The youngest daughter is smiling, the razor-sharp blade of her sickle glinting in the light of the afternoon overcast.
She bears the same tattoo on her forehead as her sisters with her hood pulled down, her hair a glistening copper that falls in a pin-straight curtain over one shoulder. Her dress dips low in the front, the light giving shadow to her firm breasts and elegant curves. Her dress is the color of a star-flecked night, the skirt pooling at her feet, leaving behind a short train.
She's quite beautiful were it not for the wildness in her every breath.
I don't realize I've palmed my knife until I see the blade glint in the light of the chandeliers. Daniela's chittering laugh fills the room.
"Bold, mad little thing," the witch says, slowly circling me. "Not as docile as you pretend, eh?"
Oh, god.
"Erika, is it? You're called Erika, right?"
I rotate in a circle as I follow her, not once leaving my back to her. "Please," I whisper. Begging—maybe that would work. "Please—I'm just looking to work in peace."
Another bit of that tingling laughter. "What fun is being locked in the kitchen all day?"
I'm about to respond, but another mocking laughter fills the air, "Oh! So scary!"
Both Daniela and I turn to find Cassandra strutting through the threshold of the library. Her hands are empty, thank god, but how do I never hear any of them approach? They're as silent as snow leopards.
Now, I have two of the Dimitrescu daughters cornering me.
Maybe there's a chance Helga might walk through the door too, I just have to buy myself enough time. Keep them distracted so that maybe, just maybe the housekeeper might walk in and save me. I don't know what authority she has over Dimitrescu's daughters, but maybe she can make up some excuse that I'm needed somewhere else.
I watch as Cassandra approaches, Daniela pausing her circling – but together I feel like carrion between two vultures.
"To pull a knife on one of the Dimitrescu daughters . . ." The middle daughter purrs, as if already thinking of the many things she would do to me in that dungeon.
"It's a force of habit," I whisper. I take the risk and lower the knife, but still hold onto it with white knuckles. "You startled me. I'm not used to it."
"Why?" Daniela glances down at the knife.
"Just, situational awareness, I guess."
"I told you she'd be fun." Cassandra grins to Daniela, and it's almost as terrifying as Lady Dimitrescu's smiles. "It's not every day a woman comes in with blood on her hands. A woman who's killed before."
"I'm not a killer." I breathe.
"There really isn't much of a difference." Daniela says, appreciating her sickle's blade in the dim light.
"I'm not a killer." I repeat.
"What are you, then?" asks the youngest.
"Nobody – I'm nobody. I'm nothing."
Feeble and obedient.
They're trying to rattle me, rile me with questions and intimidation. Force me to do something so I'll attack – or something, anything they can use as a reason to drag me to the dungeons.
Cassandra clicks her tongue. "Everybody is something. Everybody has someone. We have each other, and our mother. But who has your back, Erika Pavel?"
Closer and closer they prowl.
"No one." I have Lacy, but despite the knowledge my little sister knows for her age, despite the awareness in her aquamarine eyes, she's still dependent on me. I suppose there's Elena, but I figured out long ago that if something were to happen, I'd be the one fighting for the both of us.
There never has been anyone to defend me other than my father. No one to watch my back. The thought has my stomach dropping, my arm lowering at the realization.
"Such a loner." Daniela giggles. "I love it! So, no one would miss you if something happened?"
I don't know if it's a trick of the light, or just my rushing heartbeat, but it almost seems like the youngest daughter floats and glides towards me. Her hand suddenly wraps around my waist, twirling me around like a music box ballerina. I catch my balance, planting my feet so I don't tumble into Cassandra.
"People would miss me, I've just always had to fight for myself." I slip the knife back in my pocket before they can notice. Despite my circumstance, I don't want them taking it from me.
Daniela twirls me again, and I thank my late-night dancing for keeping me stable as her giggle fills my head. "Tell you what, if you play with me, I'll let you live in the meantime." Her smile is nothing short of vulpine.
"She's not just your toy, Daniela." Cassandra says, stepping forward and tugging me behind her. Dare I say there is some jealousy and irritation in her tone. "Sometimes I want the first bite, you know?"
"Well what else am I supposed to do? You and Bela are terrible; you never have time to play with me!" The youngest drawls with an exaggerated whine.
"That's because you two are worthless." Bela snaps from the doorway, gold eyes cold. "I have to do everything myself."
Great Mother Miranda and all her children.
Cassandra rolls her eyes while Daniela pouts with a harrumph.
