I lay still in my bed for a long time, my eyes fixed on the knots in the wooden slats of the ceiling. My breath was short and shallow, as if the very air in my small room had become too thin to support life. The memory of the Duke's kiss haunted me like a fever. It was a terrifying blend of fake softness and royal brutality that burned my lips like a permanent brand. Ever since his arms closed around me in that dining room, I could not shake the feeling that he had left a dark mark on my soul, a shadow that no amount of scrubbing could wash away.
I turned my head toward the small window. Outside, the dawn was just beginning to tear through the grey veil of night. I got up mechanically, my joints feeling stiff and old. I splashed ice cold water from the basin onto my face to drown the ghosts of the night. I pulled my long red hair into a tight, severe bun. I had inherited this fire colored hair from my mother, along with her stubborn spirit. Every time my father looked at me and told me how much I reminded him of her, tears stung my eyes. We missed her presence in this house like a lungs miss air.
I walked out of my room but stopped dead in the narrow hallway. Loud, brutal voices were already echoing in the main room, clashing with the peaceful chirping of the morning birds. It was far too early for visitors. A cold knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach, making it hard to swallow.
"You must pay the nine months of unpaid rent plus the interest, or your mill will be seized by the crown right now!" a man bellowed just as I appeared in the doorway.
He was a massive man, bulging out of a city sergeant's uniform that seemed too tight for his cruelty. The smell of stale ale and unwashed skin rolled off him in waves. His gaze jumped from my father to me, and I saw his eyes light up with an immediate, disgusting greed. Without a word of warning, he stomped across the floorboards and grabbed my waist. His hands were rough, squeezing the air out of my lungs. I struggled, horrified to feel his heavy body pressing against mine with such revolting boldness. He smirked, showing a row of rotten teeth. He shoved his thick thumb under my chin, forcing me to look into his lecherous eyes.
"Or maybe," he sneered, his breath hot against my nose, "you could give me this beauty as a mistress? No, better yet, a second wife to keep my bed warm while the debt disappears?"
Disgust washed over me, a violent nausea that gave me the strength to fight back.
"Never! I will not give you my daughter! She is engaged to an honest man!" my father screamed.
He tried to step between us, his face flushed with a dangerous shade of red. Two thugs accompanying the officer reached out and grabbed him, pinning his arms back against the stone hearth.
"The role of a mistress is a generous offer to wipe away your failures," the man insisted, his grip tightening on my hips until I knew there would be bruises.
Anger finally exploded over my fear. I gathered every ounce of strength in my body and spat right in his face. While he was blinking in shock, I delivered a massive kick between his legs. He let go of me instantly, collapsing halfway to the floor and letting out a pathetic, high pitched squeal of pain.
At that exact moment, the front door swung open. Arthur and my younger brother Leo burst through the entrance. Seeing the scene, Arthur rushed toward me with a roar of protection. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me as if I were a treasure that had almost been shattered. I buried my face in his wool tunic, seeking the safety I could not find anywhere else. He smelled of yeast and woodsmoke, the smells of my real life.
"I will protect you, my love," he whispered, kissing my forehead.
But as I looked up, I noticed a strange look in his eyes. It was a mix of helplessness and a contained rage that frightened me more than the officer. Arthur was a baker, not a soldier. He had no sword to fight the law.
"We will be back in exactly one week!" the officer shouted as he stood up painfully, his face twisted with a deep hate. "By then, I want every silver coin... or I want the girl!"
Arthur's body went rigid, his muscles hardening under my hand like cords of wood.
"You will have to kill me before you lay a finger on her!"
The man laughed, wiping his face with a look of pure contempt as he adjusted his belt.
"And what can you do, poor baker? You are nothing in this world. You do not deserve such a creature in your bed. I could cover her neck in jewels and her shoulders in the finest silks from the east. You? You can only offer her flour and a life of misery."
With those poisonous words, he signaled his men and left the house. The guards finally let go of my father. He staggered, clutching his chest with a trembling hand, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He collapsed heavily onto the dirt floor before we could reach him.
"Father!" I screamed, rushing to his side.
We carried him with a thousand precautions to his small room at the back of the house. His face was deathly pale, his lips turning a terrifying shade of blue.
"The doctor, Leo, run fast!" I cried, my own tears flooding my face.
My brother disappeared into the morning mist. I stayed there on the floor, holding my father's calloused hand. I felt his skin grow strangely damp and cold. Arthur stood by the foot of the bed, his hand on my shoulder, but I could tell he was devastated. He looked at his own hands, the hands of a worker, and I knew he was realizing they were not enough to stop a Duke or a debt.
The doctor finally arrived, out of breath and carrying his heavy leather bag. His exam was long and agonizingly quiet. His face grew more serious as he pressed his ear to the tired heart of the man who had given me everything.
"He has had a heart attack," the doctor finally announced in a low, somber voice. "He needs absolute rest. The slightest shock, the slightest effort of the mind or body could be fatal now."
A sob escaped me, muffled by my hand. I squeezed my father's fingers with all my strength. He opened his eyes slightly, his gaze finding mine with immense pain and a lingering guilt.
"Lydia... my little girl..." he whispered, his voice cracking. "The debts... the mill... how will you survive?"
"Shh, Papa, do not speak of it," I begged, stroking his hollow cheeks. "We will find a way. I promise you on my life."
But deep inside, despair was eating me alive like a parasite. Without my father's strength, we were lost. Leo was far too young to work the mill legally, and my modest salary as a gardener at the palace would never cover a nine month debt, let alone the interest they had added to spite us. The shadow of the street and the hollow ache of hunger hung over our heads.
Night fell on our little house, bringing a heavy silence that was only broken by Leo's muffled crying in the next room. I sat by my father's bed, watching over his restless sleep by the light of a single candle. My thoughts were dark, circling around one single, terrifying idea. The man with the lecherous smile promised to return in seven days. And I knew my father would not survive a second confrontation with the reality of our ruin.
I looked out the window at the cold stars twinkling in the black velvet sky. I wondered if my mother could see our distress from wherever she was. A lone tear rolled down my cheek, hot and stinging. I remembered the Duke's parting words at the palace. Sooner or later, you will be the one coming to beg me.
The realization felt like a noose tightening around my neck. Alaric knew. He had always known. The debt, the sergeant, the timing of it all. It wasn't a coincidence. It was a trap.
I whispered a desperate prayer, begging for a miracle that did not involve selling my soul to the devil in the castle. But as the candle flickered and died, leaving me in the dark, I realized that miracles were not for people like us. Only choices were. And mine was becoming clearer with every ragged breath my father took.