A Dove's Tale

Chapter 27

The image staring back at me from Prince Chevalier's bathroom mirror was not pretty, and not just because the shattered glass reflected it back to me many times over, painted with blood. I straightened my hair and my dress, but my eyes were red and puffy, and only time would resolve that. Then there was the pure rage written all over my face - hard green eyes, deeply furrowed brow, tightly clenched jaw. Time wouldn't touch that. Neither would the deep breathing I usually relied upon to calm me.

How dare he do that?

I shoved the door open. He was still standing in the spot where I left him, frozen in place, but I brushed past him without so much as a glance and left for the kitchens. I took a detour to avoid as many people as possible, doing my best to keep my head down so nobody would see that I'd been crying. His breakfast wasn't ready yet. I snatched a tray at random and headed back to his room. If it wasn't what he wanted, oh well. I didn't hesitate at the door, just let myself in and set the breakfast tray on his desk. He stood at the window with his back to me, fully dressed now. I ignored him and started making the bed.

"You are a fool to return," he finally said coldly.

"You're making assumptions without all the information, Prince Chevalier," I said, matching his icy tone. "I have weighed my options, and unfortunately, this is the best one for me at the moment."

"Come here."

I froze in place at his sharp command, bent over the bed, but I lifted my head and met his cold blue eyes defiantly.

"You'd better not touch me," I warned.

"I won't."

I approached cautiously, and he nodded toward the window. My breath caught in my throat as my eyes landed on an unmistakable pool of blood covering a large section of pathway down below in the gardens.

"Do you understand now?" he asked quietly.

"You could have just told me," I said bitterly, turning from the window.

"What were your other options?"

I bit my lip. It didn't matter. He didn't need to know. It was none of his business. But he probably wouldn't let me leave if I didn't tell him, and if he tried to touch me again, I was going to hit him.

"Stay here and risk death by proxy; leave here, pick up multiple jobs to maintain Mother's care, and not be able to spend any time with her; or leave here, find another brothel, earn potentially more money, but not be able to look Mother in the eye anymore. There is really only one choice."

"Even if I make you clean the blood up?"

My stomach did a backflip again at the thought of it.

"I'll already be cleaning plenty of blood up," I reminded him flatly. His laundry, his bathroom, the gardens...

"I'm sorry."

I whirled to face him, glaring up into those icy blue eyes. They betrayed no emotion at all, but his words echoed in the air.

"You should be," I said firmly. "You knew exactly how much that would scare me, and you did it anyway. That was cruel and malicious. Why couldn't you just tell me? You didn't have to do that. You have no idea what it's like to be so completely helpless and vulnerable, knowing that there's nothing you can do to stop somebody else from hurting you. And when it's someone you trusted - and I couldn't even fight you. Even while you were doing it, I couldn't believe it was happening. Do you know how much that hurts? That you would treat me like that - like a common whore - when I thought you cared about me? And I don't want to hear you throwing the Brutal Beast at me again. You're just using that to justify mistreating people. If people don't matter - if emotions don't matter - then why do you even bother with me at all?"