Hovard rests his hands atop his swollen belly, eyeing me the same way I assess a rock before I slick paint across it. “You’ve gotten slimmer through the waist, my dear. If you’re not careful, you’ll snap in two.”
I open my mouth—
“Tut-tut! It wasn’t a question.” He flutters his hand about, retrieving a roll of lush, green fabric. It’s held against me, swiftly replaced with one the color of my wisteria, his gaze hopping from my eyes, my damp hair, the exposed parts of my skin, finally landing on the necklace draped around my neck.
He taps the stone with the tip of a pencil previously caught behind his ear. “You will be wearing these, yes?”
My hand shields the round, inky gem and baby conch in the next heartbeat.
“Yes,” Rhordyn says, spinning, and I meet the chilling intensity of his all-pervading stare.
I don’t take this necklace off. Ever. Rhordyn gifted it to me when I first came to this castle, and I’ve worn it ever since.
Some of my earliest memories are from when I was so small that climbing Stony Stem felt like scaling a mountain, even with Baze or Cook holding my hand, easing me up each step, my necklace a comforting weight around my neck.
Though it felt heavy back then, this stone taught me to walk with a stronger stance. To keep my head up and move.
I’ll be wearing it in the ground one day.
Rhordyn rests his back against the wall beside the window, looking very much at home with his feet crossed at the ankle. I almost roll my eyes when Dolcie bends over to retrieve some pins off the floor, peeking back to check if he’s watching.
“Very well. We can work around it. Now, I like the green.” Hovard pulls a long slice of fabric close to my eyes. “This tone compliments the shade of your hair. Or there’s the rose gold; a gentler approach,” he muses, replacing the sample. “More innocent, too.”
How can he say that when my breasts are practically jumping out of this torture suit? I miss my chest wrap.
“Then there’s the red, which would look stunning, but it’s likely to draw ...” he tips his head from side to side, “mature attention.”
He continues stuffing information in Rhordyn’s direction while holding different swatches near my face. As he speaks, Dolcie drapes a stiff, creamy fabric across my skin. Piece by piece, it’s pinned against my body, forming a pattern that exhibits me in a way that leaves very little to the imagination.
The garment begins to take shape, and my stomach twists a little more with each panel of fabric she fits into place, my gaze dropping every few seconds to see just how much skin she’s not hiding.
When she drops her pincushion, she again shoves her voluptuous curves in Rhordyn’s direction, and I jump on the opportunity to maneuver some of the fabric so it’s not so revealing.
She’s quick to set it back the moment she stands up again.
“Can’t you make the neckline a little higher?” I whisper, quiet enough that only she can hear.
“Oh, honey, no.” She drops her voice low, stealing a glance at my hands wrung together. “There’s nothing endearing about a woman who dresses like a little boy and constantly has dirt beneath her nails. That’s no way to become a promised lady.”
My cheeks heat. “Excuse me?”
She shrugs, tucks a twirl of hair behind her ear, and throws me a coy smile. “Everyone parades their breasts at fancy gatherings these days. If you don’t, you’ll have no hope in standing out amongst the masses, and you’ll be stuck in this castle until you’re an old crone.” I grit my teeth as she threads another pin through the thick fabric. “I’m doing you a favor. Trust me.”
I’m about to tell her to shove her favor up her ass, along with her pincushion, when Rhordyn’s voice rents the air.
“Less cleavage.”
Hovard’s ramblings are severed mid-sentence, and my gaze darts to Rhordyn’s face, but he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at Dolcie, giving her cherry cheeks and bedroom eyes his full, undivided attention.
“Master?” she asks, tone light and innocent, hands still against my breasts that are rising with every sharp pull of breath.
He pushes away from the wall and strides forward, head tilted to the side. “Do you need me to say it clearer?”
Dolcie looks up at him through her lashes. “But I thought—”
“You thought what?” The last word snaps out of him, and Dolcie pales, her mouth falling open but failing to shape words.
