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Daenora hid scars under layers of fabric and denial. Everyone knew Aerion had a temper, but still, it wouldn’t do to damage the family’s reputation any further. He didn’t care where he left marks, so she had to. She knew how important reputation was. Her mother had drilled it into her all life.
She hadn’t meant to let Kiera see, but she had rolled up her sleeves to help her without thinking, and beneath sat bruises and scars both. To her eternal gratitude, Kiera’s reaction had been restrained. Daenora had no patience for dramatics left in her, yet Kiera’s kindly hand on her shoulder meant more than she could have imagined.
Kiera was at good at silent gestures of support. At court, she would press a hand against Daenora’s, a subtle gesture that meant nothing to anyone looking, but everything to her. She would be deeply worse off without her.