8. Chapter 8
The next morning, retribution arrived in the form of a merciless hangover.
As I checked in with Tobias at the front gates, my skull throbbed in time with my pulsing veins, and I was convinced my face had taken on a sickly shade of green. Tobias gave me a long, lingering look, but I didn't dare speak for fear of what might spill out.
Inside the locker room, the simple act of pulling on my uniform felt like scaling a mountain.
Every movement was agonizingly slow. I had to pause after buttoning my tunic, leaning my forehead against the cool, damp wall, waiting out a violent wave of nausea and debating whether I was about to lose my expensive dinner right there on the floor.
First stop was the Jester’s corridor.
Inside the damp cell, the Jester hung in the exact same position as yesterday, suspended from the wall by his restraints.
That featureless, mocking mask was fixed forward, those bottomless dark eyes tracking my every movement.
I barely dared to look at him, focusing instead on the grueling weight of the mop.
Gritting my teeth against a sudden, violent spike of nausea, I plunged it into the bucket and began dragging it back and forth across the stone, each stroke sending a dull ache through my throbbing skull.
Because of my sluggish limbs, the routine task took twice as long as usual.
And the Jester noticed.
I could feel the shift in his gaze—the way his head tilted a fraction of an inch, his dark eyes narrowing with a sharp, predatory curiosity.
He was analyzing my weakness, tracking the sweat bead rolling down my temple, measuring the heavy, labored cadence of my breath.
Exhausted and trembling, I finally had to stop.
I leaned heavily against the wooden handle of the mop, closing my eyes for a brief moment just to let the room stop spinning and catch my breath.
The silence of the cell was absolute, save for the low hum of the florescent lights above.
Then, a clear, melodic voice broke it.
"You're shaking, doll," the Jester purred, his voice dripping with a mocking, symphonic amusement that sent shivers straight down my spine. Those bottomless dark eyes crinkled at the corners, as if he were smiling beneath the mask. "Could it be the hangover, or me?"
My eyes snapped open. My hangover was forgotten in a heartbeat, replaced by a sudden, icy shot of adrenaline.
I looked up and froze, my hands locking around the mop handle.
My mind raced through the Warden's words from the day before: A caged viper is still venomous. The moment you let your guard drop...
He was chained, yes. His wrists and ankles were still bolted to the wall.
But he was still a monster.
"You shouldn't be speaking to me," I managed to say, my voice sounding incredibly small.
"And you shouldn't be drinking wine when you have to sweep a prisoner's cage, Elara. But we both make poor choices, don't we?"
Hearing my name roll off his tongue made my stomach drop further than any hangover ever could.
I froze, the heavy silence of the cell pressing in on me.
Every instinct screamed at me to bolt. I glanced over my shoulder at the heavy iron door; it would take only a heartbeat to get the guard’s attention to let me out.
I could escape this suffocating air and those piercing dark eyes.
But if I fled now, I’d be handing him a victory.
I refused to let the Jester think a few whispered words could send me running like a frightened child.
I wasn't going to be his prey. Swallowing the lump of fear in my throat, I pursed my lips, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reply.
Instead, I plunged the mop back into the bucket, wrung it out with a sharp twist, and began attacking the floor with newfound urgency.
The hangover was still there, but adrenaline was a hell of a motivator.
I kept my head down, my arms moving in a furious, rhythmic blur, desperate to finish the job and get out.
But the Jester wasn’t done.
"Oh, did I strike a nerve?" he cooed, his voice dripping with malicious glee.
I could hear the faint, metallic clink of his chains as he shifted against the wall.
"Let me guess. The Warden gave you a shiny little bonus for being the brave soul willing to clean my cell.
He probably thought a little thing like you wouldn't look like much of a threat to a big bad monster like me.
Easy to control, easy to overlook... how predictable. "
He gave a pause. "Fascinating, isn't it? How a man who controls an entire fortress of criminals can be so blissfully, utterly blind."
I kept mopping, my muscles tense, but my heart skipped a beat.
"And a woman like you, suddenly walking around with that kind of money...you couldn't resist, could you? You went straight for the top shelf–bought the most expensive bottle of wine you could find and went absolutely wild with it. And now you’re paying the price in my cell."
I choked on my own breath, the mop skidding to a dead halt against the stone. A cold sweat broke out across my neck, completely unrelated to the hangover. I slowly looked up, staring at the blank, porcelain face of the mask.
A terrifying chill raced down my spine.
How could he possibly know that? He had been locked in this cell, gagged and chained. There was no logical way for him to deduce the bonus, the wine, or my night at the restaurant.
The Jester tilted his head a fraction of an inch. I could almost feel the smug, razor-sharp grin stretching beneath his porcelain facade.
"Don't look so horrified, doll. It’s just simple arithmetic.
" He leaned forward as far as his restraints would allow. "For starters, nobody with coin to their name takes a job scrubbing blood and filth in a prison. You’re here because you’re desperate.
So, when someone like you suddenly has enough funds to ruin herself on a weeknight, it means someone handed her a hefty bonus.
And around here, only the Warden has that kind of money to throw around.
And it's probably under the table because we all know HR paperwork is a headache. "
The Jester let out a low, breathy laugh that made my skin crawl.
"As for the rest–you reek of it, Elara. You're breathing it right into my face. No–it doesn't take a genius to put the pieces together."
He paused, his dark eyes locking onto mine, gleaming with triumph.
"But I was right, wasn't I?" he teased, his voice dropping to a wicked, intimate whisper. "Every. Single. Word."
I narrowed my eyes and forced my gaze back down to the floor, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.
I dragged the mop through the dirty water and resumed cleaning, my movements frantic now.
I was almost done. There was only one corner left to clear, but it happened to be the one directly next to him.
Keeping my distance and watching him out of the corner of my eye like a hawk, I leaned forward, extending the wooden handle as far as it would go to keep a safe radius between us.
I kept my chin tucked, desperately trying to shield myself from those piercing dark eyes.
From above me, a sharp, thoughtful click of a tongue echoed from behind the mask.
"But there’s absolutely no need to rush," the Jester murmured. A sickeningly playful pause hung in the air before he added, "I’m rather enjoying the view, doll."
My hands locked on the mop. I stopped, my jaw dropping in absolute shock at the sheer audacity of his words. I gaped up at him.
Was he…is he flirting with me?
Seeing my bewildered expression, the Jester suddenly threw his head back.
A loud, booming fit of laughter erupted from him—a wild, unhinged sound that shattered the quiet of the prison.
I jumped, my heart leaping into my throat as I jerked backward, nearly tripping over my own bucket from the sudden, jarring noise.
The iron chains around his wrists rattled furiously as he shook with wicked, unstoppable amusement at my fright.
Okay, that was it. I was done for the day.
With trembling, sweat-slicked hands, I snatched up my mop and lunged toward the iron bars.
I slammed my weight into the reinforced bars so hard the impact rattled straight through my bones.
Moments later, the heavy lock disengaged, and the door swung open.
I fled, practically throwing myself into the safety of the outer corridor.
But for the rest of my grueling shift, as I scrubbed different blocks and emptied endless buckets, that wild, unhinged laughter clung to me. It bled through the thick stone walls, warped by the shadows and echoing down every corridor of Blackthorne like a phantom following my every step.