This time, Freya's wounds ran deep—not on her body, but in her heart.Though she had taken fifty lashes the other day, the man wielding the rod was smart and had been careful not to use his full strength.When Frederick chose not to have Freya punished after she struck him at the banquet, it became clear to all that she now held his favor. Had she truly been beaten to death, her executioners wouldn't have lived to see the next morning.If not for that, the strokes she received on Ruby's command earlier and at the banquet, eighty in total, would have left her either dead or crippled. And yet, here she was, walking about with nothing more than a few scrapes and bruises.Still, her pride lay in ruins, battered from the inside out.While she lay in bed recovering for days, Frederick came daily. Each time, she sent him away with a sharp remark and a glare.Today, the fourth day, it was Ruth who came instead. Freya had once held a natural hostility toward the older woman, but ever sinc
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