the woman let out a long relaxed breath and smiled.

  “Vincent is right, you know. From what I recall, we tasked you with properly representing our family and seducing Lord Carphopoulos. I feel like you're going to fail at both; last I checked, looking like a loose woman was never particularly flattering in high society. If you keep this up then you might ruin your reputation before the end of your first night out.”

  It was about that moment where Dahlia was nearly overcome by the urge to strangle the woman. She could practically see her mother's eyes glint in delight as she taunted her, all while they both knew the underlying meaning behind her words. No matter what Dahlia’s intent was, the way she presented herself today would be how the Archduchess would see her. Every gaudy and excessive gemstone she wore and every hint of attempts at seduction would reflect on her, whether they were her intent or not. And as much as it pained her to admit it, her mother was right: desperation and insecurity were never a good look, and right now her appearance was practically oozing it.

  Perhaps more than anything else, that thought had the anxiety sink in. Not the short term fear of her father nor the anxiety from her mother's sudden shift in attitude but instead the realisation that, no matter how hopeful she might be, everything that night could go horrifically wrong and it might not even be within her control. Even on a good day, Dahlia struggled to obtain agency, but at the debutante? She'd been tricking herself somewhat up to this point but the truth was slowly starting to sink in. Seeing the girl's thoughts begin to spiral, Sabrina tutted and grabbed her attention.

  “Your father and I have been talking by the way. We were debating how horrifically you would screw things up and while he believes you know better than to ruin this, I'm… less than convinced.” The Baroness’ tone remained derisive and taunting even as she locked eyes with Dahlia with such intensity that the girl knew that every word was to be taken seriously. “Vincent suggested lashings for every single wayward stare you receive from anyone other than the Carphopoulos boy. A kick for every step out of line. And if you utterly fail and go against our wishes, well… it won't be pretty. Keep that in mind girl: you cannot fail, understand?”

  Dahlia looked at her mother and could see the tension in her. No matter how well she acted, the woman’s smile was rigid and her frame taut. She held herself like she was moments away from being held at knifepoint, not comfortably lounging in her own carriage. As Dahlia quirked a brow and went to speak however, Sabrina cut her off, spouting more degrading nonsense, as was her wont, but the underlying message was clear: she did not want Dahlia drawing attention to it.

  The girl just sighed, too worn down from her already long day. She couldn’t mentally handle her mother right now, and the overarching stress from everything else left her intentionally looking for distractions.

  It was with this mood that time passed. Sabrina taunted her daughter, Vincent looked at his papers as if seeing her was the last thing he wanted in the world, and Dahlia did her best to ignore it all, staring out the window and taking in any bit of landscape she could find that might distract her from everything else.

  It was interesting, seeing the hills pass her by. The Liontáriou Barony was already in the far north of the Carphopoulos Duchy, only half a day’s carriage ride from the duchy’s capital, and the view out of the window matched what she expected. The rolling fields famous in the southern grand duchy were nowhere to be seen and even the vast orchards of the central duchies were missing here, replaced only with craggy stone valleys and old pine forest. Not far to the north, occasionally slipping into sight from the road, the Raul de Sange roared like an angered beast as the river still flowed with the previous winter’s run-off. It was a gorgeous place, with a natural beauty that Dahlia’s books and self-curated garden would never be able to rival.

  And seeing it now only hurt so much more because, had she been just slightly luckier, she might have been able to see this ages ago. It left the entire experience melancholic, despite how much she adored the sights. Before she knew it, however, the road curved away and a new type of vista was revealed: a city. Not just the sad excuse of a town her parents had either, but a genuine behemoth of stone, wood, and little flickering flames.

  Sudic?oara was a city crafted from ages of continuous growth, with ancient bailey walls still standing tall towards its centre while the rest had transformed into a series of sprawling streets and buildings, engulfing more and more of the countryside like a creeping vine. Even the massive lake behind it framed the city as if to accentuate its majesty. It was fascinating, in a strange sort of way, how the architecture here was designed as well; such an old city, once just a southern bastion of the Amarei Kingdom, now thrived as a different duchy’s capital. Yet even after so much time had passed and so much growth had occurred, its origins still remained clear.

  Beyond cheaply built shacks on the city’s outskirts, cold grey stone seemed to make up every building of any worth. Gothic masonry, somehow emulating both utilitarian pragmatism and ostentatious wealth at once, practically screamed the city’s origins, even if it had changed hands long ago. Amareic: ancient, powerful, and undying even if long gone from this region. It permeated the city as a whole and left the girl finally realising the scope of what she aimed for. The family she wanted to join, the grandma she wanted to find and have take her in, had the influence and sway that could move the entire Empire. Even its remnants and dregs from over a millenia ago still stood and declared the vampiric family’s power. And she… wanted to join them.

