Bethany had never been kissed, and this was a far cry from the lazy dreams of her childhood. The prince forced his tongue into her mouth while he ran his free hand against her bony hip. Her burned lips felt bruised and spongy by the time he released her. Though fear dominated her emotions, Bethany felt the artificial arousal begin to return. She felt lonely, as though a large piece of her body—just below her navel—had been forcibly removed. A small piece of her, that wasn’t clouded by fear, wanted to press her body against him and beg him to fill her, make her whole again.
The prince seemed willing enough to comply. He wrapped his free arm around her waist and crushed her against his chest before attacking her mouth again. Something in Bethany’s brain seemed to snap. The fear took over, masking the electricity coursing through her veins. Bethany jerked away, remembering her vow to fight to the very end. The prince was too surprised by her sudden change of response to keep his grip and she managed to free herself.
Bethany dashed towards the door, but she wasn’t fast enough. He looped his arm around her waist, drawing her away just as her fingers brushed against the door’s metal handle. Bethany screamed, hoping aid would come to her from outside. Of course, if her brain had not been muddled with panic, she would have remembered that the guards would never come to her aid. Not when the prince was in control of the situation.
Using his hips, he pinned her against one of the tall post of his bed that held up the heavy drapery. Its polished corner dug into her half-healed back. With a quick yank, the prince tore the bodice of her dress in half and allowed it to fall off her shoulders to reveal her dirty torso. Like all her curves, her breast had disappeared due to continual starvation. Bethany quivered as she frantically tried to pull the pieces of fabric over her chest, but the prince was having none of it. He yanked her hands away, the grip on her injured wrist causing her to scream out in pain.
The prince didn’t notice. He pressed himself against her, one hand at the back of her neck again, while the other began to fumble with the folds of her skirt. This was it, she realized.
Before he could do anything else, a knock on the door interrupted him.
“What?” growled Féderic deep in his chest.
Bethany could feel it vibrate against her body.
Chapter Fifteen
Sir Caldry pushed the door open. He had heard a scream from down the hall and couldn’t decide if he was thankful to have an excuse to interrupt. The pretty slave girl stood cowering against the bed, her dress lying on the floor, while the prince pressed himself against her. After a moment’s hesitation, during which he panted heavily, Féderic glanced over his shoulder to look at the knight.
“What is it?” growled the prince.
“The king wants to see you.”
“Later.”
“He says now,” replied Sir Caldry.
Féderic glowered around the room for a moment before stomping his way through the door.
“Clean this up,” Cal ordered the slave.
She nodded mutely, her stormy blue eyes shining with unshed tears while her hands absently went to cover her breasts. Cal slammed the door shut in the face of the ogling guards and jogged to catch up with the prince, doing everything he could not to think about the scene he had just witnessed. He didn’t want to feel for her. Such emotions would only get him into trouble. A few minutes later they stopped at the king's room. Cal could hear Wolfric’s voice boom, even through the heavy wooden door, drowning out the sound of their entrance.
One of the nervous looking guards opened the door and stepped aside, allowing them to enter.
The king's bedroom looked as though war had been waged within its walls. Lady Lynette sat in a huddle on the floor, wedged between the bed and an overturned chair. Her cheek showed signs of an assault, her eyes were puffy with crying, and the dyes she used around her eyes ran down her cheeks. She shuddered as Wolfric went into another long, inarticulate rampage.
Though the king would never hit his wife—the bearer of his heirs—his mistress was of no such importance. He didn't care if she could produce children. In fact, it would be better for everyone if a king's mistress was barren.
The king stopped in his tirade, turned, and gave his son a dark, withering glare. Cal felt glad he was not on the receiving end of such a look. He glanced at the prince, who was still staring at Lady Lynette and unaware of his father's scrutiny.
“You!” screeched the king as he stepped forward, grabbing his son by the shirt and dragging him forcefully into the room to get his attention. “Of all people! You think you can steal from me?”
Féderic was not a dumb person, and yet he seemed intent on looking naive. Did he really think the king wouldn't see right through him? The prince shook his head, letting his firm jaw relax into an open-mouthed grimace. Cal admitted, he looked confused and ignorant, but half the castle knew Lady Lynette visited his room. It was not hard to guess what was happening behind closed doors. In fact, Sir Caldry was surprised the king was just now finding out.
“Don't play dumb, Féd. That act stopped working on me the first time you maimed your horse,” snarled the king as he grasped his son by the jaw and forced Féderic to look at him. “Look me in the eye, and tell me you've never slept with Lynette.”
The prince gulped, his eyes darting towards the weeping woman and back at his father.
“Or are you telling me you love her?” he sneered.
Cal glanced at Lynette. She had stopped crying momentarily, a fleeting look of hope crossing her face. Now who was naïve? All three men knew love was not involved; the woman was the only one to think either of her lovers cared for her. After all, Cal had just walked in on the prince forcing himself on a slave.
“I uh... I didn't realize you'd... care...” stuttered the shocked young man.
