Chapter 55
His mouth pressed on my sex, hot and unholy, his tongue defiling where it had no right to be. He tested, tasted, and violated with a perverse enthusiasm that left my body paralyzed in sheer horror.
The air was thick with the obscene sounds of his depraved intent, the wet, perverse echoes of his debauchery filling the room. His breath was guttural and dripping with foul anticipation. Each sharp slap of his palm against my buttocks left a burning sting, his touch branding me with every vile motion. As he reached for his belt, I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable, dread coursing through my very marrow.
And then, with a sound akin to divine fury, the door crashed open.
A thunderous slam reverberated through the chamber, rattling the very bones of the walls. Silence followed, thick and suffocating, broken only by the ragged tremor of my own breath. My vision wavered, darkness creeping at the edges, my only good eye unable to keep its hold on reality.
"What…" Princess Charlotte's voice.
Albastard, wretched cur that he was, had the audacity to feign civility, his voice slipping into a sickly-smooth purr. "Your Grace, Princess Charlotte. How may I be of-"
A sharp crack split the air.
A sound of impact. Flesh against flesh.
Then came Millicent's sharp voice. "Lock him up."
The room erupted into motion, the rustle of garments, the pounding of boots against stone.
"What is the meaning of this outrage?" Albastard's voice rose in indignation.
Trembling hands moved over me, pulling my legs closed with a touch that was so unlike his. They worked swiftly, unfastening the wretched chains that had bound me in my suffering. And then unfamiliar warmth wrapped around me. Perhaps a cloak, perhaps a blanket, I could not tell. My mind was slipping, consciousness dragging me into the abyss.
"I am sorry," Millicent whispered, her words quivering, drowning beneath the weight of guilt. "I came too late. I am so, so sorry."
Charlotte's voice carried an unmistakable urgency. "Millicent, we must remove Lady Florence from this place at once."
An arm slid beneath my legs, another curled around my back, lifting me with gentleness. It could only be Millicent. Were I of proper weight, she might have struggled, for we were near in size. But in my current state, which was nothing more than skin draped over bone, even a child might manage the task. I drifted in and out of consciousness as she carried me away.
Millicent's voice dropped to a glacial whisper, venomously. "Strip him of his rank. Charge him with the crime of violating a prisoner, as decreed by Ivoryspire law." There was a pause. "Then throw him into a cell with the vilest of men, bound hand and foot. Let them have him until death finally takes him. And ensure that his death is anything but swift."
A voice steady cut through the air. "At once, Your Grace." Issac.
I barely had the strength to register it. My mind was a haze, drowning in the thick fog of pain and exhaustion. Yet one voice, delicate, hesitant, wrenched me from the void.
"My Lady?"
Cecilia.
"Yes, Cecilia, that is your lady," replied Charlotte.
Something inside my chest tightened. Had Cecilia recognized me at last?
A moment of silence followed, then Cecilia spoke again, her voice strangely distant. "No. That is not My Lady. I am looking for My Lady."
Oh, my darling.
There was a rustling, and then Cecilia's voice came again, thoughtful, almost dreamlike. "Did you retrieve the book, Charlotte?"
"Yes, Cecilia. I did."
"Then I helped My Lady, did I not?" Her voice held the innocence of a child awaiting praise.
"You did," Charlotte replied, her tone imbued with warmth. "And we are all most grateful to you."
A book? What book? What was Cecilia speaking of?
"The book is very detailed, is it not?" Cecilia's voice was laced with hope. "That is enough proof?"
"Yes, Cecilia," Charlotte murmured, indulgent, soothing. "With this, we now possess undeniable evidence. And it is all thanks to you."
My sluggish and frayed thought struggled to piece together the meaning of their exchange. Then, with a sudden and terrible clarity, it struck me.
The book. The infernal book the Lorynthall butler had kept at Anthony's main estate. The wretched record of every movement, every action, every moment of my days, and Cecilia's as well.
No.
Panic surged through the suffocating haze of my mind, a desperate force clawing against the encroaching darkness. Millicent had known she would glean nothing from me, so she had turned to Cecilia. She had manipulated her fragile state, coaxing from her the very proof of my innocence.
No. No.
If this information reached Anthony…
I wanted to scream. I wanted to thrash, to seize them all and shake sense into their foolish, ignorant minds. They did not understand. They could not possibly comprehend the danger they had placed her in. He would kill her.
But my lips did not part. My limbs did not move. The darkness swallowed me whole, and my body, at last, surrendered.