Trigger Warning:
Violence and physical abuse.
I had only meant to step between them, to take the blow. Or, maybe, I had hoped that stepping between them would be enough to make Peter pause, to distract him long enough to see that what he was doing was too terrible.
But I didn't just step between them. Instead, I shoved him as hard as I could, screaming at him to stop.
His eyes widened as he stumbled backwards, and the surprise was enough to make him let go of the girl's arm. He tried to regain his balance as he stumbled back, but he was unsuccessful, landing on his backside.
Without taking my eyes off Peter, I reached behind me to feel for the young girl, but she was gone, already running to her sisters and sobbing uncontrollably. I chanced a glance at them, only to see Sasha picking up her sobbing sister in one arm and grabbing the hand of the other and running towards the door. Benj made no move to stop them, and she didn't look back.
Peter swore at me, calling me a nasty name as he jumped back to his feet. He bared his teeth as he brought his hand up. I flinched and tried to put my hands up, but it was no use. The force knocked me sideways, and I fell to the floor, my cheek on fire as dots of color danced across my vision. Instinctively, I brought my hand to where he had struck me, only to feel something warm and sticky. I pulled my hand away to see my fingertips were covered in blood.
Peter's fingers snaked around my wrists and yanked me to my feet. I yelped in surprise, and my knees buckled, but Peter didn't let me sink back to the floor. Instead, he yanked me up again and pushed me onto the bed. I scrambled into a seated position and tried to scoot away, but he was already pinning me down, his knees on my arms as he wrapped his fingers around my neck.
I tried to scream, but then he began to squeeze and I was rendered silent.
"What is wrong with you," he seethed as I struggled. I kicked my legs, but he didn't budge. "How dare you defy me so openly! How dare you—"
My ears were ringing. He was starting to sound farther and farther away. The dots of color were beginning to grow, and the edges of my vision were starting to turn black.
Strong arms snaked around Peter and yanked him off of me, and air rushed back into my burning lungs. My arms were free, and I immediately brought my hands to my throat as I sputtered and coughed. Rolling onto my side, I curled in on myself and listened to the scuffle that was taking place at the foot of my bed.
"Get off of me," Peter shouted, his voice booming and filling every corner of the room. There was a bit more shuffling, and then quiet.
"We need to be careful," I heard Benj say, his voice hard. "We don't want them to see their princess this way. It could cause problems."
There was the sound of footsteps moving away from the bed, and then the slam of my bedroom door. The force in which it was closed actually cracked the wood, and it caused me to curl even farther into myself.
Benj sighed, and I opened my eyes to look at him. He came and sat on the edge of my bed and then reached for me. I flinched, and he faltered a moment, looking pained before he decided to keep going. He put one hand on my shoulder and gently pushed me onto my back. "Let me see," he said, gently moving my hands away from my throat.
I lowered my hands, wringing my hands on my chest as his calloused fingertips gently touched the places where Peter had wrapped his fingers around my neck. Even though he was being careful, it still hurt. I let out a noise, which only irritated my throat more and brought tears to my eyes.
"Relax," Benj said in a whisper, and I tried my best, but the burning pain was persistent. The need to cry made my throat close, which only caused more pain. "Breathe," he said, and began to breathe deeply through his nose and out through his mouth.
It took a few tries, but I managed to match his breathing, and while the pain in my throat didn't subside, it became somewhat bearable.
Benj gave me a small smile and a nod. "Good. Good."
He returned to studying my neck, his fingers pressing lightly from time to time as though he was looking for something. After a moment, he pulled his hands away.
"You're already bruising," he told me, and I instinctively reached up to touch my throat, "but there doesn't seem to be any major damage to your windpipe. You're going to be sore for a few days. It'll probably hurt to talk, and it's going to be a bitch to eat and drink."
I nodded, not wanting to test his theory about talking.
