Chapter Five – Tressa #2
As I work, I notice something that makes me freeze.
Altair is growing hard from my touches. I can see the evidence of it through his wet trousers.
I think it must be because I’m being too gentle, so I start dabbing at the stain harder, pressing into his flesh hard enough to hurt him. I hope the pain will make him stop.
But to my shock, the tent in his pants becomes bigger, until it’s impossible to ignore. I accidentally brush against it and feel the hard flesh throbbing beneath the fabric. I jerk my hand back like I’ve been burned.
I don’t understand. He hates me just as much as I hate him. Surely, he’s not attracted to me.
His tail wraps around my waist and yanks me back to my feet roughly. I stumble and barely catch myself.
“Stand there and behave. This is your first day, and look at what you’ve done. A man can’t even enjoy a peaceful lunch anymore.”
I swallow heavily, my throat tight. I stand with my hands tucked behind my back and stare straight ahead, trying not to look at him. Especially trying not to look at the huge tent in his pants.
Altair eats ravenously yet elegantly, using his claws to tear the quail meat. He drinks half the bottle of wine and barely glances at me the entire time. He acts like I’m furniture.
That is until his voice pulls me from my thoughts.
“Sit. You should eat something.”
I look at him, confused. I watch in horror as he pushes his dirty plate toward the chair beside him and makes a pile of his leftovers on the plate. There’s not a single piece of food he hasn’t already bitten into. Half-eaten quail, vegetables he’s picked at, bread torn by his clawed hands.
When he sees I’m not moving, he orders again:
“Sit, or I’ll make you sit.”
His tail twitches threateningly.
“I’m not eating your leftovers,” I say.
“You’ll have to, because that’s all you’re allowed to eat.”
I don’t believe him. I know the servants eat together in the kitchen, I know they eat well, and that the cook is generous and kind. I know how servants are toward each other, sharing what they have. This has to be another one of his games.
Altair snaps his tail against the floor. The sound is sharp and whip-like, and I startle and sit down before he can wrap it around me again. I don’t want to be dragged across the floor.
I stare at the plate in front of me. My blood boils in my veins. I’m so angry I can’t even see straight. My vision blurs at the edges with rage.
How dare he. How dare he treat me like this, like I’m less than human.
I make up my mind in an instant. I grab the plate with both hands, stand up, and hurl it at him with all my strength.
The plate hits Altair square in the chest. Food and sauces splatter everywhere. They drip down his face, his hair, and his expensive clothes. Gravy runs down his neck, and bits of quail meat stick to his shirt. For a moment, he’s completely stunned. He just sits there with food dripping off him.
I take the opportunity to flee.
“You horrible creature! Monster!” I shout back at him.
I run down the hall as fast as I can and go through the kitchen.
All the other servants are staring at me.
They’ve clearly heard the commotion, but nobody says anything and nobody stops me.
Most of them are human. A few are dragons, which I can recognize by their distinctive features.
Even when they keep their wings hidden, there’s something different about them.
I burst into the inner courtyard and take a few breaths to calm myself. My hands are shaking, and my whole body trembles with adrenaline. Gods, I hate Altair so much. The hate is so strong it’s almost overwhelming.
What if I killed him in his sleep? Would that be an option?
I shake my head and try to clear away the violent thoughts. I go back to washing his clothes, needing something to do with my hands.
I work for hours, scrubbing and rinsing.
My arms ache, my back aches, and my hands are raw and bleeding in places from the harsh soap.
The sun moves across the sky. I’m exhausted and too hungry to function.
My stomach cramps painfully, and I’m dizzy from lack of food and from spending all day in the sun. A headache pounds behind my eyes.
Finally, I decide I have to eat something. I go back into the kitchen and attempt to make myself a plate with food lying around. There’s bread on the counter, and cold stew in a pot. I reach for a clean plate from the stack.
Greta makes her appearance out of nowhere. She slaps my hand away and takes the plate from me.
“What? Why?” I say, confused and hurt.
“We’re not allowed to feed you. You eat with Lord Aurellion, do you not? You eat better food than we do, so we’re not allowed to share what’s ours with you.”
I cannot believe my ears. I look around the kitchen desperately. I see the cook stirring a pot, deliberately not looking at me. I see other servants watching me, and there’s malice in their eyes.
They think I’m the lord’s favorite. They think I get privileges they don’t. They have no idea I’m being tortured, no idea I’m eating his leftovers, or not eating at all.
I can’t stand their stares anymore, so I rush out of the kitchen. I run through the corridors back to my room, my stomach rumbling painfully. It feels like it’s eating itself from the inside.
I get to my luxurious chambers that feel like a cage and slam the door behind me. My stomach cramps and growls, my head pounds, and my raw hands throb.
I’m trapped.