But it’s the fact that we are without anyone to look upon us that makes me feel much, much worse.
“There are many things that I can bear, you know. But something about ingratitude makes my blood boil,” he starts.
I force my hands to my sides, despite how hard they shake as I look up at him. My stomach churns with nervousness.
“Did something happen in the court?” I ask, trying to chase away any opportunities for him to reach out and touch me.
He lets out a strangled laugh. “You could say that.”
When he doesn’t elaborate, I step back.
That movement triggers something inside of him, and he follows me. His hand seeks my waist.
Por los dioses?3.
I curse when my back hits the bars.
This is it. This. Is. It.
I can hardly stand his desperation, so I squeeze my eyes shut, dreading the graze of his fingers.
“Estela, you look so lovely tonight,” he says seconds before the pad of his thumb brushes over my clothed shoulder.
Every part of my body rejects the movement, and the Fuegorra on my chest flares to life.
The light is so bright it hurts my eyes when they fly open. I pour all the anger and pain into that magic, hoping it burns off his whole damned hand. While the magic is usually taut and hard to reach, I feel it give and expand. It’s a lyre string, and I play it louder, pushing harder until the light brightens.
“This must work,” he says through gritted teeth.
Instead of shrinking back like he did the first night I’d arrived here, he tries to grab me with both hands. His grip bruises my flesh and I try to push him off. One fingernail presses into the skin near my neck with enough force to draw blood.
I shove again, and the gem in my chest burns brighter, trying to heal me.
Finally, he lets go, holding his hands in front of him.
They are a mess of bright, red skin, and puffy welts. I take a deep breath and smell the stench of burned flesh.
“Damnit,” he roars. “They told me it would be fixed by now.”
Gracias?4.
I whisper to whatever gods will hear me.
Rholker fumes, reaching out and flipping over the tub. I can only imagine how much that hurts his hands. Water spills onto the floor, sloshing against the walls and barely splattering above the iron bars on the floor, protecting my cage. My feet are soaked.
I yelp and try to step back.
Our eyes meet, and I can see him searching. I put on my best shocked face and open my mouth.
“A-are you okay?” I choke out.
He could give me his whole kingdom, and I still wouldn’t give a shit about him, but I need him to think I care so he keeps taking me outside.
He doesn’t answer. Another string of curses falls from his mouth, and then he yanks open the door to my cottage, kicking water out. He doesn’t so much as look back at me before he leaves and slams the door.
I turn to look at the chaos.
The fire still crackles in the fireplace. I can only hope it lasts long enough to dry the water or that someone comes to clean it up.