Benj stood, and held his hands out to me. I took them, and he helped me stand. Once he was sure I was steady enough to stand on my own, he reached up with both hands and began to remove the pins from my hair.
As I helped him remove the dozens of pins that held my hair in place, he said, "You'll need to find a way back into his good graces." Our eyes met for a moment, but I didn't say anything.
We continued our work until all the pins were out of my hair and my hair fell down around my shoulders. I ran my brush through it a few times until it was exactly how Peter liked it. I adjusted my dress and smoothed out a few wrinkles.
"Beautiful," Benj said with a shy smile after he had dabbed at the cut on my cheek. I felt myself flush. He had never said anything like that to me before. It felt strange. "Ready?"
I nodded and, together, we made our way down to the dining hall for dinner.
I tried to walk tall as we made our way through the corridors, but every time a servant or a guard's eyes found me, I found myself averting my gaze. Their whispers weren't lost on me, and I could hear them talking about the cut on my cheek and the bruises around my neck. I heard them whisper about the cruelty of Pan and how surprised they were that even I wasn't safe from his cruelty.
Oh, if they only knew.
###
A loud cacophony vibrated through the halls the closer that we got to the dining hall, promising chaos and discomfort and the slightest possibility of danger. This is how it had always been with the Lost Boys, but there was something about it being contained to just one room — instead of an entire camp and island — that made me nervous.
The two castle guards that stood outside the dining hall hardly looked at Benj and I as they opened the heavy doors, letting the shrills and screams and clanking and breaking of dishes spill out into the hall. Benj entered first, but he did whisper a reminder to get back into Peter's good graces.
"How?" I rasped, wincing at the vibration of my vocal cords, but he was already walking away from me.
All eyes turned to Benj as he entered and then me as I followed several paces behind. The noise faltered, but only slightly. The younger boys had no interest in what was going on around them. They were too busy stuffing their faces from the mountains of food that were stacked on the long table. Some of the older boys glanced at me over their goblets of wine and ale, but if I met their eyes, they looked away.
They knew better. Peter would gouge their eyes out if he caught them looking for too long.
A few more palace guards stood stationed around the hall, their backs straight and their gazes forward.
I could feel Peter's gaze on me the moment I stepped into the hall, and it bore into me with every step that I took towards my seat. His green eyes sparkled from the many candles that were lit along the walls and shadows danced across his face as he swirled a goblet of wine lazily in one hand. The fingers of his other hand traced his bottom lip as he looked at me, and I felt a shiver travel up my spine.
As Benj approached his spot to Peter's left, Peter's eyes finally left me. He rose and they greeted each other by clasping each other's forearms.
Then, Peter turned away, Benj took his seat, and I was again caught under Peter's stony gaze.
Get back in his good graces, Benj's voice echoed in my head.
I curtsied and bowed my head. "Your Majesty," I rasped as I met his gaze.
"Princess," Peter acknowledged me with a slight nod of his head. He turned back to his seat.
Good graces…
"Your Majesty."
He paused and turned back to me. I didn't give him a chance to respond as I went on. "I owe you an apology."
He arched a brow, amused. "Oh?"
"Yes." I dropped my voice, even though I was sure no one was listening. They had already returned to their goblets and plates full of food. My presence was old news. "My actions earlier were unacceptable." I ducked my head and played with the ends of my hair. "I'm so embarrassed."
Several heartbeats passed, but I didn't dare peek up. I was too worried he would be able to read the lie on my face.
He lifted my chin so I had to meet his eyes. "I will never understand your fondness for the young ones," his own voice was quiet. "And while I agree that your actions were unacceptable…" He leaned in close, and his lips brushed mine. His hand traced down my jaw and down the side of my neck, his thumb lightly tracing the bruises he had left. "I think I made myself clear moving forward what will happen if you ever do something foolish like that again."
My chest tightened as he kissed me softly, but I forced myself to pull on the front of his jacket to deepen the kiss when he attempted to pull away. Peter moaned in response, the sound vibrating in his chest as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me flush against him.
