A Dove's Tale

Chapter 26

I was in a much more mellow mood the next morning. It was nice, bringing a smile to Mother’s face, but her pain tainted the memory. The bittersweet evening had brought me crashing back down to the ground after my happiness high. Maybe it was for the best. I may work twice as fast when I was that happy, but I also got in twice as much trouble.

And now I had to deal with Prince Chevalier again.

I sighed heavily outside his door. The teasing and flirting that went on yesterday couldn’t happen again. I had to focus on Mother. This was just a job, and Prince Chevalier was just an unnecessary distraction. I didn’t need him clouding my thoughts when I was at home taking care of her.

One more deep breath, and I opened the door.

The two uncovered windows directly opposite his bed flooded the room with so much light that I always wondered how he could sleep in. It was easy for me to tidy up quietly without risk of bumping into something and waking him up accidentally. This particular morning, it was also easy for me to see the blood-stained clothes in the laundry hamper.

So much blood.

I stared in shock for a moment, and then I looked over at the unmoving lump under the blankets. What happened? Was he hurt? Surely he wouldn’t neglect having an injury properly attended to, would he?

“Prince Chevalier?” I called nervously, approaching the bed.

The lump moved slightly.

“Prince Chevalier, are you okay?”

“It’s too early,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry, Prince Chevalier, but the blood-” I swallowed hard, trying to quell my rising anxiety, and sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you hurt?”

“Go away,” he muttered tersely.

“What?”

His strange response surprised me, but it also fueled my fear that something was terribly wrong. I put a hand on what I thought was his shoulder.

“Prince Chevalier-”

He sat up suddenly and shoved my hand away, his blue eyes flashing.

“I said, go away,” he growled threateningly.

I saw the warning in those eyes, but I shook my head. “What’s wrong, Prince Chevalier?”

He grabbed my arm and yanked me down with ferocious strength, straddling me and pinning me with a hand pressed firmly in the center of my chest before I could even react. My heart was racing as I stared up into those frigid blue eyes. Why was he doing this? What was going on?

“I don’t want you here anymore,” he snapped, applying pressure to my chest. “Leave, or die.”

It was hard to breathe, more because of my fear than because of his hand pushing down on me, but I shook my head again. “You won’t kill me, Prince Chevalier,” I gasped.

“No?” He leaned over me, his other hand wrapping around my neck. “Have you forgotten who I am?” he asked, his voice low and threatening.

My heart rate was rising quickly, but I still couldn’t believe he’d hurt me. Not after what we’d been through. Not after the care he’d shown me, not after the obvious flirting and teasing. He was hiding something, trying to scare me away. If the blood on his clothes wasn’t his, then whose was it?

“What’s going on, Prince Chevalier?” I asked in a small, trembling voice.

“I killed an assassin,” he said, a touch of frustration in his eyes.

Suddenly, a cruel smile spread over his face, and he removed the pressure from the hand on my chest. His fingers slid up across my exposed skin to my shoulder, pulling my collar aside. My fear exploded into a full-blown panic, but I couldn’t move, staring horrified at this face I’d never seen before.

He leaned in even closer, whispering in my ear, “I am the Brutal Beast, after all.” The hand around my neck slid up to turn my face away from his. “But you’re right. It would be a waste to kill you.” I flinched as his fingers caressed my bare skin, closing my eyes tightly, my fingers clutching desperately at the sheets. “You may still be of some use to me.”

“Prince Chevalier,” I pleaded, my voice choked. He wouldn’t really do this, would he?

“You are in a dangerous position, little dove.”

His hand slid down the back of my shoulder, eliciting a whimper from me. I should fight him. Why wasn’t I fighting him? Tears stung my eyes, but he laughed. The mocking sound sent a chill down my spine, but still I couldn’t move.

“Don’t tell me you want this?”

His voice was cold and harsh, his finger lightly stroking my cheek, and I could barely breathe. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t defend myself. His hand slid further down the back of my dress. I arched my back away from his hand, but his body weighed me down and would permit no escape.

“No,” I squeaked, tears streaming down my face. His fingers began rubbing circles on the small of my back, his breath hot on my ear. “Please stop,” I gasped.

“Say it,” he said, his hand sliding slowly up my back and out of my dress, continuing up to tangle in my hair. “Say who I am.”

My heart was pounding. I could barely think through the fog of terror, but I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to call him the Brutal Beast. And yet, even now, I couldn’t do it. Even lying here beneath him, paralyzed by fear, completely at his mercy, I couldn’t say it.

“Please-”

I interrupted myself with a cry as his teeth lightly pressed into my skin just below my ear, grazing down my neck. He didn’t care. He never cared. It had all been a game to him, a game that would always end the same way. And he was relishing my terror.

