Yara’s POV
The linen was rough under my fingers and stiff with soap. My hands ached from scrubbing, my back burned from the cane strokes, and the water had long since turned murky, but I kept working.
Luna Yulia had given me this punishment herself. A reminder of my place. As if the pain in my back wasn’t reminder enough.
I wrung out the last sheet and draped it over the wooden rack. The salve I had applied earlier had done little to ease the sting, but I did not dare rest. If I stopped moving, I would remember too much.
I would remember my soft bed back home and the maids who hurried at my call. I would remember the dresses, the silks, the gold-trimmed gowns, and the way my mother’s ladies-in-waiting used to braid my hair with silver threads. I would remember that I was a princess.
H
