Freda’s composure shattered.
“I—I didn’t mean it,” she sobbed. “Please—Your Grace—I-I take it back—”
Lillia straightened.
“Take it back?” she repeated coolly. “Words are not trinkets to be returned once used. You spoke them. Now, you will answer for them.”
Her gaze shifted to the guards, and they moved at once. Panic surged through the courtyard, and the other ladies rose.
“Your Grace—”
“Please—”
“She meant no harm—”
Lillia did not acknowledge them, and the guards did not stop. As the dagger neared, Freda’s resistance dissolved into hysteria. Mascara streaked down her cheeks, and her sobs turned hoarse. Her reduced frame looked undignified.
“Oh! Spare us the sobs, Freda,” Lillia said flatly. “You look so pitiful. It’s nauseating.”
That realization struck too late as Freda’s eye
