Chapter 7 #2
A flicker of warmth, unexpected, spreads through my chest. It’s him. Not Rome. He is the safety I feel, the anchor.
Did he do something to stop them cutting me, to stop them demanding more of my flesh and bone and sanity?
They haven’t tried to carve me in so long. My treatments are mild—skin care and peels, a few needles—but nothing like before. I almost feel… like the bigger, the older and more capable Tuscany has more time in my mind. The little one, the frightened one, she’s resting so much more.
It's good; she needs her sleep.
One last-light, I stand up in my nightgown, leave my room and force myself to walk the length of the corridor for no reason at all. Back and forth.
My Room Guard doesn’t move, not even his eyeballs as I pace, fingers flexing. Each step is a victory, a rebellion against the memories that bind me.
I stop at a window that overlooks the courtyard and see him. He stands near my aviary, where the baby eagles hatch. Long dark hair in a knot at the back of his head, huge body filling out his black armour. Stunning. My dark knight.
His gaze lifts, meets mine. We stare. There is no judgment in his eyes, only a quiet understanding. In this moment, something shifts within me. Maybe he can watch the monsters for me…
A different feeling, a new and fragile one, takes root. It’s a dangerous seed— forbidden to grow, forbidden to bloom. Something akin to yearning unfurls inside me. I want him to hold me. Like a father—no. Like a brother? No.
Like a lover?
Love is not a concept encouraged in The Cradle. It’s just propaganda of a different kind; a model created to separate us, to have us indulge in one person instead of the collective—or so The Trade says.
What is this then, this undeniable yearning?
I blink at him. “I will take no man,” I whisper to myself, my lips barely moving, his eyes following the shapes they make. “Bear no children.” I want him to hold me and make up for all the missing holds.
But he never enters my room.
Well, of course. I am always sedated at night, else I have bad dreams and thrash around, eventually throwing myself under the bed where it is safe.
“Room Guard.” I stride over to him and stand right in front of him, and he still looks straight through me.
“Kong may enter my room at night as well.” I swallow, not really having thought this through. “So, only Rome and Kong are welcome. Do you understand? Please tell him th-that he may enter.”
“Kong?”
“Yes.” I have to walk away for fear he’ll say something cruel, though he never would. “Because” —I spin around and face him again, my honey hair a dishevelled mess around my gown— “He represents the king.”
And that is the only reason.
I come to from a nightmarish dream, the echoes of my screams still clutching at my mind and lungs.
For only a second, I remember the dream before it fades. I am hiding under the bed, in the tear in my skinny reality. It is safe in there. Usually.
"My legs!" I scream, the confusion swirling around me.
The nightmare dissolves, and in its place warmth and breath resonate. A strong hand cradling the back of my head, a warm embrace, but… No one embraces me.
Am I still dreaming?
If so, I wish to never wake up.
He tries to shuffle away.
I cling to him. “Kong?”
"Yes, little queen," he replies, his voice soothing and warm. “You were thrashing around. I only laid down to hold you still.”
He is here.
In my bed.
I wanted this.
Is this real? Good things don’t happen; they can’t. I don’t believe it. I know he is old enough to be my father, that I am childish and in a position of power over him. It is all odd, wrong, and forbidden.
But I want him to hold me.
"Stay." It’s a plea more than a command, a desperate wish for comfort. I want his arms around me, to feel the protection that he promises when his biceps bulk, to hear his heart thump with warning. To understand the power and danger of this man; I know he is. I know he is lethal. I want to feel it.
“As you wish.”
Thick arms tighten around me, and I almost forget how to breathe.
Time stands still.
Is this what it feels like? To be held by a man? With his body two feet taller than mine, and three times thicker, I curl into a ball on my side in a cave made from his warm flesh.
This is better than my fantastical hole under the bed. It’s real and raw—alive.
Sleepily, I smack my lips, murmuring, “Watch the monsters for me.”
I think he can.
I think he will.
Nestled against him, I find safety. My eyelids grow heavy, and I drift into a deep sleep… It’s black. Quiet.
