Living Like a Mouse? How About a Lion?

The (Not So) Heroic Rescue

After Reynold left, I sat there stewing in my own irritation, glaring at the cold, moldy mess that was supposed to be my breakfast. My stomach growled, reminding me that even though the food was practically inedible, I was still hungry. But I wasn't desperate enough to finish that disgusting excuse for a meal.

No, I'd rather starve.

I didn't have long to enjoy the peace and quiet, though, because it wasn't too long before the maids returned. This time, they didn't bring a tray. They brought trouble.

The moment they walked in, I knew something was up. The sneers on their faces were worse than usual, and they weren't bothering to hide their malicious intent. My senses went on high alert, and I straightened up, fully prepared for a fight.

Oh, great. Just what I needed today. A morning brawl.

"What's the matter, Lady Penelope?" one of them taunted, holding something behind her back. "Feeling weak today? Let's see how much fight you have left."

It didn't take me long to realize what she was holding—a needle. And suddenly, I understood. They weren't just here to annoy me or throw more dirty water at me. They were here to hurt me. My heart raced as I stood up from my spot on the floor.

Me: "Touch me with that thing, and I'll make sure it's the last thing you ever do."

They laughed at that, clearly not taking me seriously. And maybe they had a point. After all, I was just one person—an underfed, exhausted person—and they were three, well-fed and cruel. But still, I wasn't going down without a fight.

The first one lunged at me, the needle in her hand gleaming in the dull light. I sidestepped her, grabbing her wrist and twisting it hard enough to make her drop the needle. She yelped in pain, but the other two were already on me before I could do anything more.

Me: "Oh, so it's going to be like that, huh?"

I fought back as best I could, but three against one was never going to be a fair fight. They were stronger, and I was already weak from days of barely eating. Still, I managed to land a few hits—enough to make them rethink their strategy. But they didn't give up.

Before I knew it, I was pinned to the ground, my arms held down as one of them pulled out a second needle. I kicked and thrashed, trying to shake them off, but it was no use. My strength was running out, and they knew it.

Okay, okay. 

Maybe this wasn't such a good plan.

But it wasn't in my nature to give up. I fought tooth and nail, hurling curses and insults at them even as they held me down. My arms ached, and I could feel the sting of needle marks where they'd already gotten to me. But I wasn't about to beg. No way.

Just when I thought I was done for, the door burst open. And there he was.

Reynold.

Of course, perfect timing.

I was on the floor, practically defeated, and the maids were looming over me like wolves ready to feast on their prey. His eyes widened, taking in the scene, and for a moment, the room went completely silent.

And then, with a loud clatter, the plate of food he'd been carrying slipped from his hands and crashed to the floor, sending bread and whatever else he had brought scattering across the ground. But he wasn't looking at the food. His gaze was fixed on me, and the maids who had pinned me down.

Me: "Oh, fantastic. Welcome to the party."

The maids immediately froze, their smug expressions vanishing as they realized they'd been caught. But Reynold... Reynold was livid. His face turned red with fury, and for a split second, I thought he might actually snap and strangle one of them right there.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" His voice boomed, and the maids recoiled in fear, scrambling to let me go. I gasped as they finally released me, my arms aching from where they'd been digging into my skin.

One of the maids tried to stammer out an excuse. "W-We were just—"

But Reynold wasn't interested in excuses. He strode across the room in two angry steps, grabbed the maid closest to me by the collar, and yanked her away from me with such force that she nearly fell over.

"Get. Out." His voice was low, dangerous. The kind of voice that sent shivers down your spine because you knew the person saying it was barely holding themselves together.

The maids didn't need to be told twice. They scrambled to their feet and fled from the room, not daring to look back as they left me on the floor. My heart was still racing, my body sore from the struggle, but at least they were gone. For now.

Reynold, on the other hand, just stood there, breathing heavily as he stared down at the mess they'd left behind.

Well, that was... something.

I slowly pushed myself up to a sitting position, my arms still trembling from the effort. Reynold's eyes flicked to me, and for a moment, I thought he might yell. Or scold me. Or do something, anything, to lecture me on how reckless I was being. But instead, he just knelt down beside me.

"You're hurt," he muttered, his voice much softer now.

Me: "No kidding."

He carefully reached for my arm, examining the marks left by the needles. His touch was surprisingly gentle, which was... weird. I mean, this is Reynold. I was fully expecting some kind of angry tirade about how I shouldn't have fought back or how I was causing trouble. But he didn't say any of that.

Instead, he just frowned, clearly upset by what he was seeing.

"Why didn't you call for help?" he asked quietly.

Because calling for help has never worked out for me before? 

I didn't say that, though. Instead, I just shrugged, pretending like it didn't hurt as much as it did.

Me: "Didn't think anyone would come. Besides, I've handled worse."

His eyes flicked to mine, and I could see the frustration there. Not at me, exactly, but at the situation. The helplessness of it all. He wanted to say something—probably something noble or infuriating—but he bit his tongue.

"I brought you food," he said after a moment, glancing at the mess on the floor. "It's not much, but it's better than... whatever that was."

Me: "Yeah, I'd take a stale piece of bread over moldy cheese any day."

He let out a small, humorless laugh, then stood up, brushing off his pants. "I'll get you something else. And I'll make sure those maids are dealt with."

Right. 

Because that's going to solve all my problems.

But I didn't say that. Instead, I just gave him a nod, accepting the small victory of not being stabbed with another needle today. Reynold shot me one last look—one that was equal parts concern and frustration—before turning to leave the room, his boots crunching on the shards of the broken plate as he went.

Me: "Next time, just knock."

He paused at the door, his hand on the knob, and for a split second, I thought he might actually smile. But he didn't. He just sighed and left the room, leaving me alone once again.

I glanced down at my arm, wincing as the sting of the needle wounds finally caught up with me. Well, that could have gone worse.

But hey, at least I wasn't dead. yet