Ch 33: This is Who I Am
The morning after the training room, Elena woke to Kazimir's arm around her waist. For a long moment, she lay there, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back.
But her mind kept working. The confrontation in the training room had made one thing painfully clear: Kazimir's silence, meant to protect her, became a weapon Dante used against him.
The rumors had spread further than she realized. Even Nikolai—Kazimir's most loyal man—believed she had seduced those soldiers. Dante had been poisoning the well for weeks, and she hadn't known the depth of it.
This is going to be complicated.
She couldn't undo the lie by hiding. But the thought of walking among people who might despise her still made her stomach clench. Even so, she would do it. For Kazimir's sake. She couldn't let him fight this battle alone. Dante was betting on her silence. He expected her to hide.
I'll prove him wrong.
Kazimir stirred behind her. His arm tightened, pulling her closer. His lips brushed against her hair.
"You're thinking too loud," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. The sound rumbled through his chest, vibrated against her back.
Elena smiled. She turned in his arms to face him, her hand tracing the stubble along his jaw.
‘I want to walk around today,’ she mouthed slowly. ‘I want people to see me.’
He studied her face. "After last night?"
‘Especially after last night.’ She paused. 'Dante wants me silent. So I won't be.'
He nodded. "Tell me if you need anything."
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
An hour later, Elena found Anna in a small sitting room off the main hall, folding linens.
"You're up early," the old maid said.
'Good morning, Anna,' Elena mouthed as she stepped inside the door. 'Can you tell me which place has the most people?'
Anna's hands stilled. She studied Elena for a moment. "Start with the kitchen. Every servant passes through at some point."
'Anyone I need to pay attention to?'
"Ophelia Asare. She's been in charge for thirty years. She answers to no one. She's neutral."
Elena nodded. 'Can you come with me?'
Anna shook her head. "Go alone. Walk in like you belong there. That's how you make them notice you."
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Elena nodded. Anna was right.
"Ophelia will be in the back kitchen after the morning delivery," Anna added. "That's in about twenty minutes. Go through the main door. You'll recognize her."
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Elena passed through the servant halls without incident. Now, with the door in front of her, she could hear what waited inside.
The noise was overwhelming. Pots clanging. Someone shouting in rapid-fire Russian and Italian. A spoon clattering to the floor. Water splashing. Three conversations overlapping. The scrape of a pot, the thud of a knife. A door banged shut.
Elena's hand froze on the door handle for just a moment. She exhaled slowly, then pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Ophelia was exactly as Anna described: a stout woman with flour-dusted arms, always shouting orders. When Elena approached, she stopped and assessed her.
"So you're the one," Ophelia said. "Heard a lot about you."
Elena met her gaze and nodded once. She didn't need to defend or explain.
The woman snorted. "Didn't think you'd be brave enough to come down here."
Before Elena could respond, a crash rang out from the far end of the kitchen. A sharp cry of pain cut through the noise.
A young maid stood frozen beside an overturned pot, steam rising around her feet. Water spread across the stone floor. Angry red burns were blooming across the girl's left arm and hand.
"Oh, saints!" Ophelia muttered, already moving. "Greta!"
But Elena was faster. She crossed the kitchen and dropped to her knees beside the girl.
The girl—Greta—was crying great, heaving sobs. Her arm was blistered, raw and red. "Oww, that's hot!" she wailed.
Elena grabbed Greta's uninjured arm and pulled her toward the counter where a pitcher of water sat. The girl resisted, confused and scared, but Elena's grip held firm. She pointed at the pitcher, then at Greta's burned arm, miming pouring.
"Cold water?" Ophelia said from behind her.
Elena shook her head sharply. No. Not cold. That will make it worse. She grabbed the pitcher of lukewarm water and poured it directly over Greta’s arm.
Ophelia stared for a heartbeat, then understanding flickered across her face. "Lukewarm. She's right. Someone get more water from the counter!"
A kitchen boy scrambled and returned with more pitchers.
Elena turned back to Greta. She continued pouring the lukewarm water gently over the burn, examining the damage. The blisters were rising, the skin swollen, but the burns weren't as deep as she had feared. The water had been hot, but not boiling long enough to cause permanent damage.
She looked up at Ophelia and mimed bandages. Ophelia nodded and snapped orders. Another boy returned with gauze.
Elena took the gauze and began her work. She was gentle—pressing the bandages just tight enough to protect without constricting.
Ophelia crouched beside Elena, her gruff face softer now. "You know what you're doing."
Elena nodded and mouthed, ‘I can take care of her.’
Ophelia studied her for a moment. Then realizing the silence, she barked at the watching staff: “Had fun watching? Get back to work!”
The kitchen erupted back into motion.
Greta's sobs quieted to sniffles. She watched Elena with wide eyes. "It doesn't hurt as much now," she whispered. "Your hands are so soft."
Elena finished wrapping the bandage and looked up at the girl. Greta looked familiar. She was the maid who brought food to her room after the cellar incident—until Valentina made her pass that note. She hadn't shown up since.
Greta's blue eyes filled with new tears. "Thank you, ma'am."
Elena patted the girl's uninjured hand and nodded. When she rose and looked up, the kitchen staff were watching her.
Ophelia patted Elena's shoulder. "Once a healer, always a healer. You come back anytime. Kitchen's always open."
As Ophelia returned to her work, Elena pressed her hand to her chest, feeling her heartbeat settle.
This is how I do it.
The rumors would still exist. But every person who saw her—really saw her—was one more crack in the lie's foundation.
She paused at the window overlooking the courtyard. Below, men moved through their routines. Some had laughed at her pain. Some would never see her as anything but the temptress.
But she would make them look. One by one.
Let them see. This is who I am.
Last edited by Feiya Phia 5/8/26