7. Nora
7
Nora
M y blood pressure must have shot up exponentially based on how I was essentially vibrating. The fucking nerve of this arrogant prick to come into our town, after months of rejecting requests for aid, all to announce some needlessly extravagant and costly wedding? While our people continued to go missing, and our stomachs hungry?
“Gods! How exciting! Mel, what if the prince chooses one of us?!” Kenzie fawned.
“Oh, my stars.” Judging by the sparkle in her eye, Melody had also become enchanted by the idea.
“Why would either of you want to marry him? He’s a selfish son of a bitch, too obsessed with his own reflection in the mirror to show anyone else any real care or consideration,” I snapped, not bothering to control my seething temper or volume. Thank gods I was twenty-six.
“Nora!” Kenzie tried silencing me with her rebuke. “If you’re overheard saying that, your head could be rolling off that stage by next week.” Her words came out in a hiss.
She was right, and I knew that. Honestly, if I’d been close enough to spit at his feet, I would have. I’d never bolster him just because he happened to wear a crown atop that sunlight stained coiffure of his. Praise would only go to those who truly deserve it.
My gaze pierced through the crowd, glancing toward the bakery stand. Their offer replayed in my mind, and the roiling fury racing through my veins changed my stance on the matter. I needed to let the vicious haze of hatred settle before I did something I’d regret.
As the prince’s convoy departed, the crowd didn’t dissipate, but continued to spread themselves throughout the market. No doubt this would be a hot topic of conversation for gods knew how long.
With my patience officially tapped out, I grabbed Kenzie’s elbow and yanked her from her rooted position. “I’m not spending hours in this crowd. Let’s get the thread and leave.” My words came out razor sharp.
Kenzie didn’t hold back her reaction, sounds of disgust rattling from her throat, but she didn’t protest.
Melody didn’t say a word and followed my lead.
Had the crowd not remained grossly large, with the promise of conversation regarding the prince and his soon-to-be betrothed, I would have visited Alejo. My irritation never got a chance to simmer since the noise from the market carried on literally all afternoon. From my attic room, with the window cracked, I could hear the hum of gossip like a never-ending chorus of crickets. The sound drilled into my brain with every excited giggle and shocked gasp that floated up to my room from the passersby on the street.
Evening approached when the chatter finally started to die down. By that point, Alejo would have already closed shop for the day. I had a shift to get to, so I planned on finding him tomorrow.
Once dressed and ready, I tossed on my cloak and made my way down the winding streets to the pub. Stepping through the front door, that familiar throat-clogging scent of ale rushed my nostrils, but that wasn’t what made my heart sink into my stomach.
Caine stood behind the bar, chatting with Helena.
I’d hoped Helena would let me finish the night early. She said yes on occasion, maybe once every five times I tried, and probably just from being sick of me asking. With Caine here, all hope died. I’d probably be staying later.
Out of reaction, I froze upon seeing him. The stilted action unfortunately brought his focus right to me.
Shit. My spine remained stiff as I forced myself inside under his scrutinizing glare.
“Ah, Nora, my favorite floor staffer.”
Favorite because I worked like a dog and he didn’t pay me a cent.
“Hello Mr. Caine.” I wore a mask of submissive politeness, just as Eucinda had taught me to do, seeing as their methods of discipline were similar. My screams and whimpers of pain must have hit their ears differently, like some sort of sweet melody. I wouldn’t give them a reason to entertain that enjoyment.
“Get an early start on mopping the floor, will ya?” He leaned casually against the bar top, still facing Helena, with a lupine stare spearing me from across the room.
“Yes, sir.” I made quick work gathering the supplies, keeping my head down and my steps silent across the floor. Once I filled the bucket full of water and added the suds mixture, I dragged it from the back, careful not to let any water slosh over the edge. Gods forbid any water and cleaner spilled onto the floor I was meant to clean before I reached that section. A mistake that only needed making once. My cheek rang with a phantom sting.
Meticulously clearing chairs out of the way until I finally reached the far corner, my routine starting point, I dunked the mop.
“Oh, Nora,” Caine crooned in a velvety tone. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at the familiar ruse.
Fighting the stiffening muscles along my spine, I twisted to give him my full attention. “Yes, sir?”
“Seeing as how I know you’re so fond of getting off your feet during a shift, why don’t you get on those dainty little knees of yours and put some elbow grease into it, hm?”
My eyebrows pinched together, confusion marring my features until my gaze darted to Helena. She worked a stein with a rag and broke our connection, eyes falling to her task. I guess I hadn’t been as careful as I thought the other night when Alejo and Gregory asked me to sit. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes, but each one damned me.
Despite knowing my knees would bruise, my back and neck would hurt, and rogue slivers might pierce my hands, I still felt like I got off easy. I’d witnessed Caine’s bouncers, men standing over six feet tall, buff enough to lift a carriage off the ground, leave his office with cracked jaws.
“Yes, sir,” I replied. My body remained tense as I neared the two behind the bar. Luckily, I managed to retrieve a sponge without interference or further punishment and returned to my station.
Eventually, sweat from my brow dotted the floorboards, mixing with the stale ale and lemon-scented cleaner while I motioned in circles. Bubbles lathered, quickly taking on a dingy shade of yellow. At least the fermented ale now smelled of fermented citrus.
Customers filtered in, the noise of chatter gradually increasing every half hour or so. I still had the side back corner to scrub. It’d be a race against the clock. Caine would never accommodate my chore by limiting customer access until I could get the job done. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if he intentionally directed some of his messier customers here for me to work around.
A glass shattered, and my vision darted to the mess. Shards and a river of bubbles and booze desecrated the floor I’d slaved over. The group it’d come from casually acknowledged their mess, but it only led to boisterous laughter. Something about the broken cup sullying my hard work resonated, calling to something deep within me I tried to ignore, but failed at.
No matter how much I tried, I’d never be enough. Never be able to do enough. The system was set up as such. I’d forever remain on my knees, scrounging, fighting to get by with minimal damage, and no one would bother to care.
As I froze hunched over the ground, trying to pick up the mental fragments that’d started poking at me, along with each shard of wet glass, a hushed conversation drew my attention. In a place like this, where loud disturbances occurred basically every minute, it was the subtlety of whispers that stood out.
Caine spoke with a man I didn’t recognize, the collar of his wool coat popped up, concealing most of his face, except for the pink line that ran an inch vertically from the corner of his mouth. A scar.
If I wasn’t mistaken, I might have thought the shine on Caine’s forehead to be a sheen of sweat as he kept his attention rapt on the man he spoke with.
In an attempt to not look blatantly obvious, I lowered my head, glaring at the sponge under my fingers, and worked it in slow circles so that it barely made a sound. I angled my ear ever so slightly toward their conversation.
“Debts” was the only word I could make out clearly. Not surprising. Caine didn’t rely on the success of this tavern to keep him afloat. He dealt with all manner of shady enterprises.
To this day, it gave me pause that my father ever considered striking a deal with someone like him. He should have known better. Maybe he did, which is why he never recorded the association in his journal.
I knew I couldn’t blame my father for dying, but I still chewed on resentment over the fact that he’d left us in Caine’s hands.
I’d seen countless interactions regarding Caine’s side hustles. Desperate men coming into the bar to talk, or sometimes beg for time extensions. Caine always held a cool demeanor, one with an air of viciousness that would chill your bones.
Since my efforts were ultimately in vain, and knowing it was better for me not to overhear something I shouldn’t—and be caught doing it—I forced myself to quickly finish the scrubbing corner area. Whoever this was must be someone dangerous if Caine was the uneasy one.
By the time I walked home from my shift and collapsed into my bed, everything hurt.