"You are so thin," he whispered. "I can see the hollows of your ribs and your collarbone. Are they not feeding you?"
No kindness. No concern. This wasn't what she wanted.
She slid closer, pressing herself to his bare chest even though she hated it. The man's lank blond hair nearly matched her own. He wasn't the same kind of nobleman she was used to seeing. They were all fat and sweaty and pawed at her skin. And he certainly wasn't a gladiator. He didn't have an ounce of muscle on his body.
"Touch me," she said. "And I think you'll find I'm not too thin at all. Many people have enjoyed me."
The man’s eyes widened. "How many? How long has he kept you in this room?"
Something snapped in her head. She wanted to scream and cry and rage at the world because she didn't know the answer to that. She didn't care to know it either.
Another part of her whispered this was close. She didn't want to have this conversation, and that alone could get her back into the realm with an elf and flowers that called out to her. There were translations waiting for her. All she had to do was push herself to breaking.
"I've been here for years," she replied. "The king brought me here when I was eighteen. I was the prettiest acolyte he'd ever seen, and he said my magic helped. I don't fight. I don't argue. I don't cry."
"Unbreakable," the man muttered.
"Exactly." Rose pressed his hand harder to her breast. "So you can do whatever you want to me."
He shook his head and then backed away from her. "No, I don't want to do anything to you. You shouldn't be here."
Oh, this wasn't working. This was just making her sad. And sad meant she had to deal with all these feelings right where she was. In this dark room with crumbling paint and all the old clothing that was starting to show its wear because she'd been in here alone for such a long time.
Forgotten. Used. Left to her own devices with only food and terrible men coming to her door.
No, no, these weren't the kind of thoughts she could run from. They were the kind of thoughts that pinned her to the floor, forcing her to stay right where she was and relive every horrible moment that she was currently running from.
Swallowing hard, she tried one more time. "I'm here whether you think I should be or not. So shouldn't you at least have a taste of what all the others have been getting?"
He shook his head, and he looked so pale that she feared he might throw up. "No. No, I don't think I will. And don't you worry—I'm going to tell the king exactly what I think of this whole situation."
He'd only make it worse if he did that. And the rage boiled ever hotter inside her.
Why did this man think he could fix this? Why couldn't he just be like all the other bad men who had at least given her a chance to hide in her own mind, without trying to be some kind of fucking hero? She'd saved herself! She had a realm in her mind where she could go and speak with someone who wanted to help her, to make her better, to give her a chance to live beyond these four walls.
She didn't think. She just picked up a vase in the corner which once had been filled with brightly colored flowers every single day and now only held the wilted remains of a time when the king had once favored her.
And she chucked it at his head.
The sound that came after froze her blood in her veins. He made a choked sound and fell. And then he was just... there.
Not moving while a pool of blood spread around his still form.
"Shit," she muttered. "Shit, you're fine. You'll get up."
But he didn't. All he did was lie there, and she knew that something was terribly, horribly wrong.
What had she done? This would only make everything worse. She couldn't fix what she had done, and now she was trapped in this room with a dead man who had promised to help her. She had been so terrified of what that help had meant that she'd killed him.
Rose scampered back onto the bed, her breathing so ragged she could hear it. The world was too much, and violence had never sent her into the other realm. She was forced to stareat her biggest mistake, forced to remain right where she was because her body wasn't at risk. Her own life wasn't at risk.
She pulled the blanket up over her head, trying to hide from the world. She heard the door open eventually, and the hissing sound of disapproval from whichever servant had been forced to come into this room. The door closed again for a time. And then more people entered. She heard him being moved. Heard the footsteps of more people coming in, and then the wet slosh of a mop on the floor.
Maybe they'd leave her alone.
Maybe the blanket protected her from what was to come.
Until a strong, sturdy hand grabbed a fistful of the blanket and pulled it away from her form. Icy air dragged claws down her sides as she looked into the disappointed and enraged face of King James himself.
