CAGED (#3, of Crows and Thorns)

Chapter 37

The soles of my bare feet skimmed the carpet as I shifted about, taking a few steps forward, as I studied the small space with the window cut away from the adamere stone. A few sparrows darted across the blue sky with its cotton-white clouds. Late afternoon sunlight slunk across the bedside table stacked with the romance novels Penn had carried up here, and stretched over the single bed with its disheveled blankets.

I cocked my head, baffled. My bed wasn't made.

My eyes flared wide. The dress I'd worn yesterday was still on the floor where I'd stepped out of it.

What the...?

Confused, I skittered out of my bedroom and pointed at the open doorway. "My bed isn't made!"

Graysen was standing near the kitchen drinking a glass of water. Above the rim of the glass, black eyes slid my way and one thick eyebrow arched.

Hurrying forward, I rushed deeper into the room, scanning my surroundings. Penn and her team had brought up new furniture to replace those items I'd destroyed by tossing them over the edge of the balcony, but they hadn't rearranged them, nor put anything away. There were baskets full of the things I'd thrown from the tower, Graysen's clothes and belts, and a few of his precious board games, stacked neatly beside the bookshelves. His bed was still rumpled where he'd slept on it, and my breakfast dishes remained in the kitchen sink. I drew in an awful breath, a hand clamped to my chest. What the hells was going on?

"No one's tidied up," I squeaked. My whole world exploded around me.

Graysen lowered his glass, swiping the beads of moisture from his bottom lip with his thumb. "It's Saturday."

Oh, I hadn't really been paying attention to the days. But still, so what if it was Saturday?

I suppose my thoughts were scrawled all over my face because he answered as if reading my mind. "It's the weekend. Most of the staff have the weekend off, and if they happen to be doing overtime or on rotation, then they'll have time off during the week."

I mean, I knew that my family's servants were entitled to a day of leave each week, but certainly not a full weekend, and they were there to serve us—any time, any day of the week.

He said slowly, carefully, "Over the weekend, my family has to fend for ourselves."

"What do you mean fend for ourselves?"

"I mean..." he drawled, still talking to me as if I were a small child, "we have to clean up after ourselves, make our own beds and meals, and do the dishes."

My heart started palpitating in my chest. I thought I was about to have a heart attack.

His eyes flared wide as he dragged a hand through his hair. "Holy fuck, please tell me that you've made your own bed before?"

"Yes!" I shrieked. "Yes, I'm quite capable of making my own bed." Just not picking up after myself very often or making meals. "I can't cook." I wrung my hands. "No one's taught me. I only know how to open cans and bake cookies." And Graysen didn't do sugary crap or processed food, so he wouldn't have either of those things around. I was going to starve to death. By Monday I'd be dead.