*Chapter 11: Pity and Teeth*
646 Words
---
Two days.
Two days with no food. Just water pushed through a gap under the door. Cold. Tasting like iron.
The log walls sweated at night. The fire went out. Amara stopped pounding. Stopped screaming.
She sat on the cot, back against the wood, Eleanor’s locket clutched so hard it left a mark in her palm. Not crying. Just... empty. The kind of empty that scares people.
Then the key turned again.
Click.
The door opened and Lucien stood there. Not in uniform. Shirt sleeves rolled up. A tray in his hands. Bread. Stew. Steam curling up.
He looked tired. Older. The mask slipped for a second and Amara saw it: a man who didn’t sleep well either.
“Come back to our quarters,” he said. No “Mrs. Devereaux.” No order. Just... request. Rough around the edges. “You’re not eating. You’ll make yourself sick.”
Amara didn’t move. Didn’t look up. “I’d rather be sick than yours.”
Lucien sighed. Stepped inside. Set the tray on the small table. The smell hit her immediately. Meat. Salt. Real food. Her stomach twisted, betraying her.
“I have pity on you,” he said quietly. Back still turned. “You’re stubborn. Like a mule. But you’re still just a girl who hasn’t eaten in two days.” He broke off a piece of bread. Held it out. “Eat. Please.”
Please.
Amara’s head snapped up. She stared at his hand. At the bread. At him.
Her body wanted it. Her pride didn’t.
She stood slow. Walked to him. Every step deliberate. She took the bread from his fingers. Their skin brushed.
For a second, she thought about eating it. Thought about surviving.
Then she looked up into his eyes. “You think pity will make me obey?”
And she bit him.
Hard. Teeth sinking into the meat of his thumb. Not playing. Not a warning. She bit down until she tasted blood.
Lucien jerked back with a hiss of pain. The bread fell to the floor. His hand came up, blood welling between his fingers. For one second, rage flashed in his eyes. The hand raised again.
Amara didn’t flinch. Didn’t step back. She stared up at him, lips red with his blood, chin lifted. Daring him. Again.
“Do it,” she whispered, voice hoarse from not speaking. “Hit me now. Now that you feel something. Now that you have pity. Hit the girl you feel sorry for.”
His chest rose and fell. The hand trembled in the air. The whole cabin went silent except for the fire crackling.
Then Lucien dropped his hand. Slowly. He wrapped his other hand around the bleeding thumb. Pressed. Didn’t look at her.
“You’re impossible,” he said finally. Voice low. Not angry. Exhausted. “You’d starve yourself before you let me help you.”
He stepped back. Kicked the tray. Stew splattered across the floor. “Fine. Don’t eat. But you’re coming back to the quarters. I won’t have you locked in that cell like an animal. If you’re going to be stubborn, you’ll be stubborn where I can see you.”
He grabbed her arm. Not gentle. Not cruel. Just firm. Dragged her out of the cell, down the hall, back into his big quarters.
He shoved her toward the bed. “You sleep there. I’ll take the chair.”
Amara rubbed her wrist where his fingers had been. Blood still on her lips. His blood.
She didn’t thank him. Didn’t speak. Just climbed onto the bed and turned her back to him.
Behind her, Lucien sat in the wooden chair, thumb wrapped in a cloth, watching her like she was a problem he couldn’t solve with orders.
Outside, the log cabins stood silent. And for the first time, the Colonel didn’t know what command to give.
---
- Writer
