Beatrix had never sought praise - she’d never had to. But she’d never even considered anyone thought ill of her. She was the beautiful Lady Beatrix. Who could possibly not love her?
But these people obviously didn’t. They prefered her maid, a girl of no consequence, to her!
So she was cold? Unfeeling? These were her strengths, not her weaknesses! These traits she had fought for, tooth and claw, for years. She had to be strong to survive. These people couldn’t understand that.
But was that how people truly saw her?
Did she want them to see her any differently? Should she behave differently here?
Give up on the strength she had at court, and forge herself a new suit of armour? All her life, she’d built that wall around her. She’d tried so hard not to be weak. She wanted to be respected, seen as an equal. Should she throw all this away because of the opinions of two peasant women? What did they mean to her, anyway? They knew nothing of her world, nothing of how she had to be. It wasn’t her fault. This was just the way it was.
So why was she trying to justify herself?
What if it wasn’t just these two peasant women, though? What if it was the whole of Disnarta? Would that make a difference?
And in one tiny moment, her whole defence, her armour, her strength - it all came crashing down around her ears.