Winged

Chapter Fifteen

Annabelle

I swear that I'll never step foot on that dance floor ever again.

My feet are speckled with millions of tiny splinters from spinning on the wood barefoot, and I had been attacking my feet with pins and tweezers since early this morning, not being able to collapse in bed with the shards of lumber in my foot like it was a pincushion.

The usual silence of early morning was ruined by loud noises from the kitchens down below, the chefs and servants still up cleaning from the feast. The clutter and bang of pots and pans were unnatural, as I had begun to become accustomed to the silence of the night, times where I had my thoughts to myself, the only noises Rhem scattering round and the royals conversing in the neighbouring rooms.

I really should have taken Quina's advice and worn some shoes.

But, it had been fun, even if I had to go the entire night without the familiar comfort of folded wings warming my back, feathers tickling ever-so-slightly. It felt so strange, having fabric pressed on bare skin where stumps of wings should have been. It was great to have them back.

I had tried, to my own amusement, to lay on my back without wings to sleep, but it just felt so strange, I couldn't bear it. I had to be lying on my side, wings stopping me from falling flat again.

I dig out a splinter, wincing as I twist it slightly and a pinprick of deep red blood blooms on the surface. I pull the small chip out and place in on a side table.

Port Leira was only two days away, and I itch to jump off the deck and fly, I want to run to my sisters and Sabrina, make it there as soon as possible, the four-hour flight so much shorter than the two-day shipping trip, moving about as fast as I can walk.

The temptation was overwhelming. Leave, see my sisters, and go home. So much faster. But each time I started planning and plotting, Quina seemed to be there, watching my every move. Even though she didn't treat me like one, I was her prisoner. I couldn't leave.

Maybe she had some strange fetish about me.

It was so frustrating. I just wanted to leave. I wanted to soar the sky as an eagle, I wanted to escape the pressing walls and suffocating noise.

The only things that filled my days were things I'd never be able to live without.

Rhem, good books and chocolate.

I had taken off my beautiful gown and hung it in the grand wardrobe before digging into a jar in nothing but my underwear, a thick blanket draped over my shoulders to escape the early morning chill. That was how it was, near the south. Freezing during the night, slightly more than freezing throughout the day. At least my beautiful dress and the constant movements of dancing kept me warm.

And now my feet had to pay the price.

I sigh and heft my foot up to the bureau. Examining it in the dim candlelight, I deem it clear and place it back on the rug, as I lift my right foot up and into my waiting lap.

The woollen blanket slips off my shoulders, and, afraid of the chilly air, I drop my foot and the tweezers, catching it before it hits the ground. I quickly re-wrap it around myself tightly and bend to lift the small metal tool. I look at my foot, examining it for any more speckles of wood, and realize with a haze that I've already picked this one clean. There are multiple spots I can see where I've dug the shards out.

I'm tired. I need to sleep.

I collapse back onto the bed and snuggle under the covers, try to let my mind shut down. Get the sleep I know I need.