Jadwiga met Duke Volkov’s gaze with a frantic, desperate blankness. Her mind raced, a thousand absurd excuses vying for dominance. A glint of metal. The truth was far more unbelievable than any lie she could conjure on the spot. He was a man who saw through pretense like tissue paper. To admit a premonition, to speak of a past life, would be to invite the local inquisitors, or perhaps a padded cell in the sanitarium at Radowice. Or worse, he might simply decide she was mad, and therefore not worth the trouble of interrogation, leaving her household at his mercy. “My apologies, Your Grace,” she managed, her voice steadier than her churning stomach. “My… ‘foresight,’ as you call it, is nothing more than an unfortunate overabundance of nerves. I saw a flash near the path—a mere trick of the light, I now realize—and my mind, ever prone to melodrama, immediately conjured disaster. Forgive my theatricality. My brother, Teodor, is prone to… accidents, and I am, perhaps, overly protective.” She paused, allowing a touch of feigned embarrassment to color her cheeks. “As for your magnificent stallion, I am truly devastated. Please, allow the Olenka estate to bear all costs for its recovery. If it is beyond mending…” She let the implication hang, a grand gesture of aristocratic atonement. Volkov’s pale, icy eyes narrowed. He studied her, dissecting her words, her posture, the tremble of her gloved fingers. She could practically feel the gears turning in his formidable mind. He probably knew she was lying, but her lie offered him an easier out than the truth. It was a lie that preserved a semblance of social order, however thin. He wanted an explanation, not a revelation. “A trick of the light,” he repeated, the words slow, almost a purr. “And a sudden, dramatic turn of temperament. Fascinating, Lady Olenka. You may send your accountants to mine, though I warn you, the recovery of a champion of the Volkov stables is not a trivial sum.” He straightened, the subtle shift in his posture an unmistakable dismissal. “See to your brother. I expect your full account of this ‘trick of the light’ at a more appropriate time.” He turned, leaving her to the chaos of grooms trying to soothe the injured beast. His final words weren’t a question, but a promise of future scrutiny. Jadwiga felt a cold dread settle deep in her bones. She had bought herself time, but at what cost? She’d drawn the attention of the most dangerous man in Kraina. Just as she had feared. Back at the Olenka manor, the grand hall buzzed with tense relief. Teodor, pale but otherwise unharmed, sat by the crackling hearth, a cup of warm kvass clutched in his hands. Stefania, her usually serene face drawn tight, hovered over him, a damp cloth at the ready. Jadwiga burst through the double doors, smelling of horse sweat and iron. Teodor looked up, blinking through the smoke. “Jadwiga! What in the name of the Saints were you thinking?” Stefania exclaimed, rushing to her, grabbing her shoulders. “Throwing yourself from a horse like that! You could have been killed! We heard… we heard a Volkov horse was injured. What happened?” Jadwiga waved a dismissive hand, trying to appear nonchalant despite her pounding heart. “Nonsense, Stefania. A bit of a tumble. I’m fine. And Teodor is entirely unharmed, which was the important thing.” She sank onto a plush velvet settee, suddenly drained. “As for what happened… I told the Duke it was a trick of the light. A glint, a sudden movement, and my overactive imagination. I merely thought Teodor was in danger and acted… impulsively.” Teodor frowned, his brow furrowed with a scholar’s thoughtful skepticism. “A trick of the light? I saw nothing, Jadwiga. And you, impulsive? You usually calculate every step, every social slight. This was… unlike you.” “Maybe,” Jadwiga said, rubbing her temples. “Maybe I am simply… evolving. A new leaf, a new me. Less calculating, more… spontaneous.” She offered a weak smile. The truth, that she had literally jumped back in time, was far too outlandish for their rational minds. They would think she had finally cracked under the pressure of their house’s slow decline. Just then, a low, guttural growl emanated from beneath the grand staircase. A creature of frankly preposterous size, a shaggy, mud-colored mass of fur and claws, lumbered into view. It was a bog cat, a monstrous beast known for its