My Cruel Boss Laughed At My Scars — Until The Emperor Knelt Before Me
Part 1
I pressed a bead of blood against my thumb desperately waiting for the stinging to subside.
I was absolutely determined not to let a single drop stain the ivory silk pooled in my lap.
Dismissal meant returning to the freezing cobbled streets of the capital.
I was entirely done with freezing.
Rain lashed violently against the small attic window in the servants’ quarters.
The draft smelled relentlessly of wet soot and stale cabbage.
I rubbed my aching shoulders before picking up my shears again.
I was twenty-four years old.
The harsh lines etched around my mouth made me look significantly older.
My brown hair was pinned back in a severe practical knot.
It completely hid the natural curl that always defied brushing.
I did not look like a woman who harbored dangerous secrets.
I was entirely invisible.
Downstairs, the Harrington estate vibrated with a frantic suffocating energy.
The Imperial Ball was only a few hours away.
Emperor David was attending.
He was the man who had dragged three warring nations under his banner through sheer tactical brutality.
The household staff had been awake for two straight days.
We had polished silver until our knuckles bled.
We waxed the massive floors until they gleamed like dark still water.
Footsteps echoed on the narrow wooden stairs.
They were heavy, booted, and highly deliberate.
I did not look up from the delicate lace I was attaching to the bodice.
Greg Harrington stepped into my cramped sewing room.
He was a tall man who was handsome in a cold statuesque way.
He wore his tailored velvet riding coat.
He clearly hated stepping foot in the attic.
He hated the dust and the smell of labor.
He hated the proximity to the people who kept his life comfortable.
“Is my sister’s dress finished, girl?”
“The hem requires another hour, sir.”
I did not use his title with reverence.
It was merely a necessary tool for the job.
Greg clicked his tongue in profound annoyance.
“An hour? You people move with the urgency of glaciers.”
His boots left faint tracks on the dusty floorboards.
“Do you understand who is stepping foot in my home tonight?”
“The Emperor.”
“A man who burns cities before breakfast.”
“Sarah must be absolutely flawless.”
“If she catches his eye, the Harrington name will never answer to a provincial tax collector again.”
“I am aware of the stakes, sir.”
Greg stopped dead.
“Don’t bite the thread.”
“You look like a street dog gnawing on a bone.”
“Where did the housekeeper even find you?”
“I answered an advertisement for a skilled hand, sir.”
“A skilled hand.”
Greg leaned against the wooden doorframe, a mocking twist on his lips.
He seemed to take a perverse pleasure in tormenting the staff when his own nerves were frayed.
“You have the hands of a field worker.”
“They are covered in scars and calluses.”
“It is an absolute miracle you don’t snag the silk every time you touch it.”
I looked down at my hands.
They were completely ruined.
They were pale but crisscrossed with faint white lines.
These were absolutely not the injuries of a clumsy seamstress.
They were the memories of holding shattered men together while mortar fire rained down.
I had been sewing human flesh.
Suddenly, a sharp tearing sound echoed near the entrance of the ballroom.
Sarah had stepped backward directly onto the train of her own gown.
Panic flashed instantly across Greg’s face.
He grabbed his sister’s arm with a bruising grip.
He dragged her forcefully toward the dark antechamber where I stood.
“Fix it.”
Greg shoved Sarah directly toward me.
“Fix it right now.”
“He is arriving any minute.”
I dropped to my knees without a single word.
I began to stitch with practiced terrifying speed.
My hands were completely steady despite the poor lighting.
“Hurry up, you useless creature.”
Greg pulled out a pocket watch and stared at it frantically.
“It is secure, sir.”
Before I could even rise from the floor, a profound earth-shattering silence fell over the ballroom.
The low hum of a hundred conversations died in an instant.
“He is here.”
Greg’s arrogance momentarily vanished.
He shoved Sarah back into the bright light of the ballroom.
I stayed on my knees for a moment.
My pulse thumped incredibly loudly in my ears.
I slowly stood up and brushed the dust from my skirt.
A squad of Imperial guards marched in first.
They wore pitch-black uniforms entirely devoid of decorative fluff.
They carried live steel.
Then he finally walked in.
Emperor David.
He was taller than I remembered.
His face was a harsh landscape of cold absolute authority.
He had a deep scar cutting through his left eyebrow.
It was a scar I had stitched in the dark with freezing numb fingers.
His dark flinty eyes swept the room.
It was the look of a wolf entering a pen of extremely nervous sheep.
Greg stepped forward and bowed so deeply he nearly scraped his nose on the marble floor.
“Your Imperial Majesty.”
Greg projected a false overwhelming confidence.
“The House of Harrington is profoundly honored.”
David did not look at Greg.
He did not look at Sarah.
He was staring entirely past them.
He was staring directly at the crack in the antechamber doors.
Greg noticed the direction of the Emperor’s gaze.
“Forgive the intrusion of the staff, Your Majesty.”
Greg practically sneered the words.
“She is just a commoner, a clumsy seamstress who lost her way.”
“I will have her removed immediately.”
David finally looked at Greg.
His expression was so intensely dangerous that Greg physically took a step back.
Then the most ruthless man on the continent reached out and pushed open my closet door.