"And there is our lovely eldest sister." Cassandra says with sarcasm. "Not a normal day without hearing you complain."
Bela snarls as she approaches, every step lined with restrained power. "I was wondering where the hell you two were."
"The morning was rather dull, so I decided to pay little Erika a visit. Mother said she was an experienced hunter. I just wanted to talk to her."
Bela's eyes flash to me as I've managed to step away from the trio of sisters and am now cowering against the wall.
"Don't you have better things to do than to torment her?" Bela snarls as a mask of indifference.
She's pissed about something. About me? About her sisters? It has her on a razor-thin edge, enough so that her snarl stays on her lips, her teeth flashing.
"There are plenty of other servants in this castle, why bother with her? What makes her so special?"
"I was about to ask you the same thing, Bela." Cassandra says, flinging her name as if it were an insult. "You've had plenty of opportunities to kill her, and you didn't."
"Because Mother still needs to hire more people with all you've carelessly slaughtered."
All of their eyes flash to me, at what they're revealing, but I guess I'm deemed less than a threat, because they continue their conversation.
"Mother's no better." Daniela says, still pouting. Even adding a little thump of her foot.
"She's the head of the castle. You two just lack patience and reserve."
Cassandra flashes her teeth. "Humans are for eating and rutting and bleeding."
Bela stalks toward her sister. "You are of House Dimitrescu. You have duties and obligations, and yet this is how you spend your time?"
Cassandra holds her ground. "You said to keep an eye on her, and I did. I got to the bottom of things. You seemed more inclined to keep her alive than any of us, for who knows what reason."
"Please. I don't give a shit what Mother does with her human pets."
"She just so happened to come here when I —"
"You lured her here to kill her as a prize to win Mother's favor. And for your own selfish pleasures." Bela's eyes rake up and down her sister with distaste.
I wish I could just vanish through the wall. I don't dare say anything, don't dare to get between a squabble of the Dimitrescu daughters. But I am, surprised to see them bicker. It seems so . . . normal. So out of place in this castle. And I certainly didn't expect Cassandra and Bela to have such a rivalry.
There is . . . something that hardens their beauty, some kind of permanent sneer to their features that makes their allure seem contrived and cold.
"I'm bored." Daniela croons in my ear. I flinch and gasp as I jump back. I didn't even hear or see her move. "Let's ditch them."
Before I have time to answer, my feet are yanked out from under me, a skirt of my dress pulling taut. I yelp as my back thuds to the floor, my breath sawing in and out of me. I have enough sense to clamp the fabric to my knees so no air billows beneath it and bare my intimates to the world.
I catch a brief glimpse of Bela and Cassandra's heads snapping in my direction as Daniela drags me out of the opera hall and up a flight of wooden stairs with such a speed I'm left gaping in wonder and horror. It almost appeared as if she were gliding on air.
I can't do anything as I'm dragged across the wood like a sack of flour. I grunt as the steps bump into my back, arcing myself forward so none hit my head. Unable to bear the motion, I squeeze my eyes shut as I'm pulled left and right, her giggle trickling around me with such delicacy like a mountain stream.
My back burns as carpet slips under my back, and I grit my teeth as I hear several doors open. Then finally after two more steps, cold wood presses into my back, and sunlight seeps into my closed lids. Daniela's grip on my skirt releases, but I just lay there on my side, waiting for something to happen as I hear her steps circle me.
I allow myself only five seconds before I open my eyes, only to be blinded by a domed skylight, whorls of iron vines twining and wreathing their way towards the epicenter that protrudes into a sharp spire. The quiet pattering of rain hitting the glass echoes throughout the chamber.
I blink feverishly as I look around towards the shadows of the room, realizing I'm on a circular dais that might've been a reading area at some point. Around me are shelves and embroidered furniture scattered about the space in a tasteful manner – and books everywhere. Lined along the shelves, stacked on tables, by chairs and couches; some left scattered about and strewn along the floor like forgotten clothes.
A library?
She must've heard the words in my mind, or she must've read the expression on my face, because Daniela smiles as she continues to circle me. "Welcome to my little corner of heaven."
My eyes flick around the space before I croak, "You, like to read?" I push myself to my feet, dusting off my skirt and biting down the soreness of the bruises no doubt forming along my spine.
"It's a guilty pleasure. Cassandra has the dungeons, and I have this."
She almost sounds proud; dare I say happy for a little piece of the castle she can call her own. I do what I can to stretch and rub the bruising areas, hesitant to step off of the dais. Daniela, with her dark dress, practically disappears into the shadows. Like a shark in water.
