“They’ll never believe I broke a princess without marks.” Zaria gestured to Esther. “And I haven’t bruised you at all.”
Lucy and Esther looked at each other.
“Oh no,” Lucy whispered.
“Oh yes,” Zaria said cheerfully.
Lucy groaned. “Esther, I love you, but we’re about to hit each other, aren’t we?”
Esther winced. “Just a little?”
Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “You smirk even once and I’m hitting harder.”
“I’m not smir—ow!”
Lucy punched her shoulder.
“You said not to smirk!”
“You did smirk!”
“I smiled!”
“It was smug!”
They shoved each other, slapped weakly, pulled hair, made dramatic yelps—two idiots trying to choreograph believable torture.
Zaria watched, unimpressed. “This is… sad. But effective.”
Finally bruised enough to be convincing, Esther and Lucy slumped back against the wall, panting.
The laughter faded slowly, leaving something tender and exposed in its wake. Humor had always been their shield—something they raised instinctively when the world grew too sharp. Even now, even here.
Esther leaned back against the wall, breath unsteady, and wondered if this was how her mother had survived, too.
By laughing just long enough to keep going.
Zaria clasped their shackles shut around their wrists. She paused by the door. “When the screaming starts, be ready.”
Then she left.
The room dimmed. Smoke and distant clangs echoed from somewhere above.
Lucy let out a long sigh.
Esther leaned her head against hers. “Lucy? I… I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For making you my personal maid. For trapping you in the palace with me. For… forcing you into solitude with me.”
Lucy blinked, then burst out in disbelieving laughter.
“Trapped? Essie, please. I didn’t want to mingle with those cold, cruel nobles. You were the only person in that palace who made me feel safe.” She nudged her shoulder. “We weren’t alone because of you. We were safe because of you.”
Esther’s chest tightened. “I love you.”
Lucy rolled her eyes, cheeks pink. “Gross. Stop saying sweet things before I cry.”
