He touches my chin with shaking fingers. “Never have I had someone that wanted me for me. That looked past the crown, looked past my blade, for the man.”
I take his face in my hands, looking deep into his eyes.
“I see you.”
He nods. “I know.”
He kisses me again, less desperate than ever before. More sure. He pulls back and says the words that pierce my soul. “Thank you.”
24
Hildi
There’s a shift over the next few days. I’m stronger. Steadier. And as much as I love sex, I’d never believe that giving a killer blow job would change things for me, but I’ll say it.
Blow jobs are epic.
When the knock or note comes, giving me my shitty assignment for the day; scrubbing toilets, washing windows, taking out trash, I think of Rupert’s face when he came, the look of peace that smoothed his generally tense features. It’s a good distraction.
I roll the mop bucket back to the cleaning supply closet and empty it; rinsing out the mop and putting everything away. The Alante are still finishing their chores. Mine don’t always take as long—they’re for maximum humiliation and pain. Today I had to mop up the entrance to the main building, after students managed, one-by-one, to enter with muddy boots.
As far as I know, it doesn’t rain at the Academy.
But whatever. This is the game I’ve chosen to play with Roland and Victorine. I keep the key and refuse to go to the challenges. They give me these crappy jobs. The cycle repeats while I try to buy a little time to let the guys build their army.
I plan to change quickly, out of the too-small maid’s uniform and into my regular clothes. I’m headed to the training room—the secret one. Our members have grown over the past few days, mostly recruited by Luke and Darius. Word is spreading amongst the losers of the challenges that there’s a safe place to heal and fight back against the oppressive administration.
My shirt is halfway off when a voice says, “Karlee sent this up.”
I jump, rattled at seeing the Alante standing behind me with a wide, covered tray.
“Seriously? I just finished.” I eye the tray. “To the Headmaster’s room, I’m assuming.”
“No.” I see the fear in her eyes.
“Victorine?”
She nods.
Not what I wanted to do today. I re-tuck my shirt and grab the tray. It’s heavy and there’s a rancid, rotten smell that emits from under the cover. My already tired arms ache as I get to the top of the long, winding staircase that goes to her rooms.
I knock on the door and it swings open with a creak. The reek hits me first, a putrid smell that permeates the room. The room is a mess, a gooey substance clumps on the floor, the nest a conglomeration of trash and debris. Victorine’s not inside, but someone else stands by the open window, seeking fresh air: Marshal. A look of absolute displeasure mars his pretty face. His eyes go to the tray in my hands and his nostrils flare, turning his expression more sour.
“Whatever’s under that lid—I don’t want any.”
Something we agree on. “Yeah, me either.”
I walk over to a small wooden desk pushed against the wall and set the tray down. I feel Marshal watching me—closely.
“What are you doing up here?” I ask, not hiding my irritation at seeing him. I’m still a little bitter about him calling me a slut.
He shrugs and toes the nest. A sticky residue clings to the tip of his boot. “Just looking.”
“For what?”
“A weakness.”
I look around the dirty room, the matted, gooey nest. Clumps of feathers are in the bottom, either providing a soft cushion or maybe something worse. “Did she…did something molt there?”