So, it was unfortunate when, six months into my stay with the Glittering Court, I found myself holding a blade to someone’s throat.

   “Do you hear me?” I cried. “One more word—one more hint of this—and you’ll regret it for the rest of your life!”

   My quarry, Clara Hayes, answered with a defiant smirk, though her eyes revealed uneasiness. It was hard to feel too cocky when you were pressed up against the side of a house with a knife’s point resting against your neck. Rain fell steadily around us, but I was too focused on her to care about my soaked hair and nightgown.

   “The truth hurts, doesn’t it?” she spat.

   “It’s not the truth, and you know it. You’re the one who made it up.”

   “It sure sounds true.” Clara tried to shift, ever so slightly, but I kept her pinned in place. “Why else would he let a Sim into this house? I mean, one who’s not here to clean it. I guess I can’t blame you. He is terribly handsome. But I don’t think that excuse will hold when his father finds out about this.”

   I kept my face still. I didn’t even blink, which was hard with water running into my eyes. Clara had been my bane since the day I’d arrived at Blue Spring Manor. As Cedric had predicted, some of the Glittering Court girls carried the same prejudice I’d met in the city. Honestly, though, I didn’t think Clara cared one way or another about my background. She was simply a bully. She wanted victims. I’d endured her pranks and taunts with stony resilience, but she’d crossed a line this week when she began spreading rumors that I’d earned my place here by sleeping with Cedric. It had struck too deeply, triggering memories of a time when I’d nearly been forced to trade my body for other favors.

   You’re a coward, Mira. You have to learn to make tough choices.

   “His father’s not going to find out,” I told Clara. “Especially since there’s nothing to find out.”

   “Who do you think he’ll believe, you or me? Jasper hates that Cedric recruited you. And when this gets around to him . . . ? Well. There’s no way he’ll let you stay. It costs him a fortune to get us ready for Adoria. And it costs our suitors even more to pay our marriage fees. For that price, they expect beauty, charm, culture—and virtue.”

   I leaned forward. “Beauty? You’re right. That is important. Here, Adoria, everywhere. I’d hate to see you lose yours.”

   Her smile vanished. “W-what’s that supposed to mean?”

   “It means that if you don’t stop your lies and start telling everyone the truth, I will ruin you—your face, that is.” I slid the blade along her cheek for emphasis. “I will ruin any chance you have of ever getting a husband in Adoria or any other place. A ruined reputation just gets me kicked out. But a ruined face? That’ll pretty much turn away any suitor, rich or poor.”

   She gaped. “You wouldn’t dare!”

   “If you get me sent away, then what do I have to lose? All I’d have to do is slip into your bedroom with this one night and—” I made a slashing motion with my free hand.

   “I’ll tell Mistress Masterson about this!”

   “Good luck proving it.” I released her and backed away. “Now, did you get all of that? I know you have trouble with my accent sometimes.”

   Clara’s response was to jerk open the kitchen door I’d dragged her through earlier and slam it as she stormed inside. But I’d seen her face. I’d scared her.

   I took a deep breath and leaned against the house, surprised to find I was shaking. Had I really just threatened to cut up someone’s face over gossip? I had no intention of really following through with it, but even the bluff made me feel dirty.

   You did what you had to do, Mira, a stern inner voice told me. You have to get to Lonzo. You can’t risk getting thrown out of here because of one petty girl’s slander. And you’re not the only one with a lot on the line. Cedric needs to get to Adoria too.

   I doubted Jasper Thorn believed every girl in the house was a virgin, but he made sure everyone else believed it. He had a reputation to protect. He wouldn’t go easy on anyone he thought had sullied his “merchandise”—not even his own son.

   I straightened up and slipped my old knife—which was actually too dull to cut anything, let alone a face—back into its pocket. Now I had to get inside before someone noticed my absence. We weren’t even supposed to go out at this hour, and if our housemistress found me drenched, I’d be in even more trouble.

   I pulled the kitchen door’s handle, and nothing happened. I tugged a few more times, just to make sure it wasn’t stuck, and then I groaned.

   Clara had locked me out.

   “No, no,” I muttered, hurrying over to a set of double glass doors also on the manor’s backside. They led to a parlor—and they too were locked. I tried a window. Locked. Running back to the kitchen door, I jiggled the handle once again. Nothing. What if I knocked? I had friends here. One might be near the kitchen and let me in. Of course, Mistress Masterson might also be near the kitchen.

   “Looks like you could use some help.”

   I whirled around as a figure emerged from the shadowed yard. It was a man, slightly bent over when he walked, wearing tattered and oversized clothes that were as soaked as mine. At first I thought some vagrant had wandered onto our property, and then I recalled that today was delivery day. I even distantly remembered seeing a man with that same hunched posture among the workers who’d brought groceries to us from the village. Still, I shrank against the door, ready to pound on it and take my chances with Mistress Masterson. My hand moved to the knife.

   “Relax,” he said in a gravelly voice. His accent reminded me a little of Ingrid’s, a girl who’d come here from a southwestern region of Osfrid called the Flatlands. “I’m not going to hurt you. You might take that knife to my face if I did.”

   “You heard that?” I asked.