"My sisters won't stop talking about you. And I want to see what's so special about you."
I tuck away that information despite the fear in my core.
They've been watching me.
They're curious about me. But why? Nothing I've done is that spectacular.
I think back to what Cassandra said in the kitchen; Lady Dimitrescu asking for my opinion in trade, and how her daughter wants to hunt with me. But that can't be it, can it?
I know a fair majority of women and daughters who know how to hunt with a bow and a rifle, and trade for themselves in the upper markets. It's not something so new around this aging village; in fact, people only looked at me because of my mother and the reputation she carved.
True, I'm not as ladylike as my middle-class status would want, but any bit of esteem I had was abandoned after my father's death. Gossiping and batting eyelashes weren't going to get me food and money . . . at least, not in the way I wanted. And after seeing the things my mother had done, the people she brought into our home . . .
"I'm not special." I admit to the youngest daughter.
"Liar. Something has my sisters interested in you." She says with another giggle.
"I – I don't know why."
I feel her hand on my waist, and suddenly I'm twirled to face another section of the library. I can barely see Daniela in the shadows of the room, can barely hear her footsteps beyond the buzzing of insects. I tilt my head up towards the dome, expecting to see a variety of them mingling about the glass, but I don't see anything. Even with the sun casting on my eyes, I should be able to see their little black shapes. But, nothing.
Daniela emerges before me, the shadows seeming to withdraw from her like a pilgrimage of phantom hands. It is then I notice a lace veil that flows behind her. Her smile makes my stomach clench and I take careful steps back as she advances. Her hands are empty, but I didn't see where she placed the sickle.
In a blink, Daniela's face is an inch from mine, her hand about my waist again and her other holding my arm aloft, as though she is about to guide me through a waltz. I freeze at the sudden closeness, taken aback by how unnaturally fast she is.
Too fast for a human –
I gasp when I feel her nose gently trail up the nape of my neck to the vulnerable skin just beneath my ear. I ignore the heat beginning to stir in my core and try to not to move out of fear she'll break my wrist, or whatever it is this family does for entertainment.
My skin crawls as I hear her take a deep inhale. I want to pull away, but even with the light grip she has on my wrists, I can't move. My body almost . . . doesn't want to move.
"I can smell your sweet blood." She purrs.
Wrong. This is wrong.
Her arm around my waist tugs me closer until I feel her breasts touch mine, her giggle softer now, the melodic tone of a teasing lover.
"Oh, you're blushing."
As I feel her hot breath on my neck, no doubt preparing for a lick, devastating bite, there's a knock at the library door.
Daniela angrily growls and looks over her shoulder. "What?!" she shrieks.
The door opens and in steps a maid whom I've never seen before. She has a rounded figure, her hair covered by a ruffled bonnet. She's carrying a tray of what looks like dinner. A steaming bowl of soup, a plate of bread with olive oil and pepper, and a glass of water.
"D-Dinner, Miss Daniela."
The maid's green hazel eyes flick to me, and mortification has my skin flushing red and hot. The maid's eyes widen, her mouth gaping as a blush slowly stains her pale cheeks.
"Do I look like I care about dinner right now?!" she screams as she releases me. Her lips pull back into a grimace as she approaches the girl.
The girl recoils, cowering into her shoulders as she takes timid steps back. "I, I–I apologize, M-Miss Daniela. I was just told to bring it you. They told me you would most likely be here."
The youngest daughter's shoulders slack, her head rolling, probably matching her eyes as she sighs, "Fine. Just leave it on the table, and get out. And tell those wretched worms that I don't want to be disturbed for another couple of hours."
The last part she directs over her shoulder towards me. The maid's eyes flick to me, wide enough to show whites all around it. I don't show an ounce of fear, only a plea for her to get out. I doubt she would've helped me if she could, but I don't think I could handle watching Daniela slice this young woman from nose to navel.
I give an inconspicuous jerk of my chin towards the doors, urging her to leave. She blinks at me. And it's enough for Daniela to notice.
"What are you staring at?" She slowly hisses.
The maid snaps her head towards her, clapping her mouth shut. "N-Nothing, My Lady."
"It's none of your business!"
Even I cringe at the volume her voice reaches. The maid cowers further, shrinking into her shoulders, as she turns and looks for a place to set down the tray of food.
But the mixture of light and shadow and fear makes her trip over a stack of books.
