Chapter 62
My eyelids felt unbearably heavy. Clearly, I had not perished, given the sheer agony coursing through my body, most notably at the precise spot where I had so artfully plunged a blade into myself. Not only had my grand scheme unraveled into absolute failure, but I remained infuriatingly alive to suffer the consequences.
A most vexing turn of events.
Anger flared within me, a searing heat that rivaled the pain, and with no small effort, I forced my eye open. The sight that greeted me was so absurd, so profoundly infuriating, that I could not help but laugh, though, given the way my entire being throbbed in protest, I quickly regretted it.
I was back in a prison cell.
Two guards loomed just beyond the iron gate. Beneath me, the cold cement bit into my skin, caked in what was undoubtedly dried blood, mine, presumably, though I had neither the strength nor the inclination to confirm it. My attire had been replaced with what could only be described as an insult to fabric: a coarse brown shirt and equally repugnant trousers.
What fascinated me, however, was the discovery that my wound had been stitched up. How utterly unexpected.
"Report to the Grand Duchess that the prisoner is awake," one of the guards intoned. At his command, the other took his leave.
Grand Duchess? Ah, so she graces us with her return.
I had only encountered her once, upon my initial arrival at the accursed Vaneeri estate, and it seemed wherever that wretched woman had vanished to, she had deemed it fit to return at the most inopportune time. How lovely.
Laughing outright was far too painful, so I resolved to do so internally, an entirely safer alternative, considering my current state.
Not long after, the great Annette Vaneeri arrived, composed.
"Lady Florence Lorynthall, you stand accused of the attempted murder of the Duchess Millicent Vaneeri," she declared, her voice carrying the weight of authority.
"No," I corrected, or at least attempted to. The words barely escaped as more than a tremulous whisper. A shame, truly. It would have been far more satisfying to deliver my rebuttal with a flourish. "I attempted to murder myself." I smiled then, though I imagined the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that I was wilting like an overwatered flower. "Though, I do confess, I made a rather valiant effort to harm your daughter's… cock."
Annette Vaneeri did not so much as blink. Without a word, she turned and left.
And so, time stretched before me, slipping through my fingers like sand, though whether it had been days, weeks, or months, I could not say. The concept of time had become an irrelevant nuisance, and I had little care to track it. This time, I accepted my imprisonment, for this time, I was indeed guilty.
Millicent had not graced me with her presence, though I neither expected nor desired it. The thought of her had long since become a dull ache, one I no longer indulged.
The physical pain was a beast, gnawing at me with vicious intent. It made its home in my very soul, coiling itself around me until unconsciousness became my closest companion. I did not mind. If anything, I welcomed it.
But patience had never been my virtue.
Should I hasten the process? The thought flickered through my mind, and before I could summon reason to dismiss it, I answered myself.
To hell with it.
I raised my frail fist and brought it down upon the precise spot of my wound. Agony. Immediate, blinding agony. A wretched sob tore its way from my throat, a sound so unwanted that I despised it the moment it escaped.
The guard bolted upright, the scrape of his chair against stone barely reaching my ears before he was upon me.
I struck again.
Another sharp, burning wave of pain, another surge of nausea that sent my head reeling. A third attempt never came. The guard seized me, tearing me away from my pitiful act of self-destruction.
"Well, hello to you too," I rasped, my breath shaky, though I managed a smile for my troubles.
"You are not permitted to die, Lady Florence," he hissed, and with that, the world melted into blackness.
When I woke again, I found myself astounded beyond measure. Gone were the iron bars, the cold cement, and the distinct stench of imprisonment. Instead, I lay upon a remarkable soft bed. The room was small, walls fashioned from rough-hewn logs, with a single window allowing a glimpse of the outside. A forest, from the looks of it. How quaint.
"You are awake."
My eye shifted sluggishly toward the voice, and there sat Annette Vaneeri, poised in a chair beside my bed. I turned my gaze back toward the room, taking in the sight once more, only to ensure I had not finally lost my mind.
"If you are searching for my daughter, she is not here," Annette stated. "She does not wish to see you."
I scoffed, though it came out weak, pitiful even, but I would not let that deter me. "Who said I was seeking your noble beacon of righteousness? I was merely confirming whether or not I had descended into madness."
"You will remain here," she continued, rising to her feet. "Did you truly believe we would reward your assassination attempt with a swift and noble death?"
Good heavens, was the woman daft?
"Pardon me, divine oracle," I said, "I was trying to murder myself and take your daughter's considerable manhood along with me. I mentioned this earlier. Frankly, given the sheer magnitude of it, I am astounded I missed. Tell me, did you feed her magical cock-enlarging potions as a child, or was that just something she grew into with the grace of a well-watered vine?"
"I advise you to cease your foolish attempts at self-destruction." She made for the door but paused just long enough to add, "Fear not. We shall grant your dying wish at a later date."
With that, she departed, and the telltale click of a lock echoed through the room.
How delightfully ominous.
I sneered inwardly, the remnants of amusement flickering through my otherwise exhausted mind. I shifted, attempting to test the limits of my movement, only to be met with an unexpected resistance.
Ah.
My wrists and ankles were bound, securely, might I add, to the four posts of the bed. For a moment, the pain subsided entirely, eclipsed by my sheer