21. Snow
Chapter twenty-one
Snow
“I will kill you…”
Prince’s threat echoes as Saint leads me to my room.
He didn’t bother with the blindfold again. What would be the point if I am going to be staying here?
I need to be able to see where I’m going if I am expected to clean for Prince.
The story of my life.
Regina had me clean for her, too, so it’s not as if I am green in that area.
No, I’m practically an expert.
I have the chapped, dirty fingernails to prove it.
Saint is silent ahead of me as he leads me through a carpeted hallway, and I keep stealing quick glances at my surroundings.
An ornate bust of a horse on a plinth, large decorative vases with wilting flowers, and sculpted moulded ceilings.
This place reeks of extravagance, and I take it this is Prince’s wing.
I am to stay in a room in his wing, and the thought makes me shudder.
I almost want to return to the cell. At least then I had the luxury of distance from that dangerous male.
Now, I may find a gun pointed at my head at every turn. What if I don’t polish a table the way he likes it?
It's not only Prince’s wing I am expected to clean, but all seven in the mansion. How big is this place?
Even my father didn’t have that many wings.
I take it Saint has his own wing, and possibly Angel, Hunter, and Knight, too.
So, who do the other two wings belong to?
Saint leads me to a room at the far end of the wing, and he doesn’t speak for some time as he takes a moment to collect himself.
I’m pretty sure he was trembling through that intense meeting with Prince, and his hands were fisted on his lap.
At one point, it looked as if he was about to jump in front of me and protect me from his boss.
Do I possibly have a friend in Saint? Who knows, but it’s best not to let my guard down.
I can’t trust anyone here. Not even the doctor.
Finally, Saint sucks in a breath and faces me, a tight smile on his face. “Ready to see your new room, Snow?”
I don’t reply. I just keep my gaze on my dirty sneakers.
They’re torn, but they’re the only shoes I have right now.
All the clothes on my back are all I have…
It would be nice to change into something new.
Saint heaves a breath. “Let’s get this over with.”
Finally, he produces a key and slips it into the keyhole, and the tumblers echo through the empty hall.
A shudder goes through me.
I am no freer here than I was in the cell. I am still a prisoner.
At least I will get a bathroom here, I hope.
My bucket in the cell was starting to smell.
Saint pushes the door open, and my eyes fall on a well-furnished room.
It's basic at most. Plain black bedsheets and wooden furniture. There are two doors, and I wonder if one of them is the bathroom.
The other must be a closet.
I step into the room, keeping my arms crossed as I take note of the plain portraits on the walls.
They depict country scenes and forests, all of it very simplistic.
The window catches my attention, and when I step closer, I notice that it’s not a window, but a patio door.
I have a room with a balcony.
It's been days since I have seen the outside.
I move toward the patio doors, but upon my inspection, I find that they’re locked.
Oh, well.
I guess they don’t want me trying to escape.
Still, at least I have a view of the outside, and now I gaze out at a cluster of trees, thinking I spy what looks like a maze beyond.
The sky is overcast, but it still beats looking at the four stained walls of my cell.
Saint watches me by the door as I keep my gaze on the trees, waiting for him to speak again.
With a sigh, he pushes away from the wall and returns to the door. “Well, I will leave you to settle. I will return later for dinner.”
Dinner?
So, I won’t be expected to cook, too.
Regina always made me cook, and she always had a complaint or two about the chicken.
I don’t look back, not even when he shuts the door and locks me inside.
As I said, just another cell.
But once I’m finally alone, I release all the pent-up air inside my lungs as I press my forehead to the window, appreciating the cold sensation of the glass on my skin.
I stay that way a moment as I regroup, letting the cool pane soothe the heat of my skin.
So, this is my life now.
The prisoner of one of my father’s former enemies.
I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting back tears.
I will never be free again.
Still, I try to think positively. Just as my Mama taught me.
I am not dead. Prince isn’t going to kill me after all.
Well, if I manage not to step a toe out of line…
He expects me to betray him. He thinks I am close to Regina, and I will relay secrets about their organization back to my stepmother.
