"I want to have her first. You won't touch her until I give you my permission," My father stood up and got rid of his heavy coat as Christian dragged her out of the hall.
I knew what was coming.
His eyes, his smile, the heavy breath. It was all so familiar to me.
Ignoring their desperate pleas and cries, he moved forward and started. I learned how to watch without actually being affected by his cruelty. I had to, in order to avoid the consequences.
He suffocated his son with his own hands before turning his attention to his daughter, too young to be of any use.
I was used to his cruelty. It was the only thing I got to know in my childhood. Yet - something felt weird. Having reached my breaking point, I grew tired of enduring his unnecessary acts of aggression a long time ago.
When he got tired of this broken man, he had him torn apart by two horses in the square. It was his favorite.
Father would sometimes force me to kill for him even on occasions like this, but he clearly wanted to enjoy himself tonight.
As the celebration dragged longer, I seized the moment to discreetly exit the hall, leaving behind the loud laughter and voices.
With determination burning in my veins, I tightened my grip on my fists and quickened my pace, fueled by the bold plan in my mind. Confident in its potential, I knew it had to succeed; failure was simply not an option.
Christian stood by the door, keeping her in his sight for this whole time. She stood in the furthest corner, her eyes fixed on the knight who dragged her in the room, but her gaze quickly moved on me. She appeared to be well aware of her situation.
I sat down on the sofa and decided to give her a bit of space, noticing how desperate she really was.
"Eat something, you must be hungry," I gestured towards the table where the maids hastily arranged a small dinner.
But even as the maids departed, she remained motionless. Her gaze shifted between me and Christian and when ours locked, I could notice the flicker of fear in her eyes, before she quickly looked elsewhere.
I noticed a sudden change as she focused on the table.
She took a step along the wall to get closer to the table and then peeled herself from the wall. What she was up to dawned on me in a flash. I jumped up and lunged toward her the moment she reached for the sharp knife and clutched it in her trembling fingers, turning it against her own chest.
Fortunately, her movement was slow, and the fabric on her dress thick enough to stop the blade. She was afraid, so afraid of pain and death from her own hand. I ripped the short knife from her stiff fingers, dropped it and pulled her to my chest. There was nothing else to do than to hold her firmly in my embrace, to assure her safety.
It felt weird. I knew I could have her, she wouldn't be able to stop me. But I didn't want to force her. And I didn't want to pay for her love either, as I usually do.
The realization made me confused. I wanted her, but at the same time, I didn't. It felt so improper. Lady Valleria - I just remembered her name - didn't seem to be a woman suitable for a moment stolen on the bare floor.
I patiently waited for her to stop sobbing and leaned down, holding her nape and back to keep her from pulling away.
"He must die," I said quietly, "I'll leave the dagger under the pillow. Seduce him. Kill him, you can avenge your family..." I whispered urgently to her when she stopped hissing like a feral cat.
"He got terribly drunk. It will be easy, Valleria," I tried to talk her into being a figure on my chessboard.