But as quickly as the thought formed, I pushed it away. Papa hadn’t sacrificed himself for me to surrender so easily. There had to be another way. There had to be.
I crawled to the window, peering out at the deepening twilight. In the distance, just visible above the rooftops of the village, loomed the dark line of the Forbidden Forest. The same forest that had claimed my father just last night.
The same forest that might yet claim me, if I found the courage to seek it out.
Before I could sulk any more than I had, a soft whine reached me. It made me wonder if it was an echo of my hollowing soul, but it wasn’t my voice, and it came through the wall. “Help… help me…”
It was so faint, I wondered if I truly heard it. Did Gaspard have more girls here? Were we all being raped and tortured?
“Who art thou?” I whispered back.
A cry rippled through, a breath of relief. “You can hear me?”
“Yes?” I worried. What harm befell her.
“Please, please help me!” she grew more panicked, isolation hurting her too.
“Where is your room? Is he hurting you too?”
“I-I’m not in a room…”
She went silent. I fretted over the other woman’s condition.
“Hello?” I reached out. “Are you there?”
Nothing. Just silence. I blinked, wondering if I heard anything at all. Maybe my mind was giving me something else to focus on to not dwell on what just happened to my no longer innocentbody. Gaspard had ruined me for most future husbands by stripping me of my virtue. And as much as I hadn’t been ready to wed, having my prospects limited left a heavy weight. Without my virtue, I wasn’t worth more than a common whore when it came to the marriage market.
And just like that, I forgot about the hallucination. My ruining crushed me into more tears.
four
Isabeau
The lock clicked open at dawn, metal against metal announcing another day in my gilded cage. Margaret’s silhouette filled the doorway, her hunched shoulders and downcast eyes telling me everything I needed to know. There would be no escape today.
After I spent the night calling out to the other girl with no response, I learned it had been my mind playing tricks on me. Nothing replied in the quiet hours of the night. I was alone.
My body ached from places I’d never felt pain before, the ghost of Gaspard’s hands still burning against my skin like brands. I hadn’t slept. Sleep required safety, and that luxury had died with Papa.
“Miss,” Margaret whispered, carrying a steaming basin of water and fresh linens. “We must prepare thee. Master Coventry expects thee downstairs within the hour.”
I remained seated on the floor where I’d spent the night, back against the wall, knees pulled to my chest. The blanket Margaret had draped over my shoulders had become my only armor. I clutched it tighter.
“For what purpose?” My voice was hoarse, barely recognizable. Whether from screaming or silence, I couldn’t say.
Margaret set the basin down beside the bed and moved to draw the curtains. Pale morning light spilled into the room, revealing its barren walls and sparse furnishings. A prison dressed as a bedchamber.
“I’m not at liberty to say, miss.” She spoke the word like a death sentence. “Master requires your company with him in town.”
“I won’t go,” I said, though we both knew it was a lie. I had no choice. Not anymore.
Margaret didn’t argue. She simply approached with the grace of someone accustomed to handling wounded creatures. “Let me help thee wash, miss. It will ease some of the pain.”
I allowed her to guide me to standing, my legs trembling beneath me. The remains of my dress fell away completely as the blanket shifted, leaving me naked and exposed.
I should have felt shame, but that emotion seemed trivial after everything that had happened. Margaret’s eyes flickered to the dried blood on my thighs, the bruises blossoming on my throat, hips, and breasts. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
“He was... particularly rough with thee,” she murmured, dipping a cloth into the warm water. “The first time is often so.”
