I clench my teeth and stay silent.
His forehead creases as he studies me for several breaths. “What happened to you? Ever since I returned to Darhavva yesterday, you have been acting different.”
Instead of replying, I clench my teeth even harder, refusing to offer any explanation. He wouldn’t understand, and I refuse to be a rotting corpse in a cage.
“Lyra, look at me,” he commands.
Frustration grips me as I lift my chin to meet the storm churning in his eyes. “I’m just tired.”
“Then you will stay here for the rest of the day. Do not leave this room.”
“Are you punishing me?” I don’t bother hiding my disbelief.
“Yes.” He stands and leaves the bedchamber.
Fantastic, indeed!
Impulsively, I take off my shoe and launch it at the door, striking it dead center. I remove my other shoe and throw that one too. It strikes the same area as I fall back against the sofa and glare up at the ceiling.
At least I still have good aim.
A long sigh escapes me as I get up from the sofa and grab my shoes.
If I don’t want to be another victim to House of Crimson, then I’ll have to act like Lyra for a little while longer.
I look around the room, but I find no evidence a woman ever inhabited this space. How can I act like someone I don’t know?
Maybe if I go through her possessions, I might understand her. First, I’ll have to figure out a way to return to her bedchamber.
Maybe if I throw more shoes, Jasce will return. I smile as I think of launching shoes at his arrogant face.
* * *
I spendthe entire day alone. I pace the room, braid and unbraid my hair, stare out the window, and sit on the sofa. The only area of the room I stay far away from is the bed. It’shisbed.
The last thing I want is for him to find me asleep there. He may think it’s an invitation for more. A shudder ripples down my back at the mere thought.
Even if I didn’t dislike him, I still wouldn’t want to share his bed. He’s probably forceful and quick. Didn’t Asha say some men don’t care about a woman’s pleasure? I hadn’t really been paying attention to her. I was too busy reading.
Jasce is probably like that, a taker and not a giver.
I have spent my entire life fearing this man, his family, and House of Crimson. As a child, I was told to never open the door to anyone wearing their coat of arms.
“They will use you. Or they will kill you,”Mother would say.
What would she tell me to do now? Would she tell me to run or to stab him? Bile rises in my throat. I have never stabbed anyone, nor do I want to.
Another shudder ripples down my back as I glance at his bed again, taking in the mattress and the maroon bedding. It’s too close to the color crimson.
Will he force me if I don’t give in to him soon?
I raise my hand to my mouth, stifling the overwhelming urge to scream.
Four summers ago, when I was fourteen, I developed a friendship with one of the stable hands. I followed him everywhere, and soon, I started thinking about him romantically. One day, I grew bold enough to tell him how much I adored him, and he had stared at me with disgust smoldering in his eyes.
I ran away, and when I reached my bedchamber, I shattered every looking glass. There was no need for a reflection to tell me what I already knew. I could feel the scars, feel the wound they shaped inside my chest.
That’s the closest I have ever gotten to kissing someone. The moment Izaak looked upon me with disgust, the urge vanished, and I vowed to never allow someone that close again.
