Chapter. 44

The sun is creeping through the west windows. I’ve been stuck on this chair the whole day while the mince mocks me with its mouth-watering scent. Beautiful carvings decorate the chair’s bulky frame to which I’m bound. Like everything in this castle, it’s built with high-quality workmanship which would’ve carried an equally high price. It’s constructed to last, making it annoyingly sturdy and impossible to break with the strength in my limbs.

The door opens, and Rahlan steps inside. He sits on the table and gently moves the blonde hair out of my eyes. “Ready to reconsider your position?”

I want to bite his finger, but that may give him the excuse to bite me back with his sharper teeth. Fighting him got me tied up, reaffirming that he can just do whatever he wants to me. He claims he’s now keeping me as his pet – a demeaning term for a human kept close to quench their captor’s thirst for blood, though that’s a role I’ve been forced into since the day he got me.

I nod, wanting nothing more to be done with all of this.

“Good girl.”

He makes my blood boil.

The rope around my wrists and ankles falls away as he loosens the knot. I stand and stretch, taking a walk around the room to get my blood flowing again.

He turns the chair, its wooden frame grinding against the stone floor. I don’t have the stamina to continue fighting over his stupid eating customs.

I take a seat back on the chair. He pushes it to bring me closer to my plate.

I pick up the fork.

“Wrong hand,” he growls.

I swap the fork to my left hand and take the knife in my right. I don’t have any practice performing the precise movements to scoop up food with my left hand. Why bother trying to use two tools at once when I could hold the food better with my right?

The bread is the largest item on my plate, making it my first target. If I get my first few bites right, then maybe he’ll lose interest and let me eat the mince in peace.

I stab the bread with my fork and bring the large piece up to my mouth. It’s too big to eat in one go. I nibble a small bit off the side while trying to keep the bread from falling back on the plate.

“Cut it first,” he says, his tone indicating that it’s not a request.

I lower the bread back to the plate, afraid that ignoring his command would anger him and get me tied up again.

Handling the oddly-shaped knife and the fork at the same time proves to be too much of a challenge. I push the bread off the utensil and opt to try the mince. My wobbly hand struggles to keep the fork steady as I raise the saucy meat up to my mouth. Keeping it level proves difficult, and soon all the mince has fallen back on the plate.

I try a second time but only succeed in bringing an empty fork up to my mouth. On my third attempt some of the saucy meat hits the table too.

“Stop it,” he snaps.

“Both refusing to use the fork and trying my best to use it sets you off,” I say.

“Your best?” He moves closer, his proximity like a heavy weight on my shoulders.

I frown. I try using his ridiculous cutlery, and he accuses me of deliberately being difficult so he has an excuse to tie me up again. I was bound to the chair for hours thinking it was because of my choices, that if I’d just submitted to him then he wouldn’t have snapped.

I meet his gaze again. “You make it impossible for me to succeed so when I fail you can punish me under the pretense of justice. If you want to punish me then just do it. You’re my owner as you say. I can’t stop you. But don’t try trick me into believing that if I submitted to you that I would’ve been spared from your wrath.”

I hide my face from him, afraid that my tough expression will soon break. It’s hurtful to be manipulated like that.

He rests his hand on my shoulder. “Binding you did not bring me joy.”

I keep my gaze on the ground, unwilling to look him in the eye. “Fooled me.”

“How am I to persuade you to do as I ask without the incentive of discipline?”

“Aren’t Lord’s meant to be leaders?” I doubt he treats his soldiers like this. “Being your captive doesn’t make me any less of a person.”

He takes his hand off my shoulder and rests his chin on his knuckles.

“I prepared this meal, so you agree that it belongs to me?” he says.

I nod. He can keep it. None of this was worth a plate of food.

“I will gift you this dinner if you consume it with proper table etiquette.”

“Thanks.” I push the chair back and head for the passage attaching to the servant’s quarters – a place which offers nothing more than a peaceful environment. He doesn’t move to stop me like before. I’m not thanking him for effectively taking away my meal, but for giving me a choice.

“You are not hungry?” he asks.

I stop at the threshold. “I tried your table etiquette. It wasn’t good enough for you.”

“I misjudged the situation. Return and I will teach you with patience.”

The mince’s salty aroma lingers in the air. The sun hangs low in the sky, and I doubt he’ll let me out to forage this late.

I head back to the table, but he takes my seat before I can.

“Sit.” He pats his lap.

My lips make a thin line. I’m not a child.

He catches my arm and pulls me closer. His hands snap to my middle and lift me onto his lap, pressing my back against his chest. He holds my fingers in his. “I will guide you.”

My left hand is lifted with his, and he curls my fingers around the fork. He does the same with the knife in my right, keeping his hands on mine to hold them steady. He directs my movements to scoop some ground meat onto the fork and brings it up to my mouth, keeping the utensil steady.

I open up, and he relaxes his hold. I take a bite, completing the last of the motion myself. Even cold, the mince is delicious, boasting a wonderful texture and a sweet aftertaste. Having beef would be a treat on its own, but these must be some of the best cuts.

He guides my hands through the motion again and again, giving me a little more control each time. By the end of the meal, my left hand can hold the fork more-or-less steady if I concentrate.

He lifts me off him and takes the plate to be cleaned. I sneak down the passage before he demands something else.

I wander through the servants’ quarters with only a few lonely streaks of dim moonlight to guide me. I can’t hear any trace of Rahlan’s presence in here, making it hard to believe that these rooms are still part of the same massive building. I’d hate to live alone in such a large and creepy home. You’d never know if an intruder was sneaking around in the middle of the night.

I search through a chest in a servant’s old room. An uneasiness hovers over me, but I know just as I will not return to the ruins of my village, these people will not return to their castle. Rahlan probably considers all this his property now anyway.

A sparkle from a needle leads me to a sewing kit, and searching a little longer yields some leftover leather pieces too. These are exactly what I need to fix my tunic.

The bed creaks as I lay my weight on it. The room is silent. The moonlight provides nothing more than an eerie glow, leaving half the room pitch black. My gaze lingers on the dark void. Anything could be there, and I wouldn’t know.

I rummage through the chest in search of a candle. My hands feel for a waxy texture but come up empty. I grab the sewing kit and head back to the living room, stopping right at the threshold.

Rahlan has lit the fireplace. He’s reading a book on the couch. I remain in the shadows, not letting myself be seen. The warm fire and cozy couch look inviting, but the presence of a vampire makes me wary. This is his home now. His couch. His fire. I’m out of place.

He turns a page in his book. “You are welcome here, Julia.”