Dionne
"Yes, Your Grace."
My stomach, already cramping with hunger from missing yesterday's meals, twisted painfully. Another day without food.
"When you're done cleaning this, I need you to clean the rest of the chambers. I want everything spotless."
He dismissed me with a wave of his hand, already turning back to the papers on his desk.
I spent the next hour on my hands and knees, picking up shards of broken china, mopping up spilled food and my own blood, scrubbing the floors until they gleamed. My feet burned. My hip throbbed. My cheek ached where he'd struck me yesterday. Everything hurt.
But I couldn't stop. I couldn't rest. Couldn't do anything except work and hope it was enough.
The chambers took hours to clean, even though I'd cleaned them just yesterday. I scrubbed floors that were already spotless, dusted surfaces that held no dust, polished mirrors that were already gleaming. Every task felt pointless, but I did them anyway because what else could I do?