“That you’d be p-pleased. That you’d want her to look appealing for any potential suitors.”
He stares at her, unblinking, the tense moment lasting long enough that Dolcie withers. Beads of sweat collect on Hovard’s temples, and his eyes dart between the two.
“It’s fi—”
Rhordyn cuts me off. “Orlaith told you exactly what she wants, and you blatantly ignored her request. Unless you want to find yourself out of a job and lose your residence within this castle, I suggest you fix the pattern. Now.”
Dolcie drops into a curtsey so fast you’d think her knees had given way. “Yes, Master. S-sorry, Master.”
She gets back to work, rearranging the fabric across my bust with trembling hands, and I hiss when a sharp sting has me staggering back, shielding my left breast. “Ouch!”
“Out!”
Rhordyn’s destructive tone causes a riot of movement, and Hovard ushers a pale-faced Dolcie through the exit—hand to her lips, pincushion discarded on the floor.
Rhordyn holds my gaze until the door snicks shut behind them both, and I’m acutely aware of his chest rising and falling to the same rhythm as my own. He makes a small clicking sound with his tongue before charging toward a table stacked with a jug and crystal glasses. He pours one half full, then peers at it, silent and still while my heart sits in my throat.
I know what this moment could grow into. Can feel the weight of potential pushing on my chest, stifling my breaths.
That inner voice, again, is screaming for me to run.
He clears his throat and spins, stalking toward me.
Perhaps I’m a fool ... but I’m a curious fool. And this has never been done in person. There’s always a door separating us, slapping a mask over the act.
He stops only when we’re sharing breath, eye to eye, on the verge of something transcending.
For the very first time, there is no door separating us. Nothing but thin air that’s a blend of both our scents.
“May I?”
Please do.
I nod, refusing to blink as he pinches the edge of the mock-up dress, peeling it down like the corner of a book page.
Every inhale brings my breasts closer to his chill, every exhale pulls them away again, much like the internal tug-of-war I wage with myself daily.
Part of me wants to be closer, the rest of me knows I need to stay the hell away—that Rhordyn’s an ocean that would plunge into my lungs and drown me if I fell into him.
He looks down, his icy trail of scrutiny landing on the freckle of pain on the swell of my breast that’s acute enough to draw a bead of blood.
I should know.
My chin tips, nipples pebbling, flesh anticipating his touch so much it’s almost uncomfortable.
His ragged exhale agitates my skin.
I blink, and the air shifts.
Suddenly his back is turned, and I’m listening to him stir the water ...
Looking down, I see nothing but a red prickle of damaged skin.
No blood. No smear.
Gone.
And I felt nothing. Not a single brush of contact. As if he did everything he could to make sure his touch didn’t linger.
This heavy rock in my stomach feels a lot like disappointment.
He walks toward the door, not giving me a single look at his face. Is there pleasure in his eyes? Dissatisfaction?
Disgust?
Would it be so bad to let me see?
“I won’t be needing your offering tonight.”
My heart is thrown l
ike a snowball, the swelling lump in my throat hard to draw a steady breath past.
Those words ...
They’re acid to my bones.
He’s stealing that sadistic thrill from my nightly ritual, replacing it with this—something equally refined, as if the door were still separating us as he took my offering.
He pauses with his hand wrapped around the handle. “Lilac.”
I shake my head, glazed attention lifting to the back of his head. “What?”
“To match your eyes,” he murmurs before tugging the door open, and then he’s gone.
My lids flutter closed, shuttering me away.
I was bleeding at the breakfast table this morning, and he certainly didn’t demand I dip my leg in a bucket of water.
Is this some sort of punishment? His way of forcing me to break my routine? Because that’s what it feels like.
He dealt his blow and left.
There’s a soft knock, and I look up to see Hovard bowed around the doorframe, assessing the space with his marble eyes. “He’s gone?”
“He is.” I clear my throat, watching him inch back in like the ground is littered with hot coals. “And he liked the red.”
