Didn't he love me? Didn't those hundred years mean anything? All those nights he held me, read to me, made love to me with a reverence that made me feel like a goddess. Was it all a lie?
Or did he simply not care enough to come after me? Maybe I served my purpose to him, and now I’m useless to him? The thought makes something crack inside my chest, something that might have been my heart if I still had one.
Fine.
Fine.
I'll kill Benedict. I'll kill anyone who tries to stop me from leaving this castle. And then I'll hunt my dragon down and kill him too.
For abandoning me. For not fighting for me. For letting them take me and doing nothing. If he didn't love me enough to save me, then he doesn't deserve to live.
The burning in my throat intensifies at the thought, and I smile. It's not a nice smile. I catch my reflection in the mirror and barely recognize myself. My eyes look wild. Feral.
Good. Let them see what they've created.
Nightfall comes slowly, each hour dragging like years. I bathe. Put on the sheer nightgown Benedict likes. The one that leaves nothing to the imagination and showcases my breasts. Brush my golden hair until it shines. I look like the perfect princess. Docile. Beautiful. Breakable.
I am none of those things.
The rope is hidden in the folds of my robe. The knife, my sharpest, my favorite, is tucked into the waistband of my undergarments, cold against my skin.
I walk through the castle corridors like I'm floating. A servant passes me, and I smile at her. She looks startled. I never smile.
Benedict's chambers are in the east wing, far from mine. He likes his privacy. Likes being able to visit me and then retreat to his own space, untainted by my presence.Probably so he can jack off to thoughts of his mother in peace, like the weird man he is.
Tonight, that distance will work in my favor.
I knock softly on his door.
"Enter," he calls, sounding annoyed.
I push the door open and step inside. He's at his desk, reviewing a document. He doesn't look up immediately.
"I thought we could try something different tonight," I say softly.
That gets his attention. He turns, and his eyes widen when he sees what I'm wearing.
"Adelaide." My name sounds wrong in his mouth. "What—"
"I've been thinking about what you said," I interrupt, moving closer. The lie tastes like honey on my tongue. "About Mother. About what breasts are for."
His pupils dilate. "You have?"
"I read a book today," I continue, letting my robe slip off one shoulder. "About lactation. About how nipple stimulation can help induce it, even before pregnancy."
He's breathing faster now. "Really?"
"It got me thinking about you." I'm right in front of him now, close enough to smell his cologne. It’s too strong, too sweet. "About how much you want that. How much it would please you." I dip my head down and look at the floor to look more docile.
"Adelaide, I—" His voice cracks. I can see he’s already hard. Pathetic.
"I want to try," I whisper. "I want to give you what you need. Like a good wife."
He stands so quickly his chair falls backward. "Yes. Yes, absolutely, we should—"
"But I want to try something else too," I say, trailing my fingers down his chest, looking up at him through my lashes. I make my voice higher-pitched and childlike. "Something I read about. To intensify the pleasure. To help me get pregnant."
"Anything," he breathes. "What is it?"
