Chapter 16
16
CAT
C lutching the bedsheet to my bare chest, I sat up with a start and gasped. “Fuck. I slept with Damien.”
I’d officially lost my mind.
I must have, if I’d decided to have sex with Damien after everything that happened last night. Who in their right mind did that? Obviously not someone sane, that was for sure. Maybe I’d been in Elaria too long and the difference was messing with my head. Perhaps it was a chemical imbalance.
This just went to show that you didn’t need WebMD to diagnose yourself. I could spiral into health-related hysterics just fine on my own, thank you very much.
Just then, someone knocked on my door and I shrieked, hurriedly slapping a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming again.
“My lady?” Maeve called out from the other side of the door. “Are you okay? I’m coming in—”
“No!” I shouted. “Give me a minute!” I quickly scrambled out of bed, tripping over the long sheets and banging my knee on the edge of the bed. “Ah! Fuck!”
“My lady?” Maeve called out again.
“I’m okay, just give me a second!” I squeaked as I hobbled over to my closet to grab a nightgown. I quickly dressed and tried to make myself presentable and pretend I hadn’t turned my room into a sex den before going to open the door for Maeve. “Hey, how’s it going?” I casually greeted.
Maeve was standing at the threshold with a tray and a dumbfounded look on her face. “My lady… are you okay?” she murmured as she sized me up and down.
I nodded. “Of course!” I chuckled awkwardly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, for one, your nightgown is on backwards.”
I froze and slowly looked down at my disheveled clothes to find that my nightgown was indeed on backwards. “Shit,” I muttered, then offered a nervous laugh. “I, uh… was so tired last night I didn’t notice. No wonder I slept so badly.”
Maeve furrowed her brows. “Right…” She pushed past me and swept into the room, all business. “Come wash your face and teeth, my lady.”
As Maeve set the tray down, her eyes briefly darted to the disarray on my floor—my evening dress and undergarments I’d haphazardly discarded the night before, along with a spray of hair pins and scattered jewelry. Her expression remained carefully neutral, though I saw the questions forming just behind her eyes.
“I’ll just clean up here a bit,” Maeve said, bending to gather the clothes. Her movements were slow, methodical, almost as if giving me a chance to say anything that might explain the chaos.
“Thank you, Maeve,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I really must have been more tired than I thought.”
Maeve nodded as she placed my dress on a hanger with more care than usual. “A good night’s sleep is often disrupted by much activity .” Her tone might have been innocent, except for the slight emphasis she placed on activity .
I forced a laugh that was far too high-pitched to sound genuine. “Oh, you know me, always tossing and turning.”
“Yes, my lady,” Maeve carefully replied. Her gaze flicked to the half-open window before returning to her tasks. Her silence was louder than any words. Once she finished tidying up, Maeve turned to me with her usual composure restored. “I can’t stay long, as I’m tending to young Master Jacob’s wounds. Shall we proceed with your morning routine, then?”
“Absolutely,” I said, eager to shift away from the topic of my midnight calisthenics with Damien.
As Maeve helped me wash and prepare for the day, her demeanor was professional, yet I caught her watching me in the mirror a few times with a thoughtful look in her eyes. I knew Maeve well enough by now to recognize when she was holding back. Her loyalty was unwavering, but so was her curiosity. It was a line she walked expertly, never overstepping but always aware. And right now, I felt her silent promise not to pry, paired with an unspoken assurance that she’d be there if I chose to confide.
The room had been returned to order and my secrets remained just beneath the surface, hidden yet palpably present between us. I couldn’t help but wonder how long this unspoken understanding would hold before the truth demanded to be acknowledged.
As Maeve adjusted the last pin in my hair, her eyes met mine in the mirror, a gentle probing in their depths. “Did you manage to see Prince Damien last night after I delivered your message?”
I paused, my heart skipping a beat. “Yes, I did see him,” I managed to say, keeping my eyes fixed on my reflection rather than meeting her shrewd gaze.
Maeve's hands paused for a moment in my hair, a silent acknowledgment of the weight of her question. “And how did that go?” she asked, her voice carefully neutral but with an underlying note of concern.
“It was... fine. We didn’t talk for long,” I replied vaguely, choosing my words with care. I wasn’t ready to dive into the details, not when I was still processing them myself.
Maeve resumed her task, her expression thoughtful. “I see,” she said, drawing out the words. It was clear she sensed there was more to the story, but she didn’t push. Instead, she simply added, “Well, if there is anything you need to talk about, you know I am here.”
