Not my problem.
Shoving such thoughts far,faraway, I worked my way through the fresh grapes I’d found in the fridge. Turned out, Marcus Ward had been telling the truth. Each pavilion was fully stocked with food and if I could forget what happened two days ago and put aside my constant terror, I could almost pretend this was yet another resort in another nameless location, designed to protect me from a world I wasn’t equipped to exist in.
And the best part?
The cupboards had wine.
Unique and fancy wine, not just red and white. Earthen jars labelled with apple-blossom, sour pear, and cherry. Each fragrant and floral. And really rather potent.
Plopping another grape into my mouth, I braced myself for the pain of swallowing and self-medicated with another sip of apple-blossom wine. The bruises had steadily changed in colour, lacing my throat with an unwanted necklace from his fingers. But as long as I didn’t look in the mirror and stayed a tad tipsy from the wine, I could forget.
With my head slightly swimming and lingering pain gnawing, I took my feast to the cushions by the window.
Stress tried to remind me that lounging around was the exact opposite of what I should do in this scenario. Fear tried to make me normal by whispering I should return to the ballroom and see if I could find my rucksack so I could call my bodyguard to get me out.
But...I’d reached critical overload.
And, from prior experience, if I encountered even an ounce of discomfort now, I’d probably die of a stroke or heart attack.
And so, I did the only thing I could do.
I snuggled up in a puddle of sunshine, polished off the exotic wine, and drifted back to sleep where monsters couldn’t find me.
* * * * *
I stretched where I lay outside on the lawn.
The English sunshine did its best to be as warm as the tropics and I took full advantage by dragging a few cushions outside and parking myself in its golden glow.
Another day had passed, and I still hadn’t dared set foot out of my sanctuary.
Guilt tried to stress me out and panic at having my freedom stolen did its best to ruin my attempts at staying calm, but realistically...how was this any different to my life out there?
I lived in a prison of my mind’s own making, even as I travelled and seemed to live the lifestyle of an arrogant, spoiled heiress. I might flit from place to place, searching for that one spot that could cure me, but nothing felt safe. Nothing felt right. And I’d existed in this cage for seven long years.
In a way, I was already well used to captivity.
At least my bruised neck felt better, and I no longer felt as if I’d pass out if another surprise appeared.
The past three days had given me plenty of time to go over my situation. I’d drawn a quick map of the estate from my hazy memories and couldn’t understand why there were so many separate buildings all connected with a network of gardens, corridors, and pathways.
The only explanation I could come up with was...this wasn’t the first time a bunch of women had been thrown in here. The sprawling accommodations were designed to...I didn’t know. Give each girl space? Provide a sense of safety? Separate her from the others so when Lucien and his panther went hunting, no one heard her screams?
I shivered and squeezed my eyes tighter.
You promised you weren’t going to think about it.
The only thing I should focus on was lowering the crazy amount of cortisol still in my system and finding a way to be somewhat normal. Once my heart no longer palpitated and Iwasn’t borderline passing out, then I would be brave enough to return to the main palace, request an audience with a killer, and see if rational conversation could enable my release.
After all...it was Tuesday.
The spa weekend was only meant to be for a weekend.
God, Rook. How did anyone mistake you for a savant? You’re an idiot.
I exhaled heavily.
My ideas of walking out of this place were as fantastical as having a panther for a pet.