Highly unlikely.
I lift my head, taking note of the smudges I left on the glass.
I will clean that later.
First things first. I need to get out of these filthy clothes.
I approach the armoire, but all I find inside is a housecoat and cotton pajamas.
Well, they have to beat wearing these old rags.
This top is old and one I have had since the age of fourteen.
I grab the pajamas, realizing they are several sizes too big as they are obviously made for a man, but I can just roll up the bottoms.
I could possibly be wearing Prince’s clothes here, and a shiver runs down my body as his face flashes through my mind.
Will he be pissed at me for wearing his clothes?
It’s not as if he left me other clothes.
Unless he expects me to wear my ten-year-old rags.
Maybe he will consider it a betrayal of his trust and put another gun to my head.
But the cotton is just too soft to resist as I carry them in a bundle toward one of the doors.
It’s a closet, one filled with business suits.
That just leaves the last door.
I approach the door, my heart thrumming in excitement.
When I push it open, my jaw drops.
A shining bathroom greets me on the other side. I never thought I’d be so happy to see a toilet again.
Which reminds me…
I need to go.
Once I’ve finished my business, I step toward the bear claw bathtub in the center of the room, running my fingers over the gold taps.
They have “Hot” and “Cold” written in cursive, and a smile breaks out across my face.
There’s a walk-in shower, too, with several jets, a rack with fluffy black towels, and a vanity with a mirror attached.
I step toward the vanity, doing a double-take when I spy my face.
Sure, I haven’t looked glamorous in years, but the girl gazing back at me from the glass is almost a stranger.
There are bruises under my eyes, and my body is frail, but my hair is a mess.
Hopefully, Prince has a comb in one of the drawers as I search, finding a black one as I tease it through my hair.
Well, time to get the tub running.
Soon, steam swirls through the bathroom as I almost fill the bear claw tub to the brim, and when I step into the hot water, a sigh slips from my lips.
The heat soothes my aching muscles, and as I lay back in the tub, I close my eyes, falling into a deep sleep.
I just hope I don’t drown.
Some time passes when I become aware of a familiar eye, and I shoot up in the tub, covering my modesty as I flip my head around.
Ice shoots down my spine, despite the tepid water.
Angel watches me from the doorway, arms folded across his chest as he studies me with that lone blue eye.
Unless he is really Saint playing another trick on me.
It's been days since I have seen him last.
Only Saint bothered to visit me in the cell in the end, as it seemed Angel had given up.
It was just before Prince first tortured me, and more ice drips through my veins at the reminder.
I take it they all have keys to get in my room, then.
I guess it was a stretch to expect some modicum of privacy.
Thank God I filled the tub with a generous amount of bubbles, as they now hide the mounds of my breasts.
“H-hi, Angel…”
Hi?
Seriously ?
I should be screeching at him to get out, but this is his home, after all. I am the guest here—no, wait, prisoner.
The last thing I should expect is respect and space.
Yet, Angel doesn’t step away from the door, nor does his eye dip south as he keeps his gaze on my face the whole time.
A smirk slowly stretches across his sculpted lips, and he’s even more handsome now thatwe’re away from the harsh lights of the cell.
Now the light from the window casts him in a half shadow, shadows that settle in the contours of his face.
His cheeks are pronounced, and he really is exquisite.
That singular eye glows in the shadowed part of his face, and… is he going to say anything?
His eye burns the more his smirk curves, and finally, he offers me his back as he leaves me to bathe in peace.
I barely hear the door clicking into place as he shuts it behind him, and a shudder slides down my spine once again.
He's not all right, that man. Not that I have much experience with troubled men, but Angel is seriously disturbed.
Like an unmovable rock.
A silent statue of carved marble.
I don’t get out of the tub for some time. I’m not even sure if I want to.
Maybe I should sleep in the bathroom tonight.
At least the bathroom door has a lock.
A shame: I was really looking forward to sleeping on an actual bed, but needs must.
Otherwise, I may just find myself faced with a nighttime visitor.