The Devil's Duchess

The door to Marcella's room creaked open as she guided Verona inside. Her hand resting lightly on the older woman's arm. She looked at Verona's hunched figure, her shoulders trembling slightly under the loose folds of her dress.

"Sit," Marcella ordered firmly, motioning to the chair by her vanity. Her tone left no room for argument.

"Milady, really, there's no need," Verona protested, her voice wavering as she tried to straighten her posture. "It's just a scratch. I've endured much worse before—"

"Sit," Marcella repeated, sharper this time, her brows knitting together. She pulled the chair out herself, gesturing impatiently. "Don't make me flog someone else for refusing to listen to me."

Verona blinked at her, startled, before a small, hesitant smile tugged at her lips. She slowly sank into the chair, her hands resting awkwardly in her lap.

Marcella moved to the small cabinet near her bedside, pulling out a jar of salve and a fresh roll of bandages. The faint scent of herbs wafted from the jar as she opened it, and she turned back to Matilde, holding up the salve with a raised brow.

"Now, show me your back," Marcella said, her voice lighter, almost teasing. "Unless you'd rather I force you to strip like some poor sinner in confession."

"Milady!" Verona gasped, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

"Don't act so scandalized," Marcella said with a smirk. "I've seen you sew my undergarments more times than I can count. A bare back isn't going to shock me."

Verona's face turned redder, but she reluctantly turned away, her hands fumbling with the ties of her dress. As she pulled the fabric down to expose her back, Marcella's smirk faded.

The angry red welts stretched across her skin like cruel brushstrokes, the marks of the flogging fresh and raw.

"See?" Verona said lightly, as though trying to brush it off. "It's not so bad. It'll heal in no time."

Marcella's fingers curled around the jar of salve as a wave of guilt crashed over her. The memory of her first life rose unbidden in her mind—a memory of Verona standing just like this, her back marked with similar welts, and Marcella's younger self barely sparing her a glance.

~~~~~~~~

"Milady, I beg you—" Verona voice had been desperate, trembling as she knelt before Marcella, her hands clutching the hem of her gown. "Please don't be angry. I didn't mean to—"

"Enough," Marcella had snapped, brushing her off with a flick of her wrist. She hadn't even looked at Verona's face, her focus instead on the gown that had been torn during a minor accident. "Just stay out of my sight. I don't have time for your groveling."

Verona had bowed her head, her shoulders shaking as she tried to stifle her sobs. Later that evening, Marcella had seen the faint marks of a flogging on Verona's back, but she hadn't cared. Why should I? she had thought bitterly. She's just a servant. It's her job to endure. 

~~~~~~

The memory made her chest ache. How had she been so blind? How had she failed to see the quiet, unwavering loyalty Matilde had shown her, even as she treated her like dirt?

But not this time.

"Verona," Marcella said softly, dipping her fingers into the jar of salve. Her voice was unusually gentle, and it made Verona stiffen slightly.

"Milady, really, there's no need—"

"There's every need," Marcella interrupted, scooping a dollop of the salve onto her fingers. She leaned closer, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "If you think I'm going to let you parade around the manor with these marks on your back, you clearly underestimate my pride. People might think I let you get flogged without putting up a fight. What kind of mistress would that make me?"

Verona hesitated, her lips parting as though to argue, but the words didn't come. She glanced back at Marcella, her eyes searching her face for something—some hint of sarcasm, some trace of the selfish girl she had once known. But what she saw instead made her shoulders relax, and she nodded silently.

Marcella began applying the salve carefully, her touch light and deliberate.

"I must say," Marcella began, breaking the silence, "you're far too loyal for your own good. Throwing yourself into the line of fire like that? What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking of you, Milady," Verona replied simply.

Marcella paused, her fingers hovering over one of the welts. The sincerity in Verona's voice caught her off guard, and for a moment, she didn't know how to respond.

"Well," she said finally, "you have terrible judgment, Verona. If I were you, I'd have given up on me years ago."

Verona let out a soft laugh, though it was tinged with sadness. "You've grown up, Milady," she said quietly. "You may not see it, but you have."

Marcella's hand stilled. Grown up? The words struck her like a knife. She thought of her past self—the spoiled, selfish girl who had cared only for her own ambitions, who had stepped on anyone who dared get in her way. Could she really have changed so much in so little time?

"Don't be ridiculous," Marcella said, her voice sharp but unsteady. "I'm still the same terrible person I've always been."

"Then why are you tending to my wounds?" Verona asked gently, her head tilting slightly as she glanced over her shoulder.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't answer.

The truth was too much to admit out loud. Marcella wasn't doing this because she was kind, or good, or selfless. She was doing this because she owed Verona. Because she had failed her in her first life and couldn't bear to fail her again.

"You're annoying, you know that?" Marcella muttered as she finished applying the salve and reached for the bandages. "Always bowing and apologizing, always putting yourself in harm's way. You're going to get yourself killed one day, and then what am I supposed to do? Hire a replacement?"

Verona chuckled softly; the sound warm despite the pain she must have been feeling. "You wouldn't find another like me, Milady."

Marcella smirked, tying the bandage neatly before stepping back. "For once, we agree on something."

Verona turned to face her, her eyes shining with quiet gratitude. "Thank you, Milady."

Marcella waved her hand dismissively, though her cheeks felt strangely warm. "Don't thank me. Just don't let it happen again." She looked away, busing herself with putting the salve and bandages back in the cabinet.

"Don't get used to it," she said finally, her voice light but edged with something softer. "I'm still terrible, you know. Just… slightly less terrible than before."

Verona laughed again, and for the first time in a long while, Marcella felt something in her chest lighten.