Hovard pushes his glasses further down his nose and studies me over the rim of them. “Oh?”
I nod. “And I want the dress cut low in the back and more fitting around the hips.”
His brow pinches, eyes going wide, cheeks sponged red. “But ... but Orlaith, my dear ... you wouldn’t be able to wear your underbones. That would be considered very informal for such an occasion!”
“That’s the point,” I bite, unpinning the rest of Dolcie’s monstrosity from my frame.
If I must attend this ball, I refuse to be stuffed into something impossible to breathe in.
“So long as the neckline sits around my throat, I’m giving you artistic license, Hovard. You’ve always said you’d love to dress me like a doll. Well ... have at it.”
He stares at me for a long moment before he bursts into a foray of movement and chatter and expressive hand gestures that make me smile.
Rhordyn wants to punish me? Well.
Two can play that game.
The sun is sinking, turning ribbons of cloud a soft shade of violet.
Standing amongst the ever-changing masterpiece of color and light, I watch Rhordyn stalk toward the labyrinth of trees that sweep around the castle grounds ...
My Safety Line.
He reaches the far corner where forest meets the plunging cliff and begins his survey of the perimeter—a walk that will trace my Safety Line until he disappears into the forest. Goes places I’ll hopefully never go.
Beyond those trees, bad things happen.
Wide, unseeing eyes.
The smell of burning death.
Beasts that tore into—
I clear my throat, hating him for hacking such a huge hole in my routine. Now I’m up here in knots, chewing on excess time, and I doubt he gives a shit.
He got what he wanted.
Hearing a sharp squeak, I glance through the balcony doors to my knapsack hooked on the corner of my ornate bed frame. After my afternoon got eaten up by Hovard, I never made it down to see Shay ... meaning I’ve still got a mouse in my bag.
Poor thing.
I peer back over the balustrade, watch Rhordyn trail the treeline, and my brows tuck into a frown.
Despite my bubbling well of curiosity, I’ve always stayed up here while he makes his evening rounds—figured the closed door between us extended to this part of the routine, too.
But today is no regular day.
He screwed up my schedule, threatened me, demanded I attend a ball, and took away my evening thrill. If he can’t respect my boundaries, why am I respecting his?
I draw a deep breath, scan the brassy rays stretching across the fluffy forest, and decide it’s the perfect time to visit my friend Shay. The fact that I’m exploiting the task to garner an up-close view of Rhordyn’s perimeter sweep should be entirely discounted.
I pull on a sweater, repack my bag, and dash out the door, taking the steps of Stony Stem two at a time until I reach the base, exiting into the castle’s fifth floor corridor.
When I enter The Tangle, I take a shortcut that spits me out just behind Rhordyn, and the rich scent of blooming night lilies has me breathing deeply, capturing the spicy perfume that always makes the back of my throat tingle.
I dart across the small stretch of grass, merging with a pool of shadow that fringes Sprouts—the greenhouse. Taking advantage of a manicured garden shrub, I use it as a shield while peeking around the corner of the cold, glassy building I love so much.
Watching.
His shoulders are rigid, barely shifting with each smooth step he assaults the ground with.
There’s nothing strange about his actions. He’s simply walking the same trail he always does, brushing a hand across the odd tree trunk here and there.
Parting from my line of sight, he lures me to leave the safety of my perfect hiding spot. I stick to slabs of shadow as I trail him, silent as a leaf being pushed along by the chilled evening wind.
The stars are beginning to wink, the moon a crescent barely holding much light by the time Rhordyn reaches the path that cuts into the forest—one framed with dense, twisting vines petrified by a long life.
It almost looks like a tunnel, dusted with little white flowers that smell sweet and fresh.
He pauses at the entrance.
Something about the way he’s holding himself has me edging behind the stump of an ancient tree clothed in moss, dropping low and pressing flat against the ground. Cool grass cushions my cheek as I ease forward just enough to glimpse his profile.
