Chapter 17
Florian
I’m frustrated. After the heat of the spanking and Grimes’ flashes of almost-tenderness at the dinner, he’s right back to being distant.
I was sure we’d turned a corner, but now we’re right back to where we started.
I can’t figure him out. I know he finds me attractive, that he can barely control those feelings.
He watched me like a starving man finally sating his appetite as he made me suck on the dildo.
But now he’s pulling away again, like I’m off-limits or forbidden.
Like he thinks he’s weak for liking me. Maybe even hates himself a little for it.
Just like back at the casino, when it seemed like he had something personal against me even though I’m sure he couldn’t have.
Or could he? I’m not proud of it, but I need to know.
Finally, I give in to the urge to investigate.
He’s downstairs washing the dishes and I creep guiltily into his bedroom, which is unlocked.
I’m not really sure what I’m expecting to find.
A wardrobe full of identical black cloaks?
I peek inside the cupboards. He does indeed have a few dark hooded robes, but there are other clothes too.
Fashionable Rhennian clothes. I’ve never seen him wear any of these, though I guess he might be wearing them under his cloaks and I’d never know.
It doesn’t take very long to search his room.
There’s a distinct lack of personal possessions, or indeed any personality at all.
Stark sunlight shines through the window onto his dressing table, which is almost empty apart for a pack of tooth powder, a toothbrush, and one bottle of cologne.
He also has a small cosmetic case with kohl pencils, which I didn’t expect.
Fashionable Rhennian men sometimes wear kohl around their eyes, but I would’ve thought the trend too overtly chic for someone as grim as Grimes.
I’ve never seen him wear this stuff. Maybe he used to.
I wonder what he’d look like with his dark eyes, with their power and repressed fire, rimmed with smoldering dark ash.
I think it would suit the fire inside of him.
He has a small bookshelf with mostly non-fiction books and wooden carvings that look home-made.
But nothing to give me a hint as to his past, or why he could hate me.
I’m just starting to think the whole searching expedition is pointless. But then my foot cracks on a loose board in the floor. I wonder… could it be one of those loose boards people hide their secrets under?
I don’t hang around to give guilt a chance to deter me.
I pry up the floorboard and look underneath, excitement tightening my chest. The space beneath the board looks empty, but of course Grimes wouldn’t hide his secrets in plain sight.
I feel around, stretching my arm as far as I can in both directions, until my hand closes around something metallic.
Feels like a small box. I extract it from its hiding place and open it up.
It’s full of papers, some yellow with age and some much newer.
The older papers are musty, and the smell makes me want to sneeze, but I don’t dare because Grimes is just downstairs in the kitchen.
He might be able to tell that I’m in his room if I sneeze.
I grab the first letter at random, heartbeat heavy in my ears, listening out for footsteps.
Snooping through his personal belongings probably isn’t one of the duties he looks for in a servant.
If I’m honest, I’m a little frightened of what he’d do to me if he caught me.
Also, I don’t want lose what little respect he has for me by being found out as a sneak.
I start to speed-read. The letter is written in Rhennian with a dashing, careless hand. I could almost guarantee it’s by a Rhennian aristocrat.
My dearest friend Grimes,
I write this from the freedom of a green meadow.
I’m lying on my back with wildflowers nodding beside my head, their sweet perfume lulling me almost to sleep.
Blue sky stretches above me; clouds of the purest white chase each other across the vault.
All feels right with the world. But of course it isn’t, because you aren’t here to enjoy this beauty with me. I can’t wait for that day. Soon.
I’m writing primarily to thank you for your many kindnesses to me while we were staying together.
I would have said all this to your face, but I could think of nothing more calculated to make you uncomfortable and embarrassed, which is the very last thing I would want.
I know that you are modest to a fault. So I hope you will accept this letter as a token of my sincere and deep gratitude, read it in comfortable solitude, and accept how much you have done for me.
When we first met, I never could’ve imagined I would one day write such a letter.
That first night when the door closed on us, I was absolutely terrified of you.