Only I stir again, the heat of heavy breaths rushing down on me. The sound of deep, rough exhales. And a hand—his large, warm, and possessive—glides over my hip, tracing a path down the front of my thigh.
A gasp slips through my lips. My lungs suddenly tighten. He squeezes, pawing at me, and a deep groan rumbles through my spine.
I part my lips.
Air. Where is it?
My heart races, breath quickens, and I’m somehow conscious of my blood rushing around, making me hot and dizzy. I shouldn’t want this. No man is allowed to touch me.
Another groan rumbles through my back, a sound capable of curling my toes and building pressure inside me.
I want more.
I want his hand to be firmer—lower. In this half-slumber, I've got no inhibitions, just a burning need.
He pushes his male parts against my back, and my eyes widen.
He is so… hard. It bruises. Pulses. Taps at me. And somehow, the place between my legs reacts to it. I press my thighs together, afraid I might drip onto the mattress. This is wrong. I'm not to be touched like this.
But, oh, I don't want him to stop. His hard body is a warm cloak at my back, his thick arm over me, hand still kneading my thigh and—
My eyes snap open as his rough palm slides up my thigh and dips between. Shame blooms behind my cheek; I'm wet there. He'll feel it. I don't want him to feel that sticky heat, but instead of pulling away, I press into the cradle of his hand and moan.
And moan.
Oh... His fingers stroke, teasing the wet valley. I realise he likes me, too. A bit more than he should, more than is allowed. Maybe he’ll make up for all the missing holds. Treat me like a woman, a choice, not a chore.
And I no longer feel distant. Right now, I feel so present, so inside my body.
It's beautiful. I don't want to hide because I feel safe. I’m free.
His hand on me has meaning— promise. Perhaps he'll claim me, he'll fight for me, give me no choice and thrust himself inside me.
Perhaps he'll challenge Rome and Cairo for rights to me, perhaps he'll challenge the entire world—
He stops.
I feel him tense, and icy fear drips down my spine. The mattress jerks as he jumps to his feet.
Slowly, I roll to my back and gaze up at him, and his look of pure disgust strikes me harder than any hand could.
No.
No, don’t look at me like that.
He grips his forehead, frown knotting as his eyes roam my body, appalled by what he's seeing, by what he did.
I'm panting and left wanting...
Rejection sinking into layers that had only just started to heal. I'm revolting, aren't I? I'm bits of a girl. Why would he want me? Was it because I was... wet?
Or do I feel… wrong?
Not nice to touch?
He cups my cheeks. "I'm sorry, little queen. Are you hurt?"
Hurt? Yes.
My heart cracks before he even finishes speaking. “Little queen? Tell me, are you okay? I’m so fucking sorry.”
Bu-but, I'm not sorry.
Don’t go…
Aren’t you going to hold me?
Then it hits me; he was asleep. I wasn't what he expected when he woke up. He thought I was someone else. Someone pretty, entire, whole, soft, sane—
Anger fires through me, taking control and protecting the core parts of me that want to disappear. "Leave!"
My lower lip trembles.
My heart breaks.
The look of regret in his eyes pierces me, diving in deep, smashing the little pieces of trust I collected for him.
“As you wish,” he says. Without watching him stride to the exit, I roll myself into a ball and hug Eagle Rome to my chest.
Ugh.
Closing my eyes, tears squeezing through my lashes, I listen to his boots rap, each adding pressure to the cracks in my heart. Before his steps are merely a memory, I’m sobbing and trembling despite my flushing skin. And I want the ECT.
They make me forget.
I didn't think I'd let anyone close enough to do this to me, to hurt me like this...
A little voice inside me squeaks, ‘Don’t let him reject me again.’ As the thought arrives, it stabilizes to cement, a powerful declaration, a defence unbreakable.
"I will take no man,” I whimper. “Bear no children. I am the Queen of The Cradle."
I have to harden my outsides to protect the vulnerable girl inside. I have to be indifferent and well-behaved, or else little Tuscany will not cope.