  ‘Daunted’ did no justice to just how pathetically small she felt in that moment of realisation.

  And yet the carriage didn’t wait for her to gather her thoughts. It only trundled along further, bouncing and shaking as it ran along the cobbled roads until the ride gradually grew smoother again as the roads became more taken care of. Soon mansions demonstrating more wealth than her parents would have in their lifetime passed them by, the noble district filled with massive buildings with even more green space between them, each and every building grew more lavish and more isolated the more time passed until, finally, the carriage drew to a stop.

  As the coachman opened the doors Dahlia couldn’t help but pause to take it all in. The building they were being directed to wasn’t actually part of the main castle, interestingly enough; it was more of a side building, kept to the castle’s side but wedged deep within a lush and gorgeous garden that left the girl near-salivating as she took it all in. Nevertheless, she knew there could be no stalling and so she stopped her gawking and stepped out.

  It didn’t take long to get to the main doors, not really, but it felt like time was dragging. Her dress, gaudy and flashy in a way that made her skin crawl, seemingly weighed less like the fabric it was made of and more like a sack of bricks. The pavestones, though far smoother and well maintained than the cobbles of the main road, seemed to want to catch the girl’s heels and twist her ankle at every given opportunity. The steps, just a short set and nothing unusual, felt like a daunting climb that had her legs trembling and her breath coming quick and shallow. Even the music —delicate and polite as it was— felt blaring and overwhelming to her.

  The doors glided open, a pair of well dressed servants pulling them aside as another read aloud their names.

  “Now introducing Lord Vincent Liontáriou, Lady Sabrina Liontáriou, and debuting The Hon Dahlia Liontáriou.”

  The man’s voice rang clearly throughout the hall and, though few actually deigned to look, the mention of Dahlia’s debut drew at least a few extra glances and the girl almost withered on the spot. There were so many people, more than she had ever seen in her life, all crowded into the one room and she could feel her body tremble beneath her dress and veil. There were too many eyes, hungry, sneering, jealous, or judging, and it made her want to hide and just leave it all behind. She didn’t even move until a less-than-subtle shove from her father pushed her along but that was enough to stop her from freezing up entirely.

  She had been so hopeful until that point —so convinced that she could attend an event like this without issue— but now it was finally sinking in. She didn’t belong in an event like this. She felt suffocated and trapped as countless predatorial eyes looked her over like a slab of meat, either to be devoured or tossed to the dogs, and she desired none of it. Her mother’s words came back to her again, this time resonating all the more: she was no master of intrigue and now, seeing how this crowd looked at her? She had no desire to even try.

  And so instead Dahlia pushed forward, not even bothering to adhere to social norms and expectations. She wouldn’t do it —couldn’t, even if she wanted— and so she would do things her own way. So what if her parents had threatened her? So what if there would be consequences? All she needed to do was find the Archduchess and leave a good impression, that was all. All she needed was to succeed, and nothing would go wrong.

  Welcome to the debutante~ I hope you're looking forward to things because we've got some good eatin coming up!

  Now, for today's lil lesson, I wanted to discuss the capital city of the Carphopoulos Duchy: Sudic?oara. Now, I'll dedicate time and energy to explaining the suffix '?oara' on a different day, but all you really need to know is that I use that suffix for cities that formed around a castle. 'sudic' on the other hand is Romanian for 'southern'. Together they basically mean Southern City or Southern Castle City. It's not particularly glamourous. It's also not particularly correct. Sudic?oara is actually placed to the far north of the Duchy, butting against the Raul de Sange which acts as the border between it and the north-most Amarei Grand Duchy. So why the silly name, I hear you say. Well, it's because it used to be the southern-most castle of the Amareic Kingdom. However, at the end of The Unity War, border lines were redrawn and the river was used to demarcate that, cutting off the city from the northern grand duchy. And, due to its fantastic economic position, it quickly became the Carphopoulos Duchy's new capital. This is all to explain the unusual name as well as the usage of Romanian in a Duchy that largely uses Greek and French. Now, for pronunciation, it's nothing unusual. 'Soo-deek-shwa-?a' with the r being tapped as is common for Romanian.

  If you're enjoying what you see and want to read ahead, I do have a Patreon that will maintain eight chapters in advance of what is public. If that interests you, you can find a link to it

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  And as always, I hope you're having a wonderful day!