foul temper and even fouler stench, with eyes like chips of amber and teeth that looked capable of rending iron. This one, however, had a peculiar, almost mournful look in its eye. It sniffed the air, then let out a plaintive yowl. “Oh, you’re still here, are you?” Jadwiga murmured, a strange affection stirring within her. She’d found the creature rooting through the Volkov stables’ refuse during the chaos, its leg clearly snagged in a discarded piece of rope. She’d untangled it, and the beast, instead of biting her hand off, had simply followed her. She saw it as a good omen, a small piece of chaos she could control. “Come here, Mishka.” Mishka, a name she’d chosen for its resemblance to ‘bear,’ ambled over, rubbing its enormous head against her leg, purring with a sound like grinding stones. Stefania shrieked, jumping back. “Jadwiga! What in the name of the Saints is that monstrosity? It smells like a swamp creature!” “He’s a bog cat, Stefania. And he’s rather sweet, once you get past the… raw primal ferocity,” Jadwiga retorted, scratching Mishka behind his ears. “He’s mine now. A new companion for my new spontaneous self.” Before Stefania could further object to the new, incredibly pungent beast, a footman, nervous and fidgeting, entered the hall. “Begging your pardon, Lady Jadwiga, but a summons has arrived from Countess Renata Morawska. She requests your immediate presence for tea.” Jadwiga’s stomach tightened. Renata. Her mother’s closest friend, an elegant woman whose masterfully sculpted advice often felt like a silken noose. This wasn't a social call. This was a consequence. An hour later, Jadwiga found herself in Countess Morawska’s impeccably appointed drawing-room, a space so pristine it felt like a museum exhibit. Countess Morawska, her silver hair coiled into an intricate braid, regarded Jadwiga over the rim of a delicate porcelain teacup. The scent of lavender and expensive tea hung heavy in the air. “My dear Jadwiga,” Renata began, her voice soft, almost melodious, yet each syllable struck like finely honed steel. “Such a commotion at the Volkov estate. Duke Borislav is quite… displeased. He suspects foul play. A sudden surge of speed from your stallion, just as his finest racer faltered. His stables are renowned for their integrity, and a hint of impropriety could tarnish his reputation immensely.” Jadwiga bristled. “Foul play? Countess, it was an accident. My brother was almost—” Renata held up an immaculate, manicured hand, stopping Jadwiga mid-sentence. “Details, my dear, are for the courts of law. Perception, however, is for the courts of society. And society, I assure you, has already begun to whisper. The Olenka bloodline, with its… declining fortunes, is seen by some as desperate. Desperate clans, regrettably, are often assumed to be less than honorable.” She took a slow sip of tea, her eyes never leaving Jadwiga. “Duke Volkov is a man of immense power, Jadwiga. To defy him, to allow these whispers to fester, would be ruinous for your family. Your mother, bless her soul, would have understood the necessity of… appeasement.” Renata leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “My advice, my dear, is simple. Public contrition. A heartfelt apology to the Duke, acknowledging the unfortunate timing, the impression of impropriety, and offering to make amends. It will soothe his pride, silence the gossips, and most importantly, protect your kin from his wrath. Jadwiga stared at her, the tea growing cold in her own cup. An apology. A public humiliation. It tasted like ash in her mouth. But Renata was right. Volkov’s wrath was a tidal wave. She had to protect Teodor and Stefania. Just as Jadwiga was about to offer her reluctant agreement, the drawing-room doors burst open. A young footman, face white with panic, stumbled in, his breath ragged. “Countess! Lady Jadwiga! Forgive the intrusion, but… a squad of city guardsmen! They’ve arrested Master Teodor! For seditious pamphlets! Treasonous materials, they say!” The porcelain teacup slipped from Renata’s fingers, shattering against the polished floor. Jadwiga felt the world tilt. Seditious pamphlets? Teodor? This had never happened. Never in her first life. A new disaster, entirely unforeseen, had already begun its cruel unraveling, and this time, the enemy had struck at her kin's very heart.

Tea, Treason, and a Terrible Cat