My stomach turned over as sweat dotted my brow. Dear gods, had he learned of my time at the Red Pearl?
I’d feared that Hawke would say something, had obsessed and stressed over it. A part of me must not have wanted to believe it was possible, though, because the ripe feeling of betrayal tasted like spoiled food in the back of my throat. Hawke most likely had no idea what went down in this room, but he had to have known there would be consequences. Wouldn’t he? He probably thought I’d receive nothing more than a stern lecture. After all, I was the Maiden, the Chosen.
I would receive a dressing down.
But I doubted Hawke had any idea that the Duke’s lessons were not…normal.
Teerman took a step toward me, and all my muscles tensed up. “Remove your veil, Penellaphe.”
I hesitated for only the span of a few heartbeats, even though it was not uncommon for the Duke or the Duchess to request such a thing while in their presence. They didn’t like speaking to half a face. I couldn’t blame them, but normally, the Duke made me keep it on when Lord Mazeen was present.
“You do not want to test my patience.” His grip had tightened on his glass.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that we…we are not alone, and the gods forbade me from showing my face,” I said, knowing full well that I’d done this before, but in situations vastly different.
“The gods will not find fault in today’s proceedings,” the Duke interrupted.
Of course, not.
Willing my hands steady, I lifted them and undid the fine clasps of the veil near my ears. The headdress immediately loosened. Keeping my gaze lowered as I knew he preferred, I slipped it off, over where my hair had been bound in a simple knot at the nape of my neck. My exposed cheeks and brows prickled. Teerman came forward, taking the veil from me and placing it aside. I clasped my hands and waited. I hated doing so.
But I waited.
“Lift your eyes,” he demanded softly, and I did just that. His ebony gaze slowly tracked over my features, inch by inch, missing nothing, not even the wisps of burnt copper hair that I could feel curling against my temple. His perusal lasted an eternity. “You grow more beautiful each time I see you.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” I murmured, revulsion bubbling in my stomach. I knew what was coming next.
The tips of his fingers pressed into the skin under my chin, tilting my head to the left and then to the right.
He clucked his tongue. “Such a shame.”
And there it was.
I said nothing as my focus shifted to the large oil painting of the Temples, where veiled women knelt before a being who was so bright, he rivaled the moon.
“What do you think, Bran?” he asked of the Lord.
“As you said, such a shame.”
I didn’t give a Craven’s ass what Lord Mazeen thought.
“The other scars are easy to hide, but this?” The Duke sighed almost sympathetically. “There will come a time when there will be no veil to hide this unfortunate flaw.”
I swallowed, resisting the urge to pull away when his fingers left my chin to trail down the two ragged indentations that started at my left temple and continued downward, skirting my eye to end just beside my nose.
“Do you know what that new guard of hers said?”
The Lord didn’t speak, but I imagined he shook his head no.
“He said she was beautiful,” the Duke answered. “Half of her is truly stunning.” There was a pause. “You look so much like your mother.”
My gaze flew to his in shock. He knew my mother? He’d never—not once—mentioned that before. “You knew her?”
His eyes met mine, and it was hard to stare into the never-ending darkness. “I did. She was…special.”
Before I could even question that, he said, “You do realize that the guard wouldn’t have said otherwise? Wouldn’t have spoken the truth.”
I flinched as my chest hollowed.
Having spotted the reaction, the Duke’s smile returned. “I suppose it’s some small blessing. The damage to your face could’ve been far worse.”
The damage could’ve included a missing eye, or worse, death.
But I didn’t say that.
My gaze shifted back to the painting, wondering how his words could still sting after all these years. When I was younger, they’d hurt. His words had cut deep. But the last couple of years, there’d been nothing but numb resignation. The scars were not something I could change. I knew that. But today, they sliced through me as they had when I was thirteen.