I must have given you such a look, as though I feared you would beat me to a pulp.
You must have seen it on my face. It was offensive and unfair of me.
I prejudged you due to your appearance and class.
But you didn’t take offense. Instead you treated me with nothing but kindness.
You protected me time and again, asking nothing in return.
You comforted me when our unfortunate circumstances threatened to overwhelm me, though you yourself were sorely in need of comfort.
You’re the kindest man I’ve ever met, even if you would rather die than show it.
Now I know what you’re doing. You’re shaking your head and contradicting me even as you read.
You think that I give you too much credit.
With the greatest of respect, my friend, you are a fool.
You saved my life several times over, and even if you refuse to accept my gratitude, you must accept the bare facts.
I have another reason for writing. You were right when you told me that I would eventually forget Keres. I was sure you were lying to save my feelings. I thought I could never love again. But now I’ve met the most wonderful woman, and…”
A woman? Judging by the adoring tone, I assumed this guy was in love with Grimes. It was starting to make me feel ill with envy. Now the jealous knot in my stomach eases.
I scan down the rest of the letter, skipping over a lot of gushing stuff about this “wonderful woman”, to reach the signature at the bottom.
Your loving best friend always,
Jos
Grimes has a best friend who admits to loving him?
And isn’t afraid that saying so will result in concussion?
I didn’t think he had any friends. I wonder how he saved the guy’s life.
.. multiple times. Jos, whoever he is, has a rosy view of Grimes’ character.
The kindest man I’ve ever met. Then again, it tracks with what Prevana told me: how he sat up all night out of worry when Beveen was ill.
And it tracks with how he treats me…sometimes.
And then at other times, he treats me like a nuisance or worse, the most annoying man he’s ever met.
The letter hasn’t explained anything. It’s only raised more questions.
Where were he and Jos “staying together”?
What made the circumstances so unfortunate? And what did Grimes protect Jos from?
The letter is a rare and tiny glimpse into his life, barely anything.
Even so it makes me realize how little he’s opened up to me.
And even though the letter-writer is only a friend, my jealousy slithers back.
I bet Grimes didn’t scowl and snap at Jos the way he does with me.
Jos talks as though he’s a prince of a man.
How do I get Grimes to treat me like that?
With me it’s one step forward, two back.
It’s like he’s forcing himself to keep his distance.
How can I break that shell of resolve? I’ve tried so hard to please him, and nothing is enough.
Then the staircase floorboards creak; I’ve hung around for too long.
I shove the letters back in the box and put it back under the floorboard, jamming it down with my foot.
Then I run. I just get the bedroom door closed behind me as Grimes appears at the top of the stairs.
I probably look guilty as anything, but at least I’m in the landing where I have every right to be.
I stick on an innocent smile, my nose still twitching from the dust.
“What’s with you?” Grimes says, back to full-on churlishness.
“Nothing, Boss.”
I sneeze a couple of times. When I cover my nose with my hand, I realize my hands are covered with dust. I stick them behind my back and lean against the wall, hiding the evidence. Grimes comes closer, suspicious.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he says. “Your nose is all red.”
I shrug. “No idea.”
“Are you ill? Coming down with something?” he demands.
“I don’t think so.”
“Let me look at your nose.”
He reaches for my face but I pull away, embarrassed but still not daring to move my hands.
“No, Boss, I don’t want you staring up my nostrils.”
“You’re so fucking vain, do you know that?” he complains.
He takes my chin between thumb and forefinger and forces my head back, staring quizzically at my nose.
What does he think he’s going to be able to see?
Does he think I’m on some kind of drugs?
I wouldn’t bet against it, considering his opinion of me.
But I forget all that as my body takes note of his firm grip on my chin.
It’s a nice feeling. Held, cared for. Dominated.
Heat radiates through my body and I meet his eyes.
Desire flares in his expression, plain as day.
I’m not imagining it. He lets go of my face fast.
Then he scowls at me. “Florian, your nose is bleeding.”