The cold iron of the collar bit into my neck like a vise, each link of the chain rattling with deliberate menace as Gaspard secured it to the wall beside my bed. After church, he’d marched me straight back to this room—my prison—without a word, his silence more terrifying than his usual boasting.
Now I understood why. He’d been planning this all along, this new method of containment, this final stripping of whatever dignity I had left. He also left the lace choker on beneath it likea secondary part to his claim. The metal clicked as he fastened the lock, testing it with a sharp tug that jerked my head forward, sending pain shooting down my spine.
“There,” he said, satisfaction dripping from his voice like honey from a poisoned hive. “Now I can hunt without worry that my little prize will fly away.”
I remained seated on the edge of the bed, my hands folded in my lap to hide their trembling. The blue dress he’d provided for church was still immaculate, a cruel joke of propriety after what he’d done to me the night before. The high collar hid the bruises his fingers had left, but nothing could conceal the ones forming in my soul.
“Is this necessary?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The chain was long enough to reach the chamber pot in the corner and the small washing basin, but not the door or window. A beast on a leash. That’s what I’d become.
Gaspard’s hand shot out, gripping my chin with enough force to leave new marks. “Thou questions me?” His eyes, the color of a winter sky, held no warmth. “After I clothed thee, fed thee, gave thee shelter when thou had nothing? After I shared my bed with thee?”
Shared.As if I’d had any choice in the matter. And I never warmed his bed, I warmed his table because he was too savage to get me that far. But I knew not to rebuke him.
“Forgive me,” I murmured, dropping my gaze. Survival required submission…for now, at least.
His grip softened, transforming into a caress that was somehow more sickening than the violence had been. “I saw how the village looked at thee today, at church. How the men coveted what is mine.” His thumb traced my lower lip, pressing hard enough to hurt. “Some might wonder why I chain thee. They don’t understand how wild creatures must be tamed, broken into submission.”
The chain clinked as I shifted away from his touch. It weighed at least ten pounds, heavy enough to be a constant reminder of my captivity, yet not so heavy that I couldn’t move. A thoughtful cruelty, Gaspard’s specialty.
“I will be gone three days,” he continued, moving to the window to check the iron bars he’d installed. “Perhaps four. The hunting is good this season.”
Three days. The thought bloomed in my mind like a winter crocus pushing through frost. Three days without his hands on me, without his weight crushing the breath from my lungs. Three days to plan, to think, to find some way out of this nightmare.
“The bars look secure,” he said, more to himself than to me. “And the door locks from the outside. But thou art clever, aren’t thee, Isabeau? Like thy father with his contraptions.” His gaze swept back to me, to the chain around my neck. “I take no chances with thee. Not when I’ve waited so long to possess thee.”
I swallowed hard, the iron collar making the simple motion difficult. If only I had run. If only, when Papa was taken, I had fled into the Forbidden Forest rather than allowing myself to be collected like a ripe fruit from an unguarded tree. The forest had taken Papa, yes. But at least the beast would have made it quick.
Here, under Gaspard’s roof, death would come by inches. A slow, suffocating end to everything I was.
“What troubles thy pretty head?” Gaspard asked, mistaking my silence for simple fear rather than the complex calculations of escape I was actually considering. “Dost thou worry I will find a more beautiful maiden in my travels? Fear not. There is none who compares to thee. I’ve searched.”
His words were meant as praise. They landed like slaps.
“I worry for thy safety in the wild,” I lied, forcing a concerned expression onto my face. “The forest—”
“The forest knows better than to take me,” he interrupted with a bark of laughter. “I am not some weak inventor to be dragged away. I am the hunter, not the prey.”
The casual dismissal of Papa’s death stoked a fire in my chest that was becoming harder to hide. I lowered my eyes, not trusting them to conceal my hatred.
Gaspard moved to a trunk at the foot of the bed. One I hadn’t noticed him bring in. It was small but ornate, its dark wood inlaid with silver that caught the afternoon light streaming through the barred window. My stomach knotted as he opened it, his back blocking my view of what lay inside.
“I had this made special,” he said, his voice dropping to that intimate register that made my skin crawl. “When I saw thee blossoming into womanhood, I knew ordinary measures wouldn’t be enough.”
He turned, and I couldn’t suppress the gasp that escaped me. In his hands was what looked like a horse’s bridle, but sized for a human. Leather straps designed to wrap around the head, with metal bits and a large wooden ball in the center.
“What is that?” I asked, though I already knew. I’d seen similar devices used on disobedient slaves in The Noble City when Papa had taken me there to sell his wooden crafts many years ago. But those had been a simpler design, cruder. This was crafted with the same care one might give a piece of fine jewelry.
“Insurance,” Gaspard replied, approaching me slowly, the way one might a skittish mare. “The chain keeps thee in the room, but this,” he held up the contraption, “this keeps thee from screaming for help should someone pass by. Or from chewing through thy leash like a desperate fox.”
I scrambled backward on the bed, the chain around my neck clanking loudly against the wooden frame. “Please,” I begged, all pretense of calm evaporating. “I’ll be silent. I won’t call for help. There’s no need for... that.”
Gaspard’s smile was slow and terrible. “Oh, but there is. Seeing thee like this... it pleases me.” He patted his crotch first and then lunged forward with surprising speed, catching the chain and yanking me toward him. “And isn’t that what a good wife does? Please her husband?”
“We’re not wed,” I gasped as he dragged me closer by the metal links, the collar digging painfully into the soft flesh of my throat.
“A technicality that will be remedied upon my return,” he said dismissively. “Now open thy mouth, or I shall open it for thee.”
I kept my lips pressed tightly together, a last, futile act of defiance. Gaspard sighed, as if disappointed in a child’s misbehavior. Then his hand shot out, pinching my nose closed with brutal efficiency. I held my breath as long as I could, but eventually, the burning in my lungs forced me to gasp for air.