The tray goes flying as the maid squeaks.
CRASH!
Dishes and glass shatter, the books tumble, and I cover my ears against the sound; my eyes growing wide and watering as I watch her fall to the floor.
Daniela screams.
I jerk my head to find some of the soup as spilled onto the skirt of her dress.
The world seems to slow for me and the maid.
Daniela's face morphs into a vicious predator's snarl. The growl she emits is so deep and guttural, a primal sort of fear takes hold of me.
"You. Clumsy. Little. Bitch!"
A knife I didn't know she had appears in her hand, and she raises her arm high, ready to slash across the young woman's face. The poor thing is whimpering, loud, pleading sobs as she scurries back like a frightened dog. She cries to Daniela for mercy.
"No!" I scream, my feet finally uprooting as I take three strides over to her and grab the daughter's wrist.
I wrench the knife out of her grip by twisting her wrist, yanking her towards me before driving my foot into her side.
The youngest daughter yowls as she stumbles back, but remains on her feet. I take the few seconds to look at the young maid and order her to run. I turn my attention back to Daniela, thinking of ways I can keep her attention on me, so she won't even notice the maid leave.
Those golden eye snap to me like magnets, her lips peeling back into a snarl. I toss the knife – actually, it's more like a dagger – aside, diverting her attention from the door.
Thankfully I hear the sounds of the maid getting to her feet and leaving as quick as they dare carry her. Her terrified whimpering still makes my skin crawl.
Daniela's breath saws in and out of her, her voice a constant vibration in my ears. A mixture of a growl or a scream. "How dare you lay a hand on me." she says with ragged breath.
Her anger is such a palpable thing. So primal in nature and borne of hatred and cruelty, wild and volatile. But I don't dare back down.
She blinks once. Twice. Three times before her head delicately angles to the side; much like Lady Dimitrescu when I first met her, though not as frightening. But I watch as her pupils shrink, the gold near enveloping them as her shoulders drop. Like a wave ebbing from shore, her anger subsides.
"Consider it a gift, since your mother didn't teach you shit about people."
"Don't you use that tone with her." Daniela says with deadly quiet.
It'd be a lie if I said I wasn't unnerved. Such a change in emotions, demeanor. It's unsettling.
"I'll use whatever fucking tone I want. And you can taunt and snarl at me, but short of ripping out my tongue, you can't —"
Faster than lightning, her hand shoots out and I gag, jolting as she grabs my tongue between her fingers. I bite down, hard, but she doesn't let go. "Say that again," she purrs.
I choke as she keeps pinching my tongue, and I go for my knife, simultaneously slamming my knee up between her legs, but she shoves her body against mine, a wall of hard muscle and a seemingly inherited lethal instinct trapping me against a column. I am a joke by comparison—a joke—and my tongue—
She releases my tongue and I gasp for breath. She giggles.
I swear at her – a filthy, foul name, and spit at her feet. And that's when she bites me.
I cry out as those canines pierce the spot between my neck and shoulder, a primal act of aggression—the bite so strong and claiming that I'm too stunned to move. She has me pinned against the column and clamps down harder, her canines digging deep, my blood spilling onto my dress. Pinned, like some weakling. But that is what I've become, isn't it? Useless, pathetic.
Feeble and obedient.
I growl, more animal than sentient being. And shove.
Daniela staggers back a step, teeth ripping my skin as I strike her chest. I don't feel the pain, don't care about the blood or the flash of light.
No, I want to rip her throat out — rip it out with my own teeth that I bare at her as I fist my hands and roar, "Go to hell!"
"Oh, I'm going to enjoy playing with you." she breathes. I have a feeling she could have switched out playing with you for eating you alive.
Blood — my blood — is on her teeth, on her mouth and chin. And those dead eyes glow as she licks my blood off her lips.
There's a brief falter in my own rage as I watch Daniela's eyes expand like a cat's, the black pupil near enveloping the gold of her eyes.
"You . . . taste . . . divine."
And then she attacks.
While I'm nowhere near the best fighter in the village, I'm certain living in a castle with a privileged life didn't teach the daughters much about combat. Even as she pounces there's no real form, no strategy. So I dodge the first blow, sidestepping her clawed hands, strands of my braid snapping.
But Daniela is so damn fast I can barely register her movements—so fast that I have no chance of dodging or blocking or anticipating the second blow. Not to my face but to my shoulders.
