Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
MORGANA
I knew a full day had passed when two of the guards broke through the latched door with a glass half-full of water and a plate of food. I scrambled onto my feet and stared wide-eyed, watching as the uglier one smiled with rotten teeth. He shook the plate enough that the slop started to shake. I eyed the bread hanging off the edge, so stiff it didn’t conform to the bend. He made kissing noises at me, beckoning me forward as if I was a dog.
Instead of moving toward him, I pressed my back further against the cold wall. The other guard stood by the door, watching with an unamused frown. My focus flickered between the two. The uglier guard set the plate and glass on the floor with a loud clatter, the bread crumbling as it jolted onto the floor. I looked in disgust—I could see mold blooming off the bread and brown slop from here.
“Go on then. Eat your gruel, bitch.”
Anger snapped in my chest. I harshened my glare into slits, inching toward the food and kneeling into a half-crouched position. I dug my fingers into the slop and winced, the mushy beans coating my fingers like mud. It was cold too. I lifted it to my nose and inhaled to test the waters. It smelled worse than shit. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was what they were trying to feed me.
I rose, close enough that the guard’s foul aroma overpowered the stench of the slop. He leaned in to repeat the command. “Eat, bitch. Be grateful the prince ain’t leavin’ ye to starve.”
Before he could move to create space between us, I slapped the slop over his mouth and kicked my foot into his shin. He howled, spewing the food back onto the ground and glaring at me. His footsteps thudded against the wooden floor as he chased me around, lunging forward to grab hold of me. I leaped over the empty cot, baring my teeth at him like the dog he thought I was.
“You filthy mutt, you should be kept out back with the rest of them,” he hissed and stretched his hand to grab me. I tried to duck out of the way, but he grabbed a fist full of hair and I howled out in pain.
“Look at that, Rennick! The lassie has a voice.”
“Paul, let her go,” the guard finally muttered with a sigh so deep, I knew his disapproval was painful. “We are under strict instructions?—”
“I don’t care about the crown prince’s orders. He ain’t my king yet,” the uglier one, Paul, said. He grappled my hair so hard it pulled strands loose at the root, dragging me over the iron cot’s frame. There was no mattress, so the fabric of my pants tore and the loose nails scratched against my skin. I hissed and thrashed, using the leverage of the frame to push myself into him and gain leverage. The guard stumbled, but it wasn’t enough to break free of his hold. My arms, nose, and just about every other part of my body still ached from the constant fighting from days prior.
Paul rammed me backward into the nearest wall, stars forming behind my eyes as my head smashed against the stone. I groaned, trying to whir myself back into reality. His nose brushed against my cheek, and that familiar essence of terror numbed my bones. My fingers tingled, and his foul breath brushed against my skin.
“I heard of men fuckin’ goats, but a mutt ought to do.”
“Go fuck yourself,” I said between the ringing in my ears. His calloused hands brushed my forearm, and within seconds my focus turned black. It was akin to the moment I lost control in the morgue, but this was not induced by magic.
No, this was rage. I kneed him in the groin so hard I could have sworn something popped. He cried out so loud it echoed, and before the other guard had a second to lunge at me, I bit into his ear. The skin tore and the taste of something metallic and salty squirted into my mouth.
He was spewing a string of curses now, stumbling backward and over the plate of food he’d put on the ground. He clutched onto his ear, and I spat up the taste of his skin and blood onto the floor.
“Don’t… fucking… touch me… again. ”
“You wretched bitch, ” he wept. The other guard jolted toward me but merely shook his head and helped Paul to his feet. “You’ll be hanged for that. Filthy mutt.”
“Shut your mouth, Paul,” Rennick hissed and practically dragged him out of the room and down the stairs. The lock latched shut, and only when silence enveloped me, did I tremble. Flashes of those terrible nights I’d spent fifteen years ago escaping, flooded me, and I couldn’t move. I stared at the metal doorknob, a tear trickling down my cheek.
Fifteen years ago, Galen was there to help me survive the torment of such cruel, vile attacks. He was always there.
Now it was just me.
Alone.