Leonie hovered on the border of unconsciousness, breathing in shallow gasps on her bed as she tried to find a position where her broken rib hurt less. No matter how she moved, pain exploded through her, making her see stars. It didn't help that her right hand dangled beside the bed at an awkward angle.
Suddenly the door flew open and Esthelle, the old maid, bustled in with a basket on her arm. She stopped after just a couple of steps and took in the scene with a practiced eye—as if this weren't the first time she had seen something like it.
"Oh, you poor child! What has that monster done to you this time? How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of trouble?" she scolded, shaking her head as she set the basket down and unpacked its contents: bandages, herbal salves, cloths, a bowl of water—everything she might need.
"Unfortunately I couldn't send for Nathan to fix you this time, so I'll patch you up as best I can…" she said with a deep breath, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside the curled-up girl.
Leonie tried her best to make some sound of gratitude beyond a faint whimper, but for the moment even breathing was an effort. She breathed shallowly and carefully, eyes closed, while Esthelle, muttering under her breath, began to wrap her ruined wrist. They hadn't seen her beaten this badly in a long time, and usually injuries like these meant she couldn't leave her room for weeks. And even then, the horrors weren't over.
That blond elf—she had been wrong about him. The way his eyes had raked over the girls… he really was as dangerous and wild as he had seemed at first glance. The fact that he had taken pity on her twice didn't mean he would a third time. Tonight she would be served up to him like some kind of festive dish. The thought alone sent waves of terror crashing through her body.
She gripped the edge of the bed, forced herself painfully upright, and brought up the little food she had eaten that day, much to Esthelle's displeasure.
"Honestly, girl, you could have warned me. I'll be the one washing my clothes if you're sick on them," the woman grumbled. She dipped a cloth into the water and wiped Leonie's face clean. Her voice softened. "Believe me, I don't approve of this cruelty, but I have a family. I can't put them in danger."
Her mouth drew down, and she sighed heavily. "I have to wash you and get you ready for the baron's guest," she said, clearing her throat. "Just don't resist, it'll be over faster that way."
She lowered her eyes so her guilt- and pity-filled gaze wouldn't show, but felt a feather-light touch on her arm.
"Help me get up… and take me to the bath," Leonie whispered hoarsely. Despite her searing pain, it somehow felt easier to drag herself out of bed and wash than to spend another minute listening to Esthelle's voice, thick with remorse and pity.
Groaning, clutching at the woman for support, she somehow managed to get to her feet and shuffle at a snail's pace to the tub, where hot water was already waiting for her battered body. With some help she stepped into it and sank down to her waist.
"I'll be right back. Be finished by then," Esthelle ordered before marching out and leaving her alone with her dark thoughts.
As soon as she was alone, Leonie wrapped her arms around her knees and broke into sobs. Helplessness and despair had wrapped themselves around her many times over the years she had spent in the castle, but now she felt she had no strength left to endure or soften what awaited her that night. She was sure she couldn't take any more. Her whole body ached, every breath stabbed at her broken ribs, her right hand was useless… but it was her soul that was giving up, not her body.
Her sobbing hadn't subsided even by the time she had somehow finished washing.
"Oh, stop crying now and get out of the water," Esthelle said from the doorway. A moment later she stepped back into the room, seeing that Leonie had finished bathing. She hurried over to her, helped her out of the tub, and wrapped a towel around her.
"I made you a tea that will help," she said as she combed Leonie's wet hair, then reached past her shoulder with a slightly trembling hand, offering a mug.
"What kind of tea?" Leonie asked suspiciously once she had calmed a little and her head had cleared.
"A strong painkiller," came the hesitant reply, which only deepened Leonie's mistrust.
"And what else? I can smell it's not the same as the one you usually give me."
The older woman sighed and stepped in front of her.
"Trust me, child, and drink it. I promise you won't remember what happened to you during the night. It's the most I can do for you…"