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Chapter 8
When the door to my cell opens again, I’m huddled on the floor, forced to scramble to my feet as Robert enters.
“Good news,” he declares, his lips parted in a glorious smile. “The doctor believes your face can be saved.”
He pauses and I can’t resist habit driven in through years of obedience. Almost without prompting from my brain, my lips pry apart and I croak, “Th-that’s wonderful—”
“With a few minor surgeries, you’ll be your old self in no time,” Robert agrees, still grinning. Then his eyes slide down to observe the rest of my battered limbs and his mouth flattens. “I’ve brought you something to wear, love.”
He’s flanked by a maid who approaches the bed and lays a dress across the foot of it. It’s blue, made of silk, perfectly tailored. One of mine, I suspect, taken from my old wardrobe.
But I know for certain we aren’t at Winthorp Manor.
“Leave us,” Robert snaps at the woman, who scurries away.
She closes the door with a soft thud and my courage dies with it.
“My darling…”
I’m frozen as he advances and smooths his hands down my newly washed shoulders. For what feels like an eternity, his gaze roves from my injured face downward. With every inch traveled, his eyes narrow further.
In disgust.
I hope so. So fiercely that it hurts. He’ll storm away and let me heal, too repulsed to try to reclaim what another monster has already messed over. I barely recognize the battered, bruised limbs revealed beneath the ivory cotton.
But then he fingers a lock of my hair, twisting the gleaming strands.
“You’re still so beautiful.” He sounds surprised by that fact. His flared nostrils inhale the air and his eyes flutter shut as he processes my scent. “I’ve missed you. The thought of you in that place…” He opens his eyes and I’m shocked to find that they’re watering. Clearing his throat, he shakes his head and gently caresses my cheek. “It doesn’t matter. You’re safe now.”
Safe.That word circles my skull as I resist the urge to cringe from his touch. It’s such a vicious taunt.Safe. Safe. Safe.
“I will never let you go again,” he swears.
My spine goes rigid when he leans in, but all he does is press his mouth across my jaw. Cold lips linger over Mischa’s brand, imparting a sting I haven’t felt since the wounds were freshly carved there.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes against the scars. “I don’t know how that little bitch—” Breaking off, he glowers at the wall. “Just know that I never intended foryouto be hurt.”
“Briar,” I guess, treating her name with all the care of a live grenade. “Is she alive?”
“For now.” His callous shrug catches me off guard. He and his sister had their own twisted rivalry, but I’ve never heard him refer to her so coldly before. “You don’t have to worry about her. She’s somewhere where she can’t meddle, the little cunt. I don’t know how she knew… It doesn’t matter. She couldn’t gloat for long.”
But I remember her face as she appeared in the woods. My proud sister didn’t look devious or triumphant then. She looked terrified.
“I have something for you.” Robert returns his attention to me, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Something I should have returned to you a long time ago… What is this?” He swipes his finger along my throat and I don’t register reaching up to stop him.
The necklace. That was what I was trying to protect. I realize that belatedly as white spots explode over my vision, and I regain awareness on my knees, tasting blood.
“I’m sorry. I’msorry,” Robert hisses as he and the rest of the room fade in and out of focus.
Dazed, I watch him shake out the fingers of his right hand and rub at the knuckles.
“I’m sorry. But why did you make me—do you realize what I’ve gone through without you? And this?” He brandishes a delicate chain between his fingers. My necklace. He must have torn it off, the source of his ire. “What the fuck is this?”
“Robert…” A sharp pain makes me swipe my hand across my mouth. In shock, I gape as my fingers come away red—an accessory as familiar to me as the dress on the bed is. Both compose my costume: a battered, caged bird.
“What?” he snarls, rounding on my position.
“It’s my mother’s,” I murmur awkwardly while more liquid drips down my chin. “The necklace. I think it was my mother’s—”
