Shadows Over Arcadia Chapter 32: 32. Sylfina Pt 3

Read chapter 32 of Shadows Over Arcadia by Zacheas on NovelPedia.

32. Sylfina Pt 3 I am Sylfina Elowen, 324 years old, and I am a lot more than just a loyal servant and Governess to the Noble Griswald Household. https://shadowsoverarcadia.com/api/storage/objects/uploads/8c358212-6119-4210-aba2-44806292c67c Sir Loxly, standing by the entrance, has a firm grip on Lord Foster’s arm, attempting to redirect him back out the front door. “Let go of me, you ruddy commoner!” the noble spits, yanking his arm free with an indignant huff. “You need to leave now—” Loxly begins, but the noble cuts him off, his voice rising. “Do you have any idea who I am?!” I step forward, keeping my voice steady but loud enough to command attention. “Lord Foster.” The noble’s head snaps toward me. I continue walking with purpose, making my way to my seat at the far end of the table. Abigail silently moves to stand by the door to Griswald’s study with an uneasy expression. “Yes. We know who you are,” I speak slowly, as I calmly settle into my chair. If he is to waste my time, he can be sure that I will waste his. “And,” I lift the chronologue up from my blouse, and click open its cover to consult the dials, “you are half an hour early.” This man is barely a noble himself, with a hand-me-down title as a baron's lackey. Loxly’s status, only officially below his, was earned through years of decorated service in the Arcadian military. “I need to speak to Griswald now!” he barks, his tone dripping with entitlement. Loxly looks to me for confirmation, clearly conveying an unspoken eagerness to throw the man out at my word. I exhale slowly. “It’s fine, Sir Loxly. You may go.” Loxly hesitates, his sharp eyes flicking between Foster and me. “You sure?” “Yes, we’re fine,” I reply with a firm nod. He steps back, though not without giving Foster one last warning glance before exiting the room. “Filthy commoner,” Foster mutters loudly before turning his full attention back to me. “Where is your master, slave?” Foster growls, his voice thick with disdain. “He is indisposed…” I reply smoothly. A beat of silence follows, and in that pause, Daphne’s moans filter through the heavy wooden door of the study. Internally, I cringe. Outwardly, I remain composed. “Please, take a seat, Lord Foster,” I continue, my tone unwavering. “I am not here to speak with Griswald’s playthings,” he scoffs, his lip curling in disgust. “He has ordered that I—” “Shut your trap, whore!” Foster roars, his voice reverberating through the room. “I am well aware of Griswald’s… peculiar liberties when it comes to his slaves, but the rest of us nobles know their place! Slaves are to be seen, not heard. And certainly not negotiated with! Disgraceful! ” “Please, Lord Foster—” Abigail starts timidly from her position beside the study door. “Shut up, red pelt!” he snaps before she can finish. The vile slur, specifically meant for red-furred foxkin, carries the implication that they are nothing more than livestock, existing merely to be skinned and worn as a fashionable accessory. It was the kind of insult that revealed more about the vulgarian wielding it than it did about the target it was aimed at. “If either of you speak again, I will shut you up myself,” he sneers. “How humiliating for Griswald, needing another noble to discipline his disobedient property.” I exhale slowly, reining in the rising heat behind my ribs. I give Abigail a subtle wave, and she instantly takes the cue, slipping into the study without another word. “Good. Finally going to fetch your master, I assume,” Foster says smugly, crossing his arms. “Trust me,” I reply, my voice carrying a dark edge. “You do not want to meet my master.” Foster’s eyes narrow, his expression twisting in irritation. “What was that?” he growls through gritted teeth. He strides forward aggressively, looming over me where I sit, his right hand twitching at his side. I watch, unimpressed, as he raises it—fingers splayed as if to slap me. “I said, slaves do not speak to nobles,” he seethes, his voice low and threatening. I arch