I smiled faintly, grateful for her discretion and support. The tension in my shoulders eased just a bit. “Thank you, Maeve. I appreciate that.” Her presence was a steady constant in the whirlwind my life had become since arriving in Elaria.
“I must go check on young Master Jacob and his injuries, but Lord Zacharia is in the dining room waiting to speak with you. Would you like me to come with you?” she delicately asked.
I shook my head. “No, it’s okay. This is something I have to handle myself. I’m sure he heard about what happened last night—”
“What did happen last night?” she interrupted with an urgent whisper. “How did young Master Jacob get hurt so badly?”
I sighed. “It’s a long story, but ultimately, it’s my fault. So whatever punishment Lord Zacharia has cooked up for me, I’ll gladly accept it.”
Maeve’s eyes widened. “My lady, you can’t possibly—”
“Don’t worry about it, Maeve. Go take care of Jacob.” I smiled and pushed her towards the door. “Go on. I’ll be fine.”
As Maeve gathered the breakfast tray and turned to leave, she gave me one last knowing look—a silent reminder of her unwavering support—before exiting the room. Left alone, I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the secrets I carried. Maeve’s gentle probing had opened a door I wasn’t quite ready to walk through, but it was comforting to know she was on the other side, ready to listen whenever I was ready to speak.
Steeling myself for what was bound to be a difficult conversation, I headed towards the dining room. Warm sunlight beamed down on me as I made my way through the outdoor walkway and tried to focus on the tranquility of early morning. My echoing footsteps amplified the dread building within me.
When I entered the dining room, Lord Zacharia was already seated at the head of the long, polished table. His expression was stern and his posture was rigid—an ominous sign of the conversation to come. He looked up as I approached, his gaze piercing.
“Arya,” he began, his voice low and controlled. “Sit.”
I complied, taking a seat across from him and folding my hands in my lap as I controlled my breathing to keep calm. It was hard to look at Lord Zacharia and not think of my true father. They were carbon copies of each other. But I had to remind myself they were not the same person. My father was dead.
“I received a full report of last night’s events at the palace,” he began, his eyes never leaving mine. “Your behavior was out of line. Not only did you disrespect Prince Julian, but you also managed to get your brother punished on your behalf.”
I swallowed hard, knowing any defense I offered would only worsen my situation. “Father, I—”
“Enough!” he cut me off sharply. “I’ve tended to spoil you since your mother died, but your actions have consequences, Arya. And this time, you went too far.”
Shit .
Before I could muster a response, he nodded towards the door. I turned to see two large, burly servants enter, their faces expressionless. My heart sank as I realized this conversation was about to go downhill. They approached my chair with deliberate, measured steps.
Lord Zacharia stood, his chair scraping against the floor. “You know the family punishment for such disgrace, Arya. You will accept your responsibility.”
No, I don’t know what the family punishment is. I’m not fuckin’ from here! I slowly stood and inched away from the two brawny servants.
“Don’t make this worse for yourself,” one of them murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle.
I glanced back at Lord Zacharia, hoping for some sign he would relent, but his face was set in grim determination, his eyes cold and expressionless. Eyes that resembled my real father’s, but weren’t his. I backed away slowly, only to feel a strong grip enclose my arms. Panic surged through me.
“Let me go!” I protested, struggling against their hold. The servants’ grips tightened and more hands joined, guiding—no, dragging—me out of the dining room and into the open courtyard. The struggle seemed to signal others, and soon, two more servants rushed over to help subdue me. Each man was broad and intimidating, their faces set in grim lines as they approached.
The cool morning air hit me with a rush, a stark contrast to the heated tension inside. We crossed the threshold into the courtyard, the site of my impending punishment. The beauty of the place, usually so calming with its blooming flowers and meticulously trimmed hedges, now felt stark and foreboding.
I kicked and twisted, trying to slip through their grasp. “Get off me!” I shouted, but they were well-trained and unnervingly strong. There was no way they were human. One of them grabbed my flailing legs and lifted me off the ground, while the others managed to force my chest down onto a wooden plank that lay ominously in the center of the courtyard.
The scarred board was a reminder of archaic times and harsher punishments, for which I was about to get a front row seat. Rough wood abraded my skin as they pinned me face down with unyielding grips. My heart pounded, fear mingling with indignation. The scent of fresh grass and morning dew was ironically tranquil, a stark contrast to the unfolding harshness of my new reality. One servant firmly held my shoulders while another secured my legs. The tightness of their hold restricted my breathing, making each breath a laborious effort.
