Chapter Nine
Tressa
Four days pass without a single summons from Altair. I don’t know what to make of it.
Greta came to my room on the first day and told me I no longer have to wash his clothes or tidy his room. Someone else will handle those duties.
I don’t serve his meals either. He eats alone in the dining room or in his chambers, served by other servants. They must wonder what they did to deserve the honor of attending to their lord while I sit idle in my luxurious prison.
He sends three meals a day to my room, along with desserts and snacks I never ask for. I don’t have to lift a finger for any of it. When I leave my chambers to walk the corridors or step outside for air, I return to find my bed made, my floors swept, and my things arranged neatly. This makes the other servants hate me even more. I can feel their eyes burning into my back whenever I pass them in the halls.
The sudden shift from cruelty to this strange, suffocating kindness confuses me more than anything. Altair is ignoring me completely, while treating me like I’m valuable, like I’m something precious that must be protected and pampered. I don’t understand what game he’s playing now.
This could be a good thing, or it could be the calm before the storm. I’m on edge constantly, not knowing what to expect from him anymore. He’s unpredictable, and he’s definitely not to be trusted.
I’ve enjoyed not dealing with him these past four days, but today, I feel more anxious than relieved. The silence is starting to worry me. I find myself thinking about him more than I should.
I look at the old uniform waiting for me on the arm of the sofa in the sitting room, folded neatly by whoever came in to clean while I hid in my bedroom. For once, I decide not to wear it.
I go to the closet and open the doors to reveal the rows of incredible dresses Altair chose for a bride he never ended up bringing home. I push them all aside until I find a pair of comfortable trousers and a simple shirt tucked in the back. I get dressed and pin my hair atop my head, then leave my room.
I cross rooms and corridors looking for him, searching everywhere I can think of. As I walk, I play with the cuff around my wrist. I never believed I’d miss the burn of it, but here I am, running my fingers over the smooth gold and wishing it would flare to life just so I’d know he’s still aware of me.
The thought disturbs me. It’s toxic, like I’ve gotten used to his treatment. Maybe I got used to our constant fights too, to the way we circle each other like enemies, neither of us having the guts to deliver the final strike.
I finally find him in the library.
Shelves line the walls from floor to ceiling, packed with books that look ancient and valuable. Soft lighting makes the space feel warm despite its size. Altair sits behind a massive, beautifully ornate desk, writing something. He doesn’t look up when I enter.
I storm across the room and stop in front of his desk.
“What is happening?”
He looks up at me slowly, and I notice that something has changed. He looks calm and tired, like the fight has gone out of him. But on the outside, he’s just as perfect as ever. Heartbreakingly handsome, and I hate myself for thinking it. Too bad he’s an awful creature.
“I don’t know,” he says. “What is happening? Is everything all right?”
I laugh, and it comes out harsh and bitter.
“No, everything is not all right. What game are you playing now?”
He stops writing and sets down his pen, then looks up at me with an expression I can’t read. His demeanor isn’t cold. There’s no malice in his eyes.
“I’m not playing any games. The games are over. I don’t consider you a servant anymore. In fact, I never did. As I told you, I bought you to be my wife. That is, if you want.”
I stare at him, waiting for the punchline, for the cruel twist that will reveal this is just another way to humiliate me.
“If I want? Are you asking me if I want to be your wife?”
“I guess I am.” He leans back in his chair and watches me carefully. “But if you don’t want that, you can return home.”
I gasp and take several steps back, pressing a hand to my chest. I can’t believe what he just said.
Return home. Just like that, as if the past month never happened, as if he didn’t spend every day finding new ways to torture me.
His attitude enrages me. He’s been treating me like a slave, humiliating me at every turn, and now he’s behaving like it was all in good fun, like it wasn’t all that serious. Like he expects me to forget about it, even though he hasn’t even explained why he did any of it.
Sure, he said he was sorry, but I don’t believe a word of it.
