Not for treating Alexander Bennett's daughter the way she deserves.
I go up to the terrace, into the rose garden. It’s the only place that brings me peace. I take the dusting cloth from its hook and walk to the piano at the center. An artificial moon glows above it, bathing everything in pale silver light.
I wipe the already spotless piano, careful not to apply even the slightest pressure. Then the bench. After that, I vacuum the floor and water the roses.
I leave feeling steadier.
But the calm doesn’t last.
The moment I step into my room, I hear singing. From my bathroom.
The correct response would be to bang on the door, drag her out, and throw her from my room with a warning never to come back.
Instead, I sit on the bed. Elbows on my knees. Eyes fixed on the bathroom door. Ears straining to catch every word she sings.
She’s singing in low notes. The words aren’t clear, but the tone sounds happy—which is a very wrong thing to feelwhen you’re being held captive and treated like a servant. The volume increases, and the words become clearer.
She has a beautiful voice.
My brows knot the moment the thought forms. I rise from the bed and leave the room, my jaw clenched tight enough to crack.
This woman is getting inside my head—and it hasn’t even been two days. I need to fix this, or she’ll unravel me completelyin the next nine days.
Chapter 6
Elowen
I’m bound in ropes. Voices surround me. Men’s laughter echoes through the darkness.I pull at the ropes, trying to break free, shouting, crying for help. But there is no one to help me.
I jerk upright on the floor, eyes wide. Sweat runs down my neck, across my forehead, and along my spine. I push myself up, open the door, and walk to Bruno’s room.
He sits up on his bed the moment he senses me. I sit beside him. He sniffs at me.
“I’mafraid, Bruno.”
I lie down on his bed. “Will you share it with me?”
He snuggles into my side. I chuckle softly.
“Thank you.”
I wrap my arms around him and drift back to sleep.
When I open my eyes again, it’s already morning.
I repeat yesterday’s routine: sneak into his bathroom, get ready, then head downstairs to begin my job as a maid.There I go again, being optimistic. Slave. That’s the right title. The maids are my bosses.
I walk into the kitchen, where I was told to report when a maid came for Bruno’s breakfast.
The same maid who forced me to carry the mattress yesterday blocks the doorway and shoves a large tray of coffee cups into my hands.
“Take it to the guards’ lounge,” she orders.
I steady the tray. The cups are secure in their molded spots, at least I don’t have to worry about spilling.
“Where is it?” I ask.
“The hall near the front door. You’ll see the guards’ lounge door.” She snaps the words at me and disappears into the kitchen.