It may be the swiftly fading light, but I swear I see him whisper to the flowers right before he disappears into the forest.
I sigh, roll onto my back, and look to the stars prickling the darkening canvas, drumming my fingers on the ground.
The hairs on my right arm lift ...
I let my head fall to the side and scan the inky forest depths.
Shay is harder to see at this time of day, and it’s not like he makes it easy for me by leaping around and waving a hand. But I can sense him—can feel the air around me shift as if it’s cleaving a path for my friend to move through.
I push to a stand and edge toward a bush of night lilies. The white dust on the tips of their inky petals shimmers brighter by the second, their luster brought to life by the fading light.
Courtesy of these flowers, some of my paintings glow in the dark; like the stars and the moon on my bedroom door.
Barely two inches from the black line of rocks I’ve planted to mark my Safety Line, I kneel, foraging through my bag for the jar with holes in the lid. I untwist the top and stuff my hand inside, pinching the mouse’s stringy tail before gently easing him out.
He wrestles the air, squeaks sharpening, and I catch movement in my peripheral—a lanky, wraith-like creature flitting between elongated pockets of gloom, dressed in a smoky sheath that seems to gorge on the light.
My smile grows.
I can feel his eyes on me, akin to a paintbrush dipped in oil that flits across my skin.
He reaches a particularly thick piece of shade, its sharp edges blurring as the nest of night lilies brightens, releasing more of their spicy scent and spilling a soft glow that gives my gaze something to cling to.
There, he hovers—no more than two long steps away.
I lift the mouse higher, bringing him eye level.
Whiskers twitching, the rodent arches his back and reaches for my nose, like he thinks I’m going to save him.
I cock my head to the side and watch him struggle. Watch him stretch and stretch until he’s turned himself into a fluffy pendulum; one that counts down his final heartbeats.
I usually just fling them over the line, but—
I’m not seeing any effort to overcome your fears.
I sigh, failing to tame the heavy roll
of my heart.
Dammit, Rhordyn.
Before I can think it through, I grit my teeth and shove my hand across the line of rocks, breath held, body stilled, doing everything in my power not to crumble into a ball and release a sawtooth scream.
I should probably be afraid of the messy shadow inching forward, crouched low and making that clicking sound in the back of his throat ...
I’m not.
My fear is a wild thing pointed in other directions.
I last four seconds before I drop the mouse and snatch my hand back over the line.
Shay pounces in a snap of smoky ribbons and skeletal fingers. There’s a final, tortured squeak before his blackness begins to ebb, and wet, suckling sounds ensue.
I shake my hand, stretch my fingers, inspect my skin ... half-expecting it to bubble and split. Part of me wants it to—wants the world beyond my Safety Line to be so poisonous the only option is to stay right here forever.
Safe.
I guess I can’t exactly claim this as a victory when I’m hoping for such things.
Shay rears back, and all that’s left of the mouse is fluffy skin sucked close to a small, angular skeleton. I once used a stick to nudge a corpse back over the line so I could inspect the thing, and it was hard like a pebble.
My friend and I watch each other while the moon owl hoots his eerie wake-up call, and I can feel the hum of Shay’s appreciation.
Despite the fact that he can probably hunt his own food, I think he enjoys the fat little gifts I provide. Or perhaps he just enjoys the company while he dines.
Something I can appreciate.
In an unceremonious spurt of movement, he darts off through the darkening forest, leaving a chill that nettles my skin.
I shiver, peering at the path that swallowed Rhordyn whole ...
He could be down there all night.
For not the first time, I wonder where it leads. A curious seed I refuse to plant or water or feed light into.
My world is right here, on this side of the stones. Out there belongs to the bones of my broken past and beasts that stalk my nightmares.
Pushing to my feet, I brush off my pants and make for the castle, certain dozens of eyes are pinned to my retreating form.
To Bleed a Crystal Bloom Page 7