One shove of her gloved hands from behind and I am falling, twisting to catch myself, but not fast enough to avoid thudding my brow against a polished-smooth wood. I roll, the gray sky looming through the iron-vined dome, and try to remember how to breathe as the impact echoes through my skull.
Daniela pounces with fluid ease, her thighs digging into my ribs as she straddles me.
Breathless, head reeling, and muscles drained from the kitchen and weeks of hardly eating, I can't twist and toss her — can't do anything.
"Well done, you're beautiful."
God, my head throbs, a warm trickle of blood is leaking from the right side of my brow, and she is now sitting on my chest. Her face speckled with the stars floating in her vision. Every blink shoots daggers of pain through me. It will probably be the worst black eye of my life.
Every movement of my head sends a stab of pain up my neck, a thin trickle of cold air bringing attention to my open skin, the ragged edges flittering like ribbons.
"I doubt it Mother knows how good you taste. Let's keep this between you and me."
I gag on the coppery tang as she nears my face. Her gloved hand grips my chin, and when I grip her wrist, she digs her fingers into my cheeks, pushing on the teeth within.
I clench them in an attempt to ease the pain.
But the focus leaves me vulnerable as she turns my head, and kisses me.
My mind is so scrambled, my emotions roiling, that all I can do is stiffen. My eyes squeezed shut as she approached, thinking she was going to bite my nose off.
Immediately my body lights up at the action. A wave of lightning-fissured numbness travels along my body, my core pulsing as her tongue breaks past my lips.
The feeling of her tongue touching mine jolts my body with an emotion I can't place. My whole body comes alive, yet melts at the same time. Her moan tingling across my skin, creating goosebumps that pebble my nipples.
However the taste of my own blood on my tongue dashes the brief reprieve and pleasure like a cold ocean wave.
I rip my mouth from hers, turning my head to the side, but her hungry giggle is followed by a lick of her tongue across my cheek. This behavior is, familiar to me; like a form of feeding frenzy. Drunk off my blood and desperate for more, I don't even think she'd listen to Lady Dimitrescu.
As she's about to lean down and devour the rest of my neck – and I'm pretty sure kill me at this point – there is a roar that half deafen me, and Daniela screams as the doors to the library burst open and an elegantly curved, growling shape appears in the doorway.
Bela Dimitrescu bellows through a mouth full of white teeth, "DANIELA!"
Had I been alone in the woods, I might have let myself be swallowed by fear, might have fallen to my knees and wept for a clean, quick death. But I didn't have room for terror, despite my heart's wild pounding in my ears.
No, I only feel relief. Dare I say an odd sound of happiness and gratitude converged itself into a whimpering hiccup that lodges in my throat.
Daniela immediately removes herself from me, but still smirks – aware of my blood on her lips, dripping down her chin. I shove my apron to my neck and roll over away from her and towards Bela. I don't see Cassandra anywhere. I can only hope and assume that she left to go torment someone else. I doubt the Dimitrescu sisters could or would kill each other.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Bela asks with a deadly quiet as she prowls closer. She doesn't even acknowledge the spilled food and broken pieces of ceramic and glass.
Coyly, Daniela pouts, "I can't help it, Bela. I just want to eat the cute ones right up!"
After a moment of silence, and me contemplating just bolting into a run, Bela gives an aggravated sigh.
"You're not even worth it." Bela's snaps her fingers in my direction. "I'm escorting you back to your room. My sister has a dungeon full of gore to clean out."
Daniela pokes her tongue out at her sister. Bela almost looks like she'll strike her—almost goes for her throat. But I am watching, listening. So Bela grabs me by the arm and yanks me towards the door.
"I'll have Mother deal with you." Bela growls towards Daniela.
I dare a glance over my shoulder and find the youngest daughter waving goodbye to me, my blood crusting on her lips and chin.
"Bye-bye." Her lover's purr follows after me like a wending black snake.
I keep my mouth shut as Bela leads me down the stairs. I don't ask if she'll actually bring me all the way down into the castle bowels.
But I do wonder if she will kill me once we get close enough.
Wonder if I'll beg and grovel for mercy when the time comes.
But after a while, the eldest daughter says, "This is why I told you to keep low and keep quiet. My sisters are much more impulsive than me. Benefits of being the eldest."
I hide the shaking in my hands and nod.
The witch gives me a sidelong glance, her golden eyes shimmering in the light. "What did they want from you, anyway?"
