FOR HE HATES ARCANS

"I would only mess up this beautiful dress," Marigold said, looking up to meet her stepsister's gaze to see how she would react.

Her reaction was the sweetest thing. Her face lit up in surprise. "I am so sorry." She chuckled. "Tabitha!" Fleta yelled immediately after for someone Marigold believed to be a servant of the house.

The girl ran in as per the request of the daughter of the house. Her head was down low and her fringe covered her face. But Marigold could tell the servant girl was frightened. Her body was shaking and she was playing with her fingers. It looked as if the girl knew she was in trouble. But when Marigold looked back at Fleta, her step sister was all smiles.

"Be a darling and get my sister the basin. She needs a thorough bath. Ensure you treat the water well and bring my fragrances too."

Marigold saw the trembling girl look up to meet Fleta's gaze. As if questioning the order she had just been given. "Are you sure, Lady-"

"Need I repeat myself?" There was venom in that tone. Marigold understood it. The maid did too. She scurried off like a mouse, leaving the two sisters in the room.

Fleta straightened herself when the maid was out of sight. "I did not mean for you to see me like that. I am not the type to fly off the handle. It is just that the girl is slow and I cannot afford to be gentle with my big sister here."

Marigold nodded. But she got the message. Fleta was not the paragon of everything sweet like she was portraying herself to be. The caricature Marigold was staring at was created solely to convince her to get into some loveless marriage. It almost made her chuckle. She appreciated the act. It was a performance she was not going to refuse. One person in the Renold house was treating her like a decent human being and it did not matter to her whether it was an act, Marigold intended to milk it for all it was worth.

"I understand."

The heavy silence between the sisters had barely subsided when Lord Birley entered.

"Marigold, come with me, let me show you to your chambers."

Marigold was ready to follow her father's lead without question, but Fleta gently held her back. "You do not have to do that, Papa. I will show her where she should be staying after she has taken her bath and changed her dress."

A silent exchange of glances between Lord Birley and Marigold passed, carrying an unspoken tension. Marigold might not have known her father well, but the intensity of that look wasn't lost on her. The persistent ache of the blemish on her spine seemed to intensify just from his gaze alone.

"Don't worry about it, Fleta. I will accompany Father," Marigold said, her voice breaking because she realized what she had forgotten.

Fleta, however, seemed concerned. "But what about the basin and the dress? Would it not be better for the maid and my sister if Marigold has her bath and her change of clothes here? It would be inconsiderate-"

Lord Birley interjected before Fleta could finish, his tone firm. "If the dress and the change of clothes is so important, instruct the maid to bring the basin and the dress to Marigold's chambers."

Fleta opened her mouth as if to protest, but her father's gaze silenced her. "We are doing all of this for her, Fleta. Never forget that!"

With a nod, Fleta reluctantly nodded. Marigold watched the interaction, sensing the underlying tension but not fully comprehending its origin.

Fleta left her chambers, probably to relay the new instructions to the maid. Marigold found herself alone with her father. He turned his attention to her, and a mixture of emotions swirled in his eyes.

"Come, Marigold," he said, gesturing for her to follow him. Without a word, she fell into step beside him as he led her through the corridors of the grand estate.

They arrived at a set of ornate double doors, which Lord Birley opened to reveal a spacious and elegantly decorated room. "This will be your quarters for the duration of your stay," he said, his voice was softer now and Marigold's troubled heart settled.

Marigold took in the opulence of the room, feeling a sense of awe. It looked familiar. "Was this my room when I was younger?" She asked. More to herself than her father.

Lord Birley however did answer. Instead, the man closed the doors, shutting himself and the daughter in the room together. A sudden tension gripped the air. Before Marigold could react, her father's hand swung out, landing with a stinging impact against her cheek. The force of the blow sent her stumbling back, her heart racing in shock and pain.

The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the ragged sound of Marigold's breaths. She touched her stinging cheek, her eyes wide with disbelief. Her father's expression remained unreadable, showing a mixture of emotions before fixating into rage.

"Are you stupid?" he said, his voice cold and unwavering. "You were going to take a bath in front of Fleta and reveal you are Arcan?"

"Why is that a problem?" Marigold dared to ask. "I am the only option to save this family. It should not matter what I am or what I am not."

"You might be my only option. But if words gets out that you are Arcan, we are finished."

The weight of his words sank in, and Marigold felt a wave of confusion wash over her. "I am lost," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "Why would we be finished?"

Lord Birley let out a sigh, his posture relaxing slightly as if he were about to reveal something significant. "Marigold, Fleta and even my wife, Mercia, they have privileges and big mouths. On top of that, they are women. We cannot trust them with such a secret."

Marigold's brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of his words. "What are you trying to saying, Father?"

"Have you awakened, Marigold?" he asked, his tone cautious.

Marigold knew what he meant. "No," she replied honestly. She could not wordweave. A truth that had saddened her for years. Because being born Arcan had come with so many disadvantages and she had faced them all, never enjoying the one advantage that was supposed to be a given with all that hate."I haven't found my trigger word."

Her father's expression softened just a fraction, a hint of relief crossing his features. "Good. That's good."

Confusion still clouded Marigold's thoughts. "Why is that good?"

"Because, my dear," Lord Birley began, his voice full of caution, "as long as you haven't awakened, you can keep your true identity as an Arcan hidden."

Understanding began to dawn on Marigold. "You want me to keep my abilities a secret because my husband to be despises my kind?"

Lord Birley nodded. "Yes. You see, Fleta's husband-to-be, Layne Grimoult, despises Arcans. You will be taking her place, and if he discovers your true nature, it could spell disaster for both you and the family."

The switch in the situation almost made Marigold reconsider. Ten had a similar situation and it did not end well. "Father," Marigold began, peering into the eyes of her father. Ten probably was not the only one. Marigold was certain her mother had gone through a similar situation even if it was for survival and that had ended up in the damnation of two lives. Hers and her mother's. Now her father was requesting that she do the same thing he despised her mother for doing. She would not let it stand. "I do not think I can do this."