Balancing on the edge of unconsciousness, Leonie lay on her bed, breathing in shallow, trembling gasps. She tried to shift into a position that put less pressure on her broken rib, but no matter how she moved, white-hot pain burst behind her eyes.
Her right hand hung limply beside her, twisted at an unnatural angle.
The door suddenly slammed open, and Esthelle—an elderly maid with a basket in hand—stormed into the room. She halted after two steps, eyes narrowing as she took in the scene with the practiced calm of someone who had done this far too many times.
"Oh, you poor, wretched girl! What has that monster done to you now?" she scolded, shaking her head as she set down the basket and unloaded its contents: bandages, herbal salves, cloths, a bowl of water, and everything else that might be needed.
"I couldn't send for Nathan this late to patch you up, so I'll do my best… as always…" she muttered, taking a deep breath as she sat on the edge of the bed beside the curled-up girl.
Leonie tried—truly tried—to form any kind of sound to express her gratitude, but all she managed was a faint whimper. Even breathing was a struggle.
She inhaled in thin, shallow sips while squeezing her eyes shut, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. Meanwhile Esthelle, grumbling under her breath, began to wrap the mangled wrist with careful, efficient movements.
It had been a long time since she had been this badly hurt. Usually, such injuries kept her confined to her room for weeks.
And the night's horrors weren't even over yet.
That blond elf… she had been wrong about him. The way he had looked at those girls… he was every bit as dangerous and feral as she had first believed. The fact that he had spared her twice did not mean he would spare her a third time.
Tonight she would be delivered to him like some sort of ceremonial feast. The thought sent fresh waves of panic rolling through her body.
She grasped the edge of the bed, forced herself up, and retched violently, emptying what little she had eaten that day—much to the maid's displeasure.
"Honestly, child, you could warn me first. If you ruin my dress, I'll be the one scrubbing it clean," Esthelle grumbled as she dipped a cloth into the water and wiped Leonie's face.
Her tone softened.
"Believe me, I do not approve of this cruelty. But I have a family. I cannot endanger them."
The corners of her mouth sank as she spoke.
"I have to wash you and prepare you for the baron's guest." She cleared her throat. "Do not resist. It will be over faster."
She lowered her gaze so Leonie wouldn't see the tears gathering in her eyes.
But then she felt a feathery touch on her forearm.
"Help me stand… take me to the bath," Leonie whispered hoarsely.
Despite the agony radiating through her body, getting out of bed and washing herself seemed easier to bear than listening one moment longer to Esthelle's guilt-ridden, pitying voice.
With weak groans, leaning heavily on the older woman, Leonie hauled herself upright. Inch by inch, she shuffled toward the bathtub, where hot water already waited for her battered body. With assistance, she stepped in and sank into the warmth up to her waist.
"I'll be back shortly. Be finished by then," Esthelle instructed before marching out and leaving Leonie alone with her thoughts.
The moment the door shut, Leonie wrapped her arms around her knees and broke into sobs.
Hopelessness and despair had claimed her countless times throughout her years in the castle, but tonight she felt utterly drained—devoid of strength, devoid of anything that could carry her through what awaited.
She was certain she couldn't endure more than this. Her ribs throbbed with every breath, her right hand was useless, but it was her heart—her soul—that was beginning to fail, not her body.
Even after she managed to wash, her sobs still had not subsided.
"Come now, no more crying—get out of the water," Esthelle called from the doorway as she stepped back inside.
She hurried over, helped Leonie from the tub, and wrapped a towel around her trembling frame.
"I brewed some tea for you—it will help," she said while combing out Leonie's wet curls. Her hand trembled slightly as she reached over the girl's shoulder to offer a steaming cup.
"What kind of tea?" Leonie asked warily once her mind had cleared enough to think.
"A strong painkiller," came the hesitant reply—hesitant enough to deepen Leonie's suspicion.
"And what else? I can smell it… it's not what you usually give me."
Esthelle sighed and stepped in front of her.
"Trust me, child. Drink it."
She swallowed, voice breaking.
"I promise… by tomorrow morning, you won't remember what happened to you tonight. It's the only mercy I can give."