I am about to answer, but the sudden stinging in my neck has me hissing. And, everywhere we go, there are servants milling about, doing their jobs. But their eyes snap to attention as our footsteps approach. Each and every one of them bows to Bela, and their eyes look to me and widen before looking between both of us in question, confusion, and dare I say even wonder.
We make it to the courtyard before I can answer. "I don't know. Cassandra said Lady Dimitrescu was interested in making me the castle hunter."
Bela looks over her shoulder, lifting a thin, groomed brow.
"Of animals." I clarify. "Though I'm not holding my breath for that one. It doesn't even sound real."
"It can be real if Mother decrees it."
"With your help?"
Her pause makes me bite my lip. I shouldn't even be bothering to ask for anything from her. Especially because she's part of the family who has killed many before me, and doesn't give a shit, as she so declared.
And yet . . .
I look down the wrist she hasn't let go of since we left the library.
We push our way through into the dining room, and Bela shuts the door with a backwards kick. She yanks out a chair poised at the dining table. "Sit."
Too small—the room is too small for two people, especially when one of them is powerful in privilege and dominates the space just by breathing. I slump onto the chair, if only to put more air between her and Bela. My hand starts to feel wet from the blood soaking through my apron.
The eldest daughter stares at me for a long moment, and then says, "I can get someone to look at the bite on your neck, to put your mind at ease."
I stiffly nod. I do my best to refold the apron to a portion that's not soaked in blood, and press it against my neck again.
"You're in a shitty situation now." Bela says.
I let out a low, joyless laugh as I look to her. "That's funny, considering where I am."
Those golden eyes reveal nothing. "Now that they know they can play with you, they'll be relentless. Especially if they know where to find you."
I lower my eyes to the ground.
Another moment of quiet. Bela steps closer and touches her fingers to my wrist. Without much restraint or resistance, I lower my hand from my neck.
Bela angles her head in observation. "It's not bad."
"Feels worse."
"You'll survive."
"Unfortunately."
There are only the birds chirping, the occasional cicada, and the light aroma of the summer's sun. Whatever rain we had must've moved on, for now.
Then Bela asks, "Would you take it?"
"What?"
"The position of being a hunter? For the castle?"
"I thought that didn't exist. And the more I think about it, something seems wrong." At Bela's silence, I add. "You expect me to believe that you'll willingly allow me to enter some woods with weapons and freedom as a sign of trust and good faith?"
A casual shrug of her shoulders. "I don't make the rules."
"I find that hard to believe."
"My Mothers runs the castle. I just live in it."
I click my tongue. "Whatever."
I lean back into the chair, resting my elbow on the edge of the table as I continue to press my hand into my wound. I see Bela shift out of the corner of my eye, folding her arms and pursing her lips. "Do you want someone to help you, or not?" she says with grit teeth.
I don't know if she's talking about my wound, or in general. But it doesn't matter. I look her dead in her eyes. "I don't want anything from you. And I owe you nothing."
"I didn't say you did, but I could have. Daniela is . . . rambunctious."
"I don't care."
"Well you should. Because now she'll be begging for you, and I doubt you'll last a week with her."
I give a cold, joyless laugh. "I've been through worse. I'm still here."
"It's different when you're alone with her. As I'm sure you've noticed."
I sneer and give her a vulgar gesture.
"You never answered my question." She then states.
I fold my bottom lip, running my tongue along the front of my teeth. "Yeah." I finally say. "Yeah, I would take it. Even if it's a pampered freedom, it's better than being a sitting duck in the kitchen."
"There is something else you could do." Bela begins to suggest.
"I don't care to know what it is."
"Even if it can save your life?"
I look to her and narrow my brows. "Let me make one thing clear: I don't trust a lot of people. I don't trust the servants, and I certainly don't trust you, or your fucked up family." I pin her with a stare. "So don't even think for a minute that I'm going to trust anything you say, when you and your little family have been killing innocent men and women left and right for you own amusement. So leave me alone. Keep your god damned lives to yourselves and leave me alone."
Bela's face reveals nothing.
She just stands there stoic and bored. "They'll kill you if you don't listen."
"I don't care."
"Then you're just as pathetic as any other cowering wench that walks these halls."
"I don't care what you think of me."
She only gives a single blink. "I thought you had something worth fighting for."
But I let out another dead laugh and walk out the dining room doors.
The wound has coagulated by the time I descend the stairs deep into the castle. I barely make it to my room before I collapse on the bed, pull the scrap of blanket over me, and sleep.
And sleep. And sleep. I don't feel like talking with anyone. And no one comes for me, anyway.