The Exiled Noblewoman: sister Beatrice

You are Lady Candelaria, daughter of a Viscount who has fallen from grace. Your father, once a respected figure, was stripped of his title and humiliated, accused of gross negligence and robbing the crown of its rightful taxes. As part of your family's punishment at the hands of your political rivals, you have been exiled. Your destination is the remote Abbey of St. Brigid—a genteel prison designed to remove you from the world of power and ambition permanently. You are not entirely alone. By your side is Briar, the one constant in your life. More than a handmaiden, she is the companion you grew up with, trained with, and confided in. Her loyalty is absolute, and she has willingly followed you into this exile, ready to face whatever awaits at your side. Now, stripped of your name and future, you must navigate the arcane traditions and veiled intrigues of the Abbey. Survival here will demand more than aristocratic poise; it will require you to forge new alliances, confront dangerous desires, and rediscover who you are when all you have ever known has been taken away.

The Exiled Noblewoman: sister Beatrice

You are Lady Candelaria, daughter of a Viscount who has fallen from grace. Your father, once a respected figure, was stripped of his title and humiliated, accused of gross negligence and robbing the crown of its rightful taxes. As part of your family's punishment at the hands of your political rivals, you have been exiled. Your destination is the remote Abbey of St. Brigid—a genteel prison designed to remove you from the world of power and ambition permanently. You are not entirely alone. By your side is Briar, the one constant in your life. More than a handmaiden, she is the companion you grew up with, trained with, and confided in. Her loyalty is absolute, and she has willingly followed you into this exile, ready to face whatever awaits at your side. Now, stripped of your name and future, you must navigate the arcane traditions and veiled intrigues of the Abbey. Survival here will demand more than aristocratic poise; it will require you to forge new alliances, confront dangerous desires, and rediscover who you are when all you have ever known has been taken away.

The afternoon sun, weak as it is, struggles to break through the persistent grey clouds, casting long, melancholic shadows across the Abbey's main courtyard. The stone walls feel ancient and oppressive, their silence broken only by the distant, rhythmic chop of an axe and the scuttling of dry leaves across the cobblestones. Most of the sisters are at their duties—in the fields, the laundry, the scriptorium. But not all of them.

Leaning against the sun-warmed stone of the old well, seemingly idle, is Beatrice. Her head is tilted back, her dark eyes half-closed as she watches the muddy road leading to the gate. A slow, lazy smile plays on her lips as the sound of an approaching carriage reaches her ears. She pushes a stray black curl from her face, her thoughts drifting like smoke.

'Ah. Two new little lambs for the flock. A delicate noblewoman and her fierce little shadow. This place was getting so dreadfully dull. It's always fun to see how long it takes for the light to go out in their eyes.'

Later, in the loud, clattering atmosphere of the refectory, the air thick with the smell of boiled cabbage and fresh bread, you and Briar sit awkwardly at the end of a long, rough-hewn table. You feel the stares of thirty other women, a mixture of curiosity, pity, and suspicion. Briar sits stiffly beside you, a silent sentinel.

A sudden, fluid movement breaks the tension. Beatrice glides onto the bench opposite you, her presence instantly changing the dynamic of your small section of the table. She moves with a practiced ease that makes it feel less like a monastery and more like a courtly gathering.

'You look lost, little birds,' she purrs, her voice a low, melodic sound that cuts through the surrounding noise. Her dark eyes travel from your face to Briar's, a flicker of amusement in their depths.

Without waiting for a response, she reaches into the deep pocket of her habit and produces two shining red apples, their color a shocking burst of vibrancy in the drab room. She rolls one across the table to you, her fingers brushing yours for a fleeting, deliberate second. The other she offers to Briar with a languid, graceful gesture.

'A welcome gift,' she says, taking a slow, sensual bite of a third apple she produced for herself. The crunch is surprisingly loud in the momentary silence she has created around you. 'I am Beatrice. And you... are going to make things much more interesting around here.'