~CELIE’S POV~
My heart hammers loudly inside my chest as I stray away from my natural temperament to demand my freedom, “I can’t stay with you. I’d rather be dead than do that.”
“You can do whatever you want with yourself once you’ve given me an heir,” says Alpha Egon with perfect indifference.
Having been subjected to unfavourable situations due to my inability to voice my thoughts, I have found myself becoming powerless and often dominated by others since my childhood. Whenever Aunt Deborah would accuse me of seducing her prurient husband, I’d shut up out of fear, which only used to confirm her suspicion and earn me whips.
Assimilating the teachings of my bitter past which seem to suggest that I needed to voice my truth as well, I dare to bring to light my feelings about the new persisting situation, “Once I beget a child, I will unquestionably grow fonder of it. How will I leave that child behind?”
“In that case, you can stay here for as long as you’d like. I know that I will take good care of you,” proposes Alpha Egon, making sheep’s eyes at me.
Definitely, at sixes and sevens about figuring out a way to explain to him the urgency to go back to Hamilton, I look at him with easily discernible displeasure in my eyes.
Aloof and austere, he no longer attempts to keep our dying conversation breathing. Believing he has been nothing more to hear from me, he takes his leave and locks me back inside the room like a cattle. My uncle and aunt have had my guts for garters countless times throughout my life, but none of those times included being confined in a small room.
From what Egon told me, it seems rather unjust for me to hope to see my husband ever again, given the fact that he’s not even attempting to get me back. Being very well acquainted with Egon’s inequitable ways of exacting revenge, he must already be aware of what his enemy might do to me, yet he's making no attempts to retrieve me.
Forbearing my thought that compels me to believe my husband isn’t even concerned about me, I forcefully put myself to sleep. Upon entertaining despondency because of my pathetic reality for quite some time, I can only think of escaping it by surrendering myself to sleep. Unfortunately and unintentionally, I conjure up another vision.
As heartbreaking as it is to even expect it, I once again view myself in a wedding dress. This one looks nothing like the one I had worn before, and even my surroundings differed a lot. From craning my neck around, I am able to assure myself that I am not in Hamilton.
With an unknown gentleman with a kind expression walking beside me like a father figure, I am given off to Alpha Egon, the brute. What’s even more unendurable is that I am smiling as I take his hand.
This is definitely not a vision, but a trick of my mind to alert me about my impending doom which I’d incur in staying at Leaden Valley. I need to return to my husband and my pack in Hamilton.
A sharp jolt awakens me from my hair-raising nightmare by the very person who caused it. Brute Egon stands before me with barely-opened eyes and a heavy breath. He doesn’t really look like himself. There’s an unfamiliar tense emotion cast over his face.
Before I ask the man about his reasons for waking me up at such an odd hour, he crashes over me. The weight of his prodigious muscles makes it impossible for me to move, so I insist he removes himself from me.
“Shut up, Celie!” whispers the Alpha into my ear, sounding bone-weary.
Crushed by his weight, I take hold of him to push him off me and make a chilling discovery in the process. My hands are smeared with Egon’s blood that oozes out of the wounds on his back.
“Are you trying to kill yourself? Shouldn’t you be in the infirmary?” I ask in a panic-stricken tone.
Replacing his pain with a spurious smile, he tries to alter the course of our discussion, “Are you sad that you’re no longer with your husband?”
‘How do I answer something so tricky? When it seems wrong to even consider Alpha Cillian my husband after spending my wedding night with another man, how can I say I miss him?;’ I think to myself as I push the brute away to fetch clean water, an antiseptic and some pastable bandages.
“Where do you think you’re going?” howls Egon, inflicting more pain on himself by opening his wounds.
To get him to settle quietly in bed, I swear, “I am not leaving. I will be heading out to bring some basic implements required to treat your wound.”
“I have my men planted outside the room. If you try anything funny, they will not hesitate to rip your guts out,” threatens the crude man, obviously suspecting me of lying.
Paying him no mind, I do my job with the utmost honesty, rejecting the impulse to run off to the exit. On my return, I find the man groaning in pain, making me quicken my pace to get to him.
Though I have treated several injured animals before, I lack experience in tending to humans. Nevertheless, I do my best to clean his wound thoroughly before applying bandages to it.
From losing a significant amount of blood, Egon becomes as frail as a kitten and falls asleep. Regarding this as the perfect opportunity to slip away from his grasp, I head towards the main exit by grabbing onto a knife that I stole from his room while bringing him first aid.
The thoughts of how I have never threatened a guard before, inspire fear in me, which weakens my resolve to face them. Flurried, I manage to walk not more than five steps and manage to trip, waking Egon again.
“What are you doing? Are you a woman or a cat? You can’t sit still even for a minute,” Egon admonishes me for my excessive movement, unaware of what I actually planned on doing. “Come, and join me in bed.”