“Say it,” he hissed in my ear.

“I can’t,” I whimpered.

He grabbed my chin and turned me to face him. “Look at me,” he demanded. “Look at me!”

I opened my eyes and looked up into his, narrowed and flashing in an expression that I could only describe as beastly.

“What do you see?”

Tears and a haze of fear clouded my vision, but still, to call him the Brutal Beast was an admission I couldn’t make.

“How far do I have to take this for you to understand?” he growled, frustration creeping into his voice. “I told you to leave. Why won’t you just leave? Why won’t you fight back?”

He stared at me, his blue eyes conflicted, the beastly glare wavering, and it all added to the confusion that overwhelmed me. Suddenly, his arms wrapped around me, hugging me tightly to him as he pressed his cheek to mine.

“You’re not safe here. I’m not safe. You have to leave. Don’t you understand?”

I closed my eyes again, feeling his heart pounding against mine, no less terrified by this sudden display of tenderness.

“I’m going to the bathroom, and I want you gone when I come out. Do you understand?”

“I…”

“Stop being so stubborn and just run away!” But he tightened his grip around me even more, crushing me against him. “I don’t ever want to see you again!” His voice was wavering, too, and desperation was creeping into it.

“Then let me go,” I gasped.

I felt him stiffen against me, and then he finally released me. But my legs wouldn’t move. I rolled onto my side, hiding my face in my hands as I sobbed. He gave an exasperated sigh above me.

“Are you really so weak and foolish that you won’t run away?” he asked, his voice painfully sharp and mocking. After a few seconds, he sighed again, and I heard a door slam shut.

What was going on? Why had he done that?

I felt sick. It was only a few days ago he’d been so gentle with me, so fiercely protective, but now - was it all a lie? Had he known he was going to do this, and it would hurt me even more if he pretended to care? I needed to move. I needed to run, to run far away and never come back. Why couldn’t I move?

My breath came in short gasps between sobs. It felt like he’d torn my heart right out of my chest. The pain was unbearable. Why would he put me through that again? Why would he do that? And yet, there was still a little piece of me that didn’t believe this was real. What happened to yesterday when he was teasing me and flirting? What happened to his embrace, his whispered command to forget all about it? He’d known exactly how much he was scaring me. Why? Why would he do that?

The tears eventually stopped, but still I lay there. I felt numb. My heart rate gradually came back down to normal, and my head slowly cleared. He didn’t return, but I still couldn’t leave. My stomach was churning. The scent of roses surrounded me, permeating the sheets. I’d come to associate that smell with safety, but today it was mocking me.

What changed? Why? Why did he want me to leave so badly?

I opened my eyes, and the bloody clothes in the laundry hamper were the first thing I saw. It struck me like a bolt of lightning. The assassination attempt. I was his personal maid, and I was now a liability. He was still trying to protect me - by scaring me away. Harsh words hadn’t worked; threatening hadn’t worked. I remembered the frustration in his voice, the sudden cruel smile. He knew what I most feared, and that was his last resort to make me leave. But he couldn’t go through with it. The realization was little comfort in the midst of my pain. I buried my face in his pillow, taking several deep, soothing breaths.

If I was right, what was I going to do now? It was my choice. I could stay, and potentially put myself at further risk by being near him, or I could leave.

And if I was wrong…

It was the same choice, really.

If I left, what would I do? I would have to pick up multiple jobs around the town to equal my pay here at the palace so I could maintain Mother’s care, and that would mean I’d have even less time with her. Or I could find another brothel. The princes had shut one down, but there was probably another nearby. That might earn me more money, too, but the thought sickened me more than what had just happened.

“What are you still doing here?”

His condescending remark confirmed it for me. If he’d really meant to hurt me, he would come over here and do it. Anger rose within me, anger that he would dare to do this to me, no matter his intentions. I sat up, wiping my face on my apron. He stood in the bathroom doorway wearing nothing more than a towel around his waist, contempt written all over his face, his blonde hair wet from a bath.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” I said, my angry voice as shaky as the rest of me.

His eyes widened in surprise. I got up, shoved him out of the way, and slammed the bathroom door shut behind me, going straight to the toilet to vomit. My hands shook as I gripped the cold porcelain. Glass crunched under my shoes. After a moment, I took a deep breath and stood, going to the sink to splash my face with cold water. More glass in the sink, the mirror shattered, dried blood staining the jagged edges. He must have thrown something at it - but no, that wouldn’t explain the blood. I scanned the room. Bloody handprints on the sink and bathtub, blood on the pajamas and towels that were intermingled with glass and droplets of blood on the floor.

He’d punched it.

What a mess.

And, of course, I would have to clean it up. That was my job, after all. Cleaning up after him.