The Lost Boys whistled and made disgusting remarks, and I tried my hardest to tune them out.
When I pulled away and ducked my head as if I were embarrassed, I caught Benj's eye. He gave me a single nod, hardly noticeable as Peter pulled out my chair for me.
It seemed I was back in Peter's good graces.
For now.
###
They ate.
They drank.
They ate some more.
And they drank. A lot.
Peter and the Lost Boys could have gone on for hours — all night, probably, if they really wanted to.
While the younger boys complained about stomach aches from too much dessert and the older boys slurred their words and began shouting over one another about who was the best at one thing or another, I sat quietly and lifted my goblet to my lips, trying to enjoy the sweet wine that had been brought up from the cellar, but it was difficult to do so when I was sitting in Peter's lap.
I shifted, trying to get comfortable, and felt Peter's arm tighten around my waist.
"What's wrong, Sweetheart?" He asked, the wine sour on his breath.
"Nothing," I answered, running a hand through his copper curls.
One corner of his mouth pulled up in a smirk. "Don't tell me that you're tired already? The evening is still so young."
I gave him a shy smile and shook my head, and he chuckled before putting down his wine goblet, leaning in, and kissing me deeply. His hands cupped either side of my face, and his thumbs traced along my cheekbones.
My breath caught in my chest, and I felt myself leaning closer to Peter.
I blamed the wine, and the liquid warmth it gave me. It was like a blanket in winter, helping me to forget the cold monster at his core. My hands ran up over his chest and into the space where his tunic had come undone, his muscular chest smooth against my fingertips.
Peter let out a low groan, his mouth finding a spot just below my ear that sent a jolt down my spine. My stomach flipped when I felt his hand lift my dress and the warmth of his hand on my knee, scowling sliding upwards.
"Peter, wait," I said, my hand coming down on top of his. There was a heat in my cheeks that had nothing to do with the abundance of wine.
I knew what was coming. I had accepted it the moment I decided to return to Mystasia, but I wasn't ready for it to happen here. Not like this. Not in front of everyone.
He laughed softly, the sound like chocolate as it filled my ears. "Don't worry, Sweetheart. You know I don't like to share." Reaching for his goblet, he gave it a few swirls, threw his head back, and drank what was left. Then, he stood, bringing me up with him.
I swayed as the room tilted dangerously to one side. My stomach flipped again, and, for a moment, I worried I would be sick, but Peter wasted no time lacing his fingers through mine and pulling me from the table.
As he pulled me into the quiet corridor outside the dining hall, I focused on breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. The world was still off kilter, but with each breath, it seemed to straighten a little and the nausea began to subside.
We made our way through the castle corridors, only passing an occasional servant or guard. Their faces were always cast in shadow, the flames from the torches mounted in the stone casting long, dark shadows.
At one point, we turned a corner, and Peter stumbled slightly, causing me to lose my footing. I tumbled into him, and he stumbled more, catching himself along the wall.
He pulled me into him, turned, and pressed me into the wall. The cold stone on my back and shoulders contrasted with the heat of his body at my front, and I shivered.
"I have waited so long for this night," Peter said, his voice low and slurred as he stared down at me. "You have no idea how badly…"
There was something about his eyes that made him seem… far away. The more he spoke, the more slurred his speech became. He was leaning further into me, and the stone was beginning to dig into my shoulder blades.
He had been fine all evening. Drunk, yes, but fine. And now…
I winced as he pressed into me, and I tried to push on his chest, but he didn't budge. He blinked a few times, but it was obvious that his lids were heavy. Our eyes met again, and I could see his eyes looked glassy, like he wasn't there at all.
"Peter?" I asked, but his eyes were already closing, his body was already going limp.
And then he fell to the floor with a thud.
I stood there a moment, trying to figure out what had just happened, when I heard a voice down the corridor.
"Don't worry. He's not dead. Just sleeping."