The King's Prey (Unedited Edition)

Chapter 9 : Broken Souls

Lacuna • [la-coo-na]
A blank space, a missing part.

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The darkness has finally settled into the bedroom as the only light source comes from the lamps on the bedside tables. I spent an hour staring at the plate of food, considering if they had poisoned it or not. My eyes grow heavier until my grumbling stomach can't take the feeling of being empty anymore.

I had downed the glass of water the second Samuel left, my mouth being dry enough from not intaking liquids for two days. But the food—which I know is cold by now—mocks me from where it sits.

I cave in though, grabbing the plate and shoving the contents down my throat. It's nothing fancy, just vegetables and meat and bread. A part of me assumed the meat would come raw though as it seems like a normal diet for wolves. Maybe they'll try to force me into their culture, hoping I'll succumb to their vulgar lifestyle.

I gag several times trying to keep the food down, having lost my appetite after the Snow Ball. But I know I need to keep my strength up if I plan on trying to escape.

Another hour or two passes of me thoroughly searching the room, seeing if I can use something else as a weapon since I had shattered the vase—the only actual throwable object in here. Speaking of which, I found that its remains had been picked up; I'm guessing that happened before I experienced my nightmare earlier.

I've already checked the door and windows, all—unfortunately—being locked with no way for me to bust them open.

As I search the windows, I take a moment to stare outside into the dark abyss of timber. It looks as though it's a void of nothingness. I wonder for a moment if whatever building I'm in is the only one around for miles.

Finally deciding I reek of sweat and filth, I make my way to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. Turning on the bright ceiling lights, my eyes adjust to the space. Its porcelain color doesn't surprise me.

I run the water under the sink, washing my one good hand while determining if I should rewrap my bad one. It's been throbbing for the past several hours, still healing from when Samuel had crushed it.

I search the lower cabinets of the sink and find myself a small first aid with fresh bandages. Rising back up, my eyes catch my reflection and I nearly don't recognize the person I see.

My face looks tired—maybe even distraught and overwhelmed from what's happened. I look like a wilted flower, my body seeming weaker than it once was. It's only been two days, how is this possible?

I shake it off, walking over to the large tub and turning on the faucet. I check the water, making sure it's at an appropriate temperature before going back to rewrapping my hand while I wait for the bath to fill.

Once I manage to get all of the bandages off, I find myself looking down at a grotesquely swollen limb. It's puffed up from the impact of the crush, its color like a tomato. I ignore the pulsing sensation that begins as soon as it's out of its wraps. Quickly washing it off in the sink, I rewrap the wound as tears threaten to fall down my cheeks again from how painful it is.

As soon as I finish, I see that the bath has filled to an appropriate level. I turn off the faucet before striping from my nightgown and find myself a fresh towel that I place on the edge of the tub. I allow my naked body to relax under the warm water, releasing some of the tension from my muscles.

I don't waste time cleaning myself with the lavender soap that sits on the side of the tub, trying to scrub away all of the trauma the past several days have brought me. Even though it doesn't work, cleaning myself makes me feel some sense of normalcy again.