“Don’t do this,” I pleaded, my voice muffled against the wood. But my plea fell on deaf ears.
Lord Zacharia approached, his steps echoing ominously across the courtyard. “Hold her,” he commanded coldly.
Rough hands pressed my arms above my head, securing me to the plank. I felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly powerless as the reality of my situation sank in. The eerily quiet courtyard, once a haven of tranquility, had turned into a public stage of humiliation and punishment broken only by the soft murmurs of servants who prepared to carry out their master’s punishment, as well as those who stood around to watch.
Lord Zacharia watched impassively as he nodded to the servant who stood ready with a flogging whip. “Let her feel the weight of her actions!” he declared, his voice resonating with authority and a hint of regret.
I glared up at him, my eyes burning with furious resolve. “This isn’t justice, it’s cruelty!” I hissed through gritted teeth.
Ignoring my comment, he gave a final nod. The whip came down with a sharp thwack, its impact sending a jolt of pain through my back. I clenched my teeth, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing me cry out. Each subsequent strike was a test of my will.
Through the haze of pain, I caught glimpses of the blue sky above and the neatly trimmed hedges that surrounded me—a surreal backdrop to the brutality I was being forced to endure. The contrast between the serene setting and the violent act was disorienting, each lash a stark reminder of the harsh realities of the world into which I had been thrust.
Despite the overwhelming urge to break down, I held onto my defiance, each breath a silent vow of resistance. The punishment would end, but my resolve to survive and fight back would not be so easily extinguished.
Sweat trickled down my face and warm blood spilled down my back; I lost count of how many lashes I’d received. Black speckles edged my vision and I started to lose consciousness. How much longer would this ordeal continue? Did he plan to kill me? Would Damien come and save me? What about Klaus?
When did I start thinking I needed a savior?
Hell, I wasn’t too proud to admit I sort of needed one right about now.
I flinched with each strike until the skin of my back was numb from the pain. Then I just laid there with my face pressed against the scratchy board, gazing at the blue sky and trying to pretend I was anywhere but here. Looking at Lord Zacharia would only tarnish the memories of my real father, so I kept my eyes off his awful form.
“Father, stop!” When I heard Jacob’s shout, I sighed in relief, thankful someone had come to rescue me. “Father, please!”
The flogging paused for a moment. I heard the servants’ heavy breathing from their exertions hitting me.
“Last night was not her fault, Father!” Jacob pleaded. “Prince Julian assaulted her! While I know we are not allowed to lay a finger on royalty, what was she supposed to do, Father? Let him take her innocence?”
I snorted, but it sounded like more of a rasping cough because I was fairly certain I was dying on that plank. Innocent? Me? Even Arya had long since lost her innocence. But I wasn’t about to burst anyone’s bubble.
“She should have asked for help,” Lord Zacharia stiffly countered.
“How?” Jacob asked. “How could she? No one would dare go against a prince, much less a Drakonar, which you well know! Punishing her isn’t right, Father. You have always been partial to Arya, but since returning home I’ve seen a marked difference. What changed?”
I craned my head slightly and saw Gianna leaning against a column, watching from a distance with a satisfied smirk. She was clearly enjoying my punishment. Maybe Lord Zacharia’s sudden indifference toward Arya had something to do with Gianna. She had a way of convincing people, that was for sure. And it didn’t help that Arya was a fuckin’ she-devil. Arya’s bad reputation would be the death of me.
I chuckled painfully and winced from the movement. “It seems,” I croaked, “that our dear father has a new favorite daughter.” I tilted my head toward Gianna.
“Arya!” Lord Zacharia gasped as if he couldn’t believe what I just said.
“Don’t bother, Jacob,” I muttered. “If this was their plan, they’ll find whatever excuse they can to beat me.”
“What?” Jacob murmured. “Is this true, Father?”
“No! It is not! How dare you make such assumptions, Arya!” Lord Zacharia shouted. “Get her up!” he commanded the servants. Two of them lifted me off the plank and my head lolled forward, unable to support its weight. “Take her to her room. She is not to leave her room unless I say so!” the lord of the house commanded.
“She needs a healer!” Jacob demanded.
I lifted my head just in time to see Lord Zacharia nod in agreement, then the two servants dragged me toward my room. I passed out before we got there.