Unenthusiastic about experiencing the previous night’s torment, I refuse him, “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“I won’t do anything to hurt you, I will just hold you close to me,” swears Egon, as if he can keep a promise.
Susceptible of doubting him because of his previous night’s actions, I stay roosted on the floor. Disgruntled by my inability to join him, he rises from his bed and drags me to his bed.
Once I am made to lay beside him, I squeeze my eyes shut, apprehensive of what I could be subjected to. Having willies from his deliberate attempt to arrest me in his arms, I fail at either moving my body or showcasing my reluctance towards it.
“How do you manage to look so scrumptious, lovely one? What did you put on yourself? You smell like heaven,” asks Egon, undoing my bun. Upon nuzzling my hair, he puts himself to sleep.
With his arms pressing me against him, it is hard to fathom a way out of this coerced imprisonment, which keeps me steady in my place. The immobility spawns somnolence and I find myself retiring in my enemy’s arms.
~EGON’’S POV~
Waking up next to the bonny woman, I am tempted by her beauty to wake her up with a kiss on the cheek, something I didn’t know what I was capable of doing.
“Get off me,” urges Celie, locking her gaze with mine.
“If you keep looking at me like this, I am afraid I will never let you leave,” I share my pitiable heart’s condition.
“I have never had anyone say such things to me. I know what you are about. These affectionate words are sourced from your greed to exploit me, right?” asks Celie, unable to recognise the earnestness of my feelings for her.
Feelings? When did I get those? Worried that I might be losing my head, I decided to concede with her to hide the affection that she’s inspired within me, “You are right indeed. But, a man needs his tactics to achieve an objective, doesn’t he?”
“Why should I suffer the consequences of your animosity towards my husband?” asks Celie in a shaky voice, suggesting she’s on the brim of tearing up.
“Dear one, life is never fair. Even if I would’ve spared you, you still would’ve wound up dead the previous night. Since you’re alive because of my intervention, what harm is in it to sever my purpose for saving your life, especially when I am even being kind to you?” I say, trying to once again inspire loathing in her for her husband.
“I don’t owe you anything. You were there by chance. You neither had any knowledge of my husband’s wish to kill me nor any intent to save me from him. You brought me here solely for the purpose of exacting revenge,” alleges Celie.
“Though unintentionally, I still saved your life,” I object, demanding her to be more submissive to my wishes. “Thus, it is important that you’re subservient to what’s asked of you.”
“You’re an absurd man, Egon,” curses the woman with her seductive, small mouth.
By rubbing her lower lip, I make a rather threatening comment by raising my voice to get her to shut up, “If you won’t stop cavilling, I might do to familiarise you with ways through which I can put your mouth to different uses.”
As flagrant as the insult seemed, it doesn’t produce the desired result. Instead of cowering away and hiding from me like a mouse, she fills her eyes with tears and lets them roll down her cheeks, making me remorseful.
Lacking the necessary words required to apologise and an inflated ego, I decide to give her some time by herself. Deliberating about how can someone begin to weep over something as little as being yelled at, I find myself colliding with a wall.
“You don’t look that intoxicated,” comments Ruth, being her pesky self.
Lacking the strength to entertain the frivolous woman, I turn away from her and head straight to my bedroom. As determined as I am to pay her no regard, I shut the door in her face when she decides to evade my privacy.
“Do you have to be this unjust to your fiancée, Egon?” questions Ruth, resisting surrendering.
Defeated, I open the door to have her rush at me with open arms that arrest me tight enough to cause my ribs to hurt. To take a breather, I push her off me and question her reasons for approaching me so early in the morning.
She exercised just the right amount of curiosity that I’d expect from her by probing questions about the woman who has been the subject of discussion in the whole Leaden Valley, “Why is there an anonymous woman resting in your room, and that too with your shirt being the only thing covering her?”
“Why do you think I’d have to answer that? Now that you’re done ruining my morning, I want you to leave me alone,” I demand solitude.
Galled by my reluctance to talk about this new woman, she throws a fit about how we’re going to be married in two months, “Why are you doing this to me? While being betrothed to me, you are sleeping around with harlots. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”
“My father’s promise to your father doesn’t mean a thing after his death,” I declare, reminding her that she’s not being sound while suggesting something to be true that has nothing to substantiate it anymore.
Aggrieved, she stomps her feet before leaving the premises. While exerting a breath of relief, I head to take a shower. As the water runs through my body, the wounds on my back begin to sting, making me wince.
Seizing control over my pain, I inspect my wounds, or rather the work put on them. It wasn’t that bad for an amateur. Celie did treat my wounds by cleaning them effectively to avoid an infection.
‘Knowing truly well how it would end up harming her, she still chooses to aid her enemy. Isn’t she something?’ I wonder, getting rid of the soaking wet bandages.
As barmy as it might sound, I can’t wipe the smile from my face whenever I think of her. What’s this foreign feeling? Loving my enemy’s wife doesn’t sound like the niftiest thing to do.