I’ve done my best to appease him, I’ve done everything my mother has suggested. Nothing works. Nothing helps.
I feel so helpless and trapped, and I know there’s a tiny part of me that already recognises that death might not be the bad option in all of this.
I let out a sob. A sound so pitiful, I hate myself more for making it.
“Ssssh.” Someone says, stroking my cheek.
I cry out, jerking back at the stranger’s gruff voice, at their unfamiliar touch.
Who the hell is in here? How did they get past the guards? Did my husband do this, did he decide to let another person use me? I’m in his bed, normally he has me taken somewhere else when he wants to whore me out.
“Guthrie?” My husband half-growls from the doorway.
The fear I feel at the sound of that name is indescribable. I know who he is, everyone knows who he is. The man is infamous. Notorious. The only reason he’s not in Oblivion is because of who his brother is, that Gunther being Chapter Lord has allowed Guthrie to get away with things that would have better men executed.
But why is he here? Why is he in the country, in my room? My panic escalates as I start thinking of all the reasons, all those nasty little reasons that could answer it.
The light comes on, covering me in brightness, blinding me with it.
I cover my face, cover myself, only this man’s hand grabs at the fabric to try to stop it.
“What are you doing here?” Gunther asks.
“Such a pretty thing.” Guthrie replies, trying to expose more of me. “You didn’t tell me she was so nice to look at.”
Gunther grunts, running his eyes over me as if I’m a harlot. A temptress. The very spawn of Satan.
“Come, we have things to discuss.” Gunther states.
The man shakes his head slightly, but he gets to his feet. “Why don’t you have your pretty wife come sit with us?” He murmurs as he walks up to him. “She can entertain us while we work.”
Gunther narrows his eyes like he’s offended. Like he suddenly gives a shit about me. “She’s off-limits to you.” He snaps, pointing his fat little finger at him.
“Brother?”
“You heard me. You don’t lay a hand on her.”
The man bristle more, before casting me one last, almost lecherous look.
As they slide the panel doors together, I try to calm myself, taking slow deliberate breaths, as if that’s every worked before.
I can hear them talking. I can hear the anger, the tone, all of it.
“You didn’t even tell me you were back.” Gunther hisses loud enough for almost the entire Palace to hear.
“How could I? The phones are tapped. Anyone could have heard and who knows what they would have done with that information.” Guthrie replies.
I creep out of the bed, creep to where the gap in the panels is, and I peer through, watching them both. He has the same podgy nose, the same beady eyes, only, while my husband seems ableto hide the mania, this man seems to have it written all over him, like it’s etched into the very fabric of his skin.
“They’ve been here again.” Gunther says, running his hands down his face. “I see them. I see their shadows. I see them creeping about, scuttling about when they think I’m not looking.”
Guthrie nods so sombrely.
“Have the guards found anything, any evidence?” He asks
“Nothing.” Gunther replies, half-snarling. “But it’s not like I expect them too. They’re tricksy, clever, they know how to hide themselves.”
“And the girl?” Guthrie says, jerking his head towards the door I’m half-hidden behind.
