A Dragons Favorite Piece (Book 2)

7 Can't Get My Thoughts Together

One Week Later

My eyes burn looking at the history books. It's a nauseous study session, the imagery of war much more visual than anything human history had. My teacher is still laying with her daughter recovering from the snake bite, and I've avoided the seamstress as much as possible. Her pins draw blood, and I don't have much more I can lose without screaming. Nash tries to be supportive as much as possible. Her positivity about the king has become a dull smile. She knows that I'm not interested and stopped pushing. Thankfully.

Now I sit at a desk in my assigned bedroom reading through the lore of the dragons. It was interesting until page fifty. My eyes started crossing, my body slumping down. I've been successful in avoiding Leo as well. I eat my meals alone, travel through the castle alone, and practically spend every minute within these walls alone in my thoughts. It's a great experience. I've been able to reflect on life. At least as much as I'll allow myself too, "My queen, your lunch has arrived." Nash mumbles into the dark room while rolling in a tray of steaming hot veggies with chicken. Smells wonderful, but I know another argument is about to go down. She just won't let up.

"Thank you, you can leave it."

"The king ordered me to stand here until you eat and swallow half your meal," Nash clears her throat as if this makes her uncomfortable, but I know she supports this more than she would ever let on, "And I'm to stand with you until enough time has passed for you to digest."

"Does that arse believe I have an eating disorder?" It's not a disorder. It's a control over my intake to maintain my figure. I am not disordered. I have a strict diet that allows me to maintain my beauty. It's a way of life that I need to maintain. 'You're sick. Deathly. Will never be worthy.' The little voice screams in my head. She's right. My mother laid into me when I'd tried the piece of steak with Dante. That caloric thing was horrid for me. I should pride myself on my thinness, my appeal. Just starve to death. It's a way out. A. Way. Out.

"I would never make such an accusation, and neither would the king." Nash raises her hand to scratch the side of her head. She's attempting to find the right words, "But we're worried about you. My queen your skin on bones and were before the king found you. As your handmaiden I'm concerned that you're attempting to kill yourself."

Nail on head. I shuffle in my seat. My fingers trace over the edge of the book, then lightly close it slow enough that no sound leaves the pages, "I appreciate the concern, Nash, but what I eat is my decision. I like how I am, and I've been this way a while. No need to change it. And suicide should be the least of your concerns." Lies. All lies.

"The kings order... ma'am." She shoves the food cart towards me. The chicken is beautifully grilled with a shinning glaze. It's attractive, my stomach rolling in excitement. As I've avoided real meals for so long, my own teeth reflecting porcelain, that eating something new terrifies me, but that other voice... the one I'd listened to often before coming here... she's intrigued. Puking isn't a favorite, but I'll do it when necessary. And with my mother's teachings, my own becoming a horrific mirror, I don't need it. Oh, my brain just pick a side. Please. It's tearing me apart.

It sickens me that I can't decide whether to put the bullet through my skull or become a better person. I'm a walking contradiction that chooses a horrid middleman for pain, and sadistically sometimes loves it because it gives me control over some tiny aspect of my life. I need to get it together. At least to make a designated plan. I'll fold if I keep up like this.

"I can pretty stubborn Nash." I remind nicely. It's not a threat, but it could be perceived as one.

"And that's your answer then? Starving another night?" She retorts with what appears an angry gaze. I give a single nod. She doesn't give me another minute of her time. Both her and the cart leave the room, her heavy sigh dropping her shoulders right as she passes through the doorway. I think I'm safe.