CHAPTER SEVEN
849 Words
### Dressed For His Eyes"*
I shivered and backed down.
My eyelids were closed. I was trying so hard to will my body to feel warm again. To feel anything other than this bone-deep cold.
But the ice was still in me.
Strong arms lifted me.
I was carried into the bathing chamber and lowered into a large marble tub. Steam rose around me, but it didn’t reach me. Not yet.
The maids bathed me.
In his presence.
He sat in a high-backed chair across the room, watching. Saying nothing.
My nudity was for his eyes to feast on. Not like I cared.
After all, what was I but an eyesore? That’s what I told myself.
But his gaze didn’t feel like disgust. It felt like ownership.
Water was poured over me. Warm, scented water. It burned where the ice had been. I hissed but didn’t make a sound.
Hands scrubbed at my skin until it was pink. They washed my hair, combed the tangles out, rinsed me again and again until I felt clean.
Clean for him.
I was lifted out of the tub. Water dripped from me onto the cold stone floor.
I was placed on a wooden chair. By _him_.
His hands were careful. Too careful. Like I was something fragile and expensive.
I hated it.
A different set of maids was called in to dress me.
I guess they were wealthy enough to have maids of every kind. Fat, petite, average, fair, dark. All of them at his beck and call.
All of them staring at me.
The dress was brought out.
It was beautiful at first sight.
And torturous to wear.
It was red. The color of wine. The color of blood.
The silk was soft when I touched it. It would have been comfortable if not for the hundreds of fastenings.
Ties to lift my chest up.
Corset laces to cinch my waist until I couldn’t breathe right.
Buttons, hooks, ribbons. Too many. Too much pain.
The maids worked on me like I was a doll.
One pulled the corset tighter. I gasped.
“Don’t move,” another murmured.
They pinned my hair, powdered my skin, painted my lips.
The dress had an opening in the front.
It revealed more than just my cleavage.
I wasn’t big up front, so all their attempts to make me look fuller didn’t work. The fabric gapped anyway.
Good. Let him see how little there was to want.
A light makeup was done on my face.
To cover the dark circles.
To hide the weariness.
To make me look alive.
My hair was tied into a high ponytail. A few strands were left loose to frame my face.
They added jewels. A necklace that sat too heavy on my throat. Earrings that pulled.
The maids stepped back when they were done.
And they looked at me.
With shock.
Most of them with jealousy.
Some with admiration.
And one in particular, with pure hatred.
I knew why.
Because even half-dead, even bruised, even with ice still in my bones… I was the one he wanted at his ball.
A pair of matching black shoes was brought for me. Heeled. Delicate. Cruel.
I slipped them on.
Stood up.
And almost fell.
A hand shot out to catch me.
_His_ hand.
I jerked away from it.
I made my way to the door instead.
After all, it was just a silly ball.
Just dancing.
Just smiling.
Just pretending I wasn’t breaking inside.
He didn’t follow me right away.
But I could feel him behind me.
Like a shadow.
Like a chain.
The hallway was long. Torches lined the walls. The sound of music drifted up from below. Laughter. Glasses clinking.
The castle was alive tonight.
And I was the sacrifice.
The maids walked behind me, whispering.
“Is that her?”
“She looks nothing like the rumors.”
“Do you think he’ll—”
“Shh.”
I kept my eyes forward.
When we reached the ballroom doors, two guards pulled them open.
Light spilled out.
Music.
The smell of wine and perfume and too many people.
He appeared beside me then.
He was dressed in black. As always. But tonight there was gold at his collar. A crown pin at his chest.
He looked like a king.
He looked like the devil.
He offered me his arm.
I looked at it.
Then I looked at his face.
“Don’t touch me,” I said quietly.
His jaw ticked.
But he didn’t force me.
He just walked in without me.
And I followed.
Because I had no choice.
The moment we entered, the room went quiet.
Hundreds of eyes turned to us.
To _me_.
Whispers started.
“Who is she?”
“That’s the girl?”
“She’s beautiful.”
“She looks terrified.”
I kept my chin up.
My back straight.
My hands at my sides so no one could see them shaking.
This was the ball.
This was what he wanted.
And on the seventh day… I would feel.
Even if it killed me.
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- Writer
