Petals on The Moon: A Without Thorns Continuation

Chapter One

Deva winced as she touched a finger at yet another bruise on her arm. Her sleeve isn't long enough to cover it. She won't be able to heal fast enough for tonight. Of all the dresses and gowns she could've worn, it had to be this.

Hanging off one shoulder, it barely concealed a third of the bruise. She couldn't very well cast it off and risk another beating. Etienne picked it out himself. What Etienne wants, Etienne gets. Giving him otherwise would mean consequences.

Stealing another glance at herself at the mirror, she had to admit that the dress was beautiful. It was the color of emeralds, the top wrapping around one shoulder across her chest but bared her midriff with criss-crossing strings laced at her back. A light, floor-length skirt with a slit to one side up to her right thigh whispered with each step It was one of the few things that Etienne gave her that had color.

She sighed. It's been a month since she married Etienne. Sure, he was the epitome of the perfect husband. The first few hours anyway. The moment the doors of their honeymoon suite closed, which is his master bedroom by the way, he dropped the gentleman act and laid the first of the many bruises to come. Usually, it was because of some request she refused to comply. Who wouldn't?

Compared to that one-night stand with Dane, Etienne used his fists, lashing out even more if she cried out. She could barely get up from the bed after the first three nights, covered in blue-black bruises that ached down to the bones. Only her fast regenerating talent was saving her from fatal injuries.

She could've healed herself with her energy in a heartbeat but the cold stones of Etienne's castle sapped them before she could manage to form it. She wondered for the millionth time if it was enchanted to subdue any rebellious wives her husband has had before. But for Deva, Ingretia seemed so lifeless. As she had seen in the grays and blacks of Ingretia's landscape, her hair was the only thing that seemed to pulse with vibrance.

"Are you all right, milady?" a timid voice asked, pulling Deva from her gloomy thoughts. She looked at the reflection of Ilyan, a water sprite Etienne had kidnapped a week ago. He gave her to Deva to serve as her handmaiden. A day was all it took for them to form a bond of friendship, kept secret from Etienne's prying eyes. Right now, she was piling her red hair in a loose but elegant bun, tedrils of hair framing her face.

Smiling she reassured the sprite. "I'll survive, Ilyan."

"It's not right that he treats you this way," she whispered, stepping closer to arrange the sleeve of her dress so that the bruise is camouflaged amidst the emerald hues.

Deva had been about to answer when Etienne suddenly burst into the room, making them both jump. He didn't speak. He just eyed them impassively before striding into his private dressing chamber. That's it. No greetings. Just cold silence. Ilyan curtsied and went out the room, leaving her alone in the chamber.

"Isn't this a change of view," he commented dryly, shedding his heavy cloak. He let it fall to the floor as he looked her over with an unreadable expression on his face. Deva had to suppress the shudder that thrummed under her skin. She didn't want to risk a hit right when they were about to host the ball tonight.

"Does the view appease you, my lord?" she said, relieved that her voice came out steady. He walked a circle around her, viewing every angle. Deva kept her eyes fixed on a spot on the far wall.

"Wait for me at the balcony. I just have something to attend to," he said curtly after a long moment.

With that, Etienne left her standing in the middle of the room. She let out the breath she didn't realize she was holding and waited a few beats before stepping out their chambers. The guard at the door pointed down the corridor towards the curtained arch leading to the balcony. She nodded and reveled in in the feeling of her slippered feet that carried her soundlessly across the cold floor. She rarely left their chambers. The few times she'd tried to explore her home, she was bodily returned to the room. As she neared the heavy curtains, strains of music and light filtered through the tiny slit of opening, teasing her senses. It's been weeks since she'd heard music, aside from her humming. She stepped closer, careful not to disturb the folds and peered through.