“Have I ever allowed someone to have what was mine? Haven't I taught you from your cradle to guard against those who would steal from you? And here, you—my own flesh and blood—taking what is mine, and mine alone. How dare you?” demanded the king, as he shoved his son towards a pile of broken furniture.
“Forgive me, father! It will never happen again,” cried the prince, having given up all hope of saving face.
Cal tried not to smirk at the sudden change of approach.
“Damn right it won't happen again!” howled Wolfric, as he crouched down in front of his cowering son.
Cal glimpsed the look on Lynette's face. She was crying again, but in a sadder, more desolate manner. It was no longer in an effort to save herself from further punishment; it was with resignation that she cried for her own lost hopes and dreams.
Cal wondered just how she felt about the two men in her life. He expected she thought Féderic the best route to power, being unmarried, but kept with the king as a backup plan. Mistress to the king may not be as good as wife to the crown prince, but it was better than the whoring daughter of the king's advisor.
“You listen to me boy. I may live for years yet, and in no way have I decided on you for my heir.” The king paused dramatically while Féderic's eyes grew wide enough for the white to show all around his irises. “Now, here is what you are going to do. You will marry a girl of respectable parentage within the next four months. You will not take a mistress until after you have produced an heir of your own. And you will do the duties I set before you without complaint. Do you understand?”
“I do, Sire,” simpered the prince. “I'll not even look at Lynette,” he added for good measure.
“That won't be a problem,” snapped the king.
“What? My gracious lord and master! Please! I'm sorry. Please forgive me...” but before Lynette could grovel any more, the king had climbed to his feet, crossed the room, and struck her across her already bruised cheeks.
She fell heavily against the nearby chair and collapsed in an unconscious heap.
“W-what's gonna happen to her?” asked the prince from his place amongst the broken furniture.
“Though it is none of you
r business, she and her brats will be sent away. We will never see the cheating whore again. Now get out of here.”
Féderic hesitated for only a short second before nodding and scurrying from the room. Cal absently wondered if the slave girl had left Féd’s room yet. He hoped so. Considering what just happened, the prince would be looking for a way to demonstrate his power and authority. Even he, a valued member of the castle, didn't want to be in Féderic's company. He couldn't imagine what would happen to any slave who had the misfortune of crossing his path.
“Take the woman back to her quarters,” commanded the king, his eyes locking on Cal. “She's to leave before the next sunset. Inform Hepner.”
Cal nodded once, hoisted Lynette’s limp body over his shoulder, and marched out of the room.
Chapter Sixteen
Bethany cleaned the prince's room in record time before slipping away. She had just descended the nearest servant's stairwell when she heard angry steps pounding down the upper corridor. A sense of relief flooded over her. No doubt, whatever had just happened hadn't improved his mood.
Without waiting to eavesdrop, as other slaves might have, she scurried down the steps, stopped at the loose stone, and removed the bundle of oleander. Night had descended on the castle, bringing most of the weary slaves to their own piles of straw. Bethany slipped passed the deserted hall leading between the slave dormitory and the kitchen, then through the kitchen where one unlucky cook's assistant sat numbly stirring a pot. The young man's eyes were closed and he appeared more asleep than awake.
Bethany tiptoed through the warm room and out the door, still sitting open to allow in the cold night air. She dashed across the bailey—still clinging to the scraps of her dress—and into the stables, where a few horses poked their heads out of their stable doors and made welcoming sputtering noises. Bethany ignored them, paying more attention to Josiah's irregular snoring. Once it sounded as though he had drifted into a deeper sleep, Bethany moved towards the large, open barrel full of a mixture of oats, bran, and beans. Bethany quietly crunched up the pile of oleander, and mixed it into the top portion of the barrel.
Though Bethany didn't really want any of the horses to be permanently injured, all of them being sick would make retrieving the lost messenger pigeons nearly impossible.
With this finished, Bethany silently returned to the slave’s dormitory, where she stayed up half the night trying to repair her torn frock.
Bethany was set to the task of scrubbing the paving stones in the slave dormitory, specifically those covered in blood from a recent whipping. The mortar crevices were stained a deep red where the blood had pooled. Bethany began her task with complete willingness—it was nowhere near the desperate prince—but as her day unfolded, her feelings changed.
The first commotion was little more than annoying. Another slave passed her and, with a look of disgust, ran into her bucket. The water spilled, spreading a few feet before running into the crevices, much like the blood had done. He sneered at her before marching off. Bethany quickly sponged up the water before going to fetch more.
The second episode occurred when a woman came through burdened by a large sack of what smelled like old food waste from the kitchen. The worn bag conveniently tore at that moment, dropping the garbage all across the portion of stone flooring Bethany had finished cleaning.
Bethany tried to be patient as she moved to help the other woman clear away the mess, but patience wasn't in her nature. The other woman’s slow, lethargic movements didn't help either. She was leaving the mess for Bethany to clean up. Before Bethany could finish cleaning up this new mess, a man came traipsing through with a load of firewood, which he accidentally dropped as he passed them. Half the wood landed on Bethany’s back causing her to slip and bark her chin against the dirty, wet stones. He apologized profusely, but a gleam in his eye and the laughter of those nearby made Bethany wonder. As he moved to pick up the fire wood, he accidentally slammed a piece of kindling against Bethany’s head.
She received a few more blows as they cleaned up their messes, each crack producing another spurt of chuckles from their audience. Before she knew what was happening, the accidental knocks turned into decisive kicks. Bethany hunched over and wrapped her arms around her stomach out of instinct. A few minutes passed, though they felt like hours, before an authoritative voice brought the crowd to order.
“I says stop!” snapped Flora when someone snuck in another kick to Bethany’s shoulder. “How dare you damage the prince’s thing? All of you, to work. Half rations for three days,” she added when they hesitated.
As the crowd dispersed, they managed to trip over Bethany’s hunched body and generally give her a few more blows.
Once they were gone Flora approached Bethany, who was just beginning to unfold her throbbing body. '
“You clean the mess up,” she said, waving towards the littered floor.
“But I didn’t make the mess,” whined Bethany, the movement causing her split lip to blaze with fresh pain.
“I don’t care. Clean it up.”
“What did I do to them?”
Flora knelt down. “When you burn them reeds in the valley, make’n all those women work more, you become the enemy. You work against them, not for them.”
“But I did it to ruin the queen,” whispered Bethany as softly as she could.
A hard look came over Flora's features as she spoke: “It don’t matter none. They don’t see it us versus them. It’s everyone versus them. Don’t matter none who you tried to ruin. You hurt them. You the enemy now.”
Bethany frowned. She couldn’t understand their thinking. If all the slaves worked together against their masters, they might have a chance.
“I can’t just give in to them.”
“Then your life will be very short,” whispered Flora back; she opened her mouth, as if to say more, but they were interrupted.
“What is going on here?” demanded the scarred knight from the doorway.
They looked up. His brows were furrowed as he scanned the pile of filth, wood, and blood.
Bethany wiped hot liquid off the side of her face, only to discover she was bleeding from a shallow cut near her hair line. No wonder the garbage had a red tint to it. She bowed her head and left Flora to do the speaking.
“Some bullying.”
“Huh,” he grunted. “That’ll teach her.”
Bethany felt a fresh wave of hatred toward the knight fill her gut as she began to clean the floor, again.
Chapter Seventeen
Bethany ducked as two men pelted headlong down the length of the great hall, hunched under the burden of a rolled up tapestry. It had been commissioned specifically for this banquet. Though the queen was a frugal woman by nature, for this one occasion she spared no expense. Along with the new tapestry, she had ordered new linens for half the bedrooms, a batch of the most enormous candles, food from all over her husband’s great empire, and entertainers heralding from every conquered land. Bethany was proud to know none of her people would come to entertain them. They were not slaves to the king’s will, though she might be.
For the last two days, Bethany had been kept on her feet from before dawn to well after midnight. In fact, she hadn't eaten in over two days. It was not due to a lack of food flowing from the kitchens. She simply couldn't find the time. The minute the slaves’ dinner gong sounded, the steward or slave master would send for her. Bethany began to wonder if they were doing it on purpose. She thought about sneaking into the kitchen and begging one of the assistants for a crust of bread, but every time she drew near it, she lost her nerve. It did not seem worth risking more bodily harm for one measly scrap of bread, especially after everything that had happened recently.
The prince was sending her to work for the slave master more and more. In fact, he seemed to be avoiding her, and she began to wonder if he would sell her. Bethany got the impression he was ashamed of his attempt to rape her. Bethany wasn’t sure if the shame stemmed from his failure to achiev
e it or the act itself. Either way, she was glad to not be in his presence.
Based on the gossip flowing through the castle, Lady Lynnette’s duplicity had become known to the king and Féderic was without a mistress. Overall, it seemed like a good time to keep her head down. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself while everyone was stressed and angry, and for this reason she refrained from visiting the kitchens for food.
The kitchen had been in a tumult of barely controlled chaos for the past week. It had begun with the arrival of the many animals the guests would be eating—most of them very much alive. The slaves quickly made room in their sleeping dormitory for some of the more rare and delicate animals. The only ones arriving at the castle pre-slaughtered were the fish, thank goodness. Bethany tried imagining what their dormitory would be like if they were required to keep the fish alive too.
Those that were too fragile for the harsh, mountain climate resided with the slaves, including a large swarm of suckling pigs, three enormous peacocks, two broody swans, and a large cage of tiny quails. Bethany had woken numerous times to pigs and birds trying to share her pile of straw. Though a far cry from being whipped and nearly raped, it did feel like a new low.
Still, Bethany couldn't help but lick her lips in anticipation. All these delicacies were common to her, though now she expected little more than to scrape the dishes after the feast. Perhaps she could get a taste of the fine quail meat before it got thrown to the dogs.
Until then, though, she had to work. The first two days were spent polishing the royal family’s best dishes. Here was another sign of the queen’s frugality. For their common family dinners, she never used more than well sanded wooden plates, but now the vaults were thrown open and every piece of silver was polished for the guests.
The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy Page 10
