Xavier

Chocolate

The third room was vacant.

This was great because it meant I didn’t have to meet any more occupants but, on the other hand, I had to clean a giant space and it was nearing my dinner time which meant it would be left there to go cold and even more stale than it already normally is.

So I worked fast.

I noticed the headache was getting worse and, having to move around a lot, it became apparent that I was pretty banged up. Garish bruises, a few new scratches, and a swollen face—it made me wonder why that Pureblood had reached out to touch me.

I’d never been touched by one of them before.

Grabbed.

Crushed.

Injured.

But never just . . . touched.

And he’d addressed me by my name.

Not “you there” or “maid”.

Emelie.

His voice echoed in my head and, vacantly, I tried to shake the thought away.

I had to focus. Time was ticking and so I finished up the only room I’d had to clean, aware that it had taken longer than I had expected it to. Considering the size of the bedroom, bathroom, and living room—these rooms were huge and, if this one was any indicator, would need a lot of work.

A bit sweaty, dizzy, I made my way back to my new “residence” as Turk had so graciously called it and found that the tray meant to contain my dinner was upside down, its contents smeared across the ground. Lying on the tray was a ripped piece of newspaper with the word “Starve” scrawled in red marker. I stared at it for a long moment, wondering if I would cry.

Why would someone do that?

Was it Turk?

My mind buzzed over all the possibilities, mulling over all of my options—after a moment of staring down at the mess helplessly, I finally opted to do the only thing I could.

I stepped into the closet to retrieve the mop.

. . .

Everyone always talks about fight or flight.

Nobody ever seems to discuss the third reaction to danger: Freeze.

Or, in most of our cases, fawn.

Keep your head bowed, allow it to happen because if you try to run or resist, the consequences would be all the more severe.

“Are you daft?!”

The slap had been abrupt, knocking me to the ground.

I’d been three or maybe I was four at the time. Most of my childhood is a blur of cleaning until my skin peeled, pining over foods I wasn’t allowed to consume, and being beaten for allowing my emotions to show on my face.

I was an open book and the boardinghouse women agreed that simply wouldn’t do.

“Keep your eyes down and head bowed when you address an authority figure!”

“Not clean enough. Do it again.”

“Don’t cry about it!”

“Get up, keep moving!”

Shouts of warning echoed in my head, daily reminders to do as I was brought here to do.

Nothing more, nothing less.

“I don’t want to hit you!” one woman, Carla I think it was, had shouted.

Older than the rest of the lot, frustrated with her circumstances—despite her declaration that she didn’t want to hit me, she jostled me about more than anyone else.

“Do you want to die?! Do as your told, girl!”

Berated, beaten—I quickly learned to stop reacting.

Bow your head.

Drop your gaze.

Keep your lips sealed tight.

“It’s for your own good!”

The bruises had healed quickly then, the hits doled out by women who were brutal, yes, but after learning what had happened to Carla’s only son, I was certain their reasons were valid. I know they were just trying to save me from the alternative. If they didn’t train me, if they weren’t severe, my younger self would have slipped up.

All it took was one misstep.

Just one mistake.

It could be my blood staining the floor of the dining hall.

Standing against the wall, head carefully bowed, I could see the other women from the boardinghouse glancing anxiously in my direction.

I doubted they knew what had really occurred.

Still, I was sure they were all talking about it anyway.

Beatrice bumped me with her arm.

With my nose still leaking with red fluid every now and again, two of my teeth felt almost loose in my gums. Any harder of an impact and I was certain they would have fallen out. I watched a droplet of blood hit the ground at my feet and, anxiously, I wiped at my nose with my sleeve, lifting my gaze to find the older woman giving me a hard look.

“Shouldn’t have caught the eye of that one.” She looked disappointed in me.

That one. There was no doubting who she was referring to.

Forcing my eyes back down to my feet, I found it ironic that I would rather be cleaning than here, in this room filled with Pureblood Royalty.

Today, every single member of the Oscillius estate would be in attendance for the big event.

Which meant Prince Ricco was here somewhere.

Shivering, another small drop of red landed on my graying sneaker.

Trying to ignore my dripping nose, I took solace in the fact that, technically, I wouldn’t have to see him. All I’d be looking at tonight were the various shades of polished shoes and matching pant legs of crisp suits made of material only a Pureblood could afford. Luxury vehicles, brand name watches, heels that cost the same amount as a condo—the vampires were dressed to the nines, mingling about, enjoying all the festivities, feeding from the various bed slaves brought in just for this occasion.

Prince Ricco, I hoped, would be too busy with everyone else to notice me.

The ball was in full swing and the maids were posted about, as if for decoration, forced to watch. Or not watch, technically, since we were to keep a submissive bow for the duration. It was all for show, of course. Power, wealth, status—King Oscillius was using this event to show off all of them. The guests seemed to be eating it up.

A bump to my arm caught my attention and, blinking, I realized that Beatrice was trying to get me to pay attention. Standing too close to me, was a man that wasn’t wearing polished shoes.

“Emelie, was it?”

I shivered, stunned to hear that familiar European accent.

Biting my cheek, I gave an even deeper bow, confused that King Rosario had chosen to approach me. We were decoration, nothing more. It wasn’t customary for us to be acknowledged at all.

“Take this.”

Coming into my field of vision was his hand. He was holding out a handkerchief. Anxiously, I took it from him, careful not to touch his skin.

“You look hungry.”

There was live music, the loud chatter of the many other guests, and yet I had a feeling he’d just heard my stomach rumble. Embarrassed, I went to press the cloth to my leaking nose, only to hesitate when I saw it was made of fine material—finer than anything I’d ever held—and even had a little flower embroidered in the corner. “It’s too nice.” I tried to offer it back to him.

“Here.”

His hand caught mine and I tried not to flinch as he turned my hand over, placing something into my palm. It was cool to the touch, rounded.

Clutching not one, but two things I shouldn’t have, I slowly took my hand from his, realizing that not only did he gift me with a handkerchief but a piece of foil covered candy.

My mouth watered as I stared down at it.

Chocolate.

It had been a long time since I’d had something sweet.

“King Rosario!” Flinching at the sound of King Oscillius’ robust voice, I put my hands behind my back, hiding the gifts. “Ah, long time no see! Have you looked over the—”

“In our contract, you stated I could purchase a slave of my choice.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then I could hear Turk break in as if he’d just run from his post, sounding breathless, words rushed: “I have put together our very best selection just for you, King Rosario.”

There was a beat of hesitation.

I could feel his eyes on me.

Then King Rosario was led away and, somewhat relieved that he’d gone, I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

Another bump to my hand. “What did you do?” Glancing to the side, I saw that Beatrice’s face was paler than usual, wearing this worried expression. “He’s the mad King,” she went on softly. “Best stay away from the likes of him.”

“Mad King?” I whispered back, quirking a brow.

“They say he killed his own father and brother to claim the throne.”

What?

Blinking down at my feet, I clutched the chocolate tight in my fist, anxiously running over every interaction I’d had with King Rosario. He’d been kind, I thought. His presence wasn’t threatening, nor had his tone ever held condescension or disgust.

Maybe, I thought nervously, he . . . liked me?

Shivering, I recalled that Prince Ricco had once told me he liked me too.

Woozy, heart pounding loudly in my ears, I couldn’t help but fret over what King Rosario would want in exchange for these gifts. If there was one thing I’d learned in the Oscillius estate, it’s that nothing in this world is free.