"You little wretch—stare at me again and I'll snap your heart!" Annabelle's voice cut through the cold like a whip. The first crack answered her. "Look at her!" one servant barked. "Don't let her blink." "Do it slow. Make her beg," Annabelle ordered. She smiled with a public face that fit at court. Up close, the smile was a blade. I could not move. My limbs were ropes and silk and nothing. I watched my hands hang useless at my sides. Pain moved across my skin in bright hot stamps. I heard everything. I smelled sweat and blood and Annabelle's perfume. "Say something, Adelaide," Annabelle whispered, pretending to be gentle. "Tell me you think I'm better than you." I could only listen. My throat made no sound. "She's stiff," the taller servant complained. "Maybe she'll break soon." "Break her," Annabelle said simply. "Break whatever's left. I want her to be a lesson." A whip cracked down across my ribs. The sound snapped like a twig. I felt the sting, then a hollowing where ribs should hold warmth. "There!" the servant crowed. "Look at that—there's—" Annabelle laughed, sharp. "Open her, then. Show me the heart. If the heart is pure, I'll spare her face. If not—" "You can't be serious," the shorter man said. "Lady Annabelle, that's—" "Do it," Annabelle ordered. "I've watched her since she came into the house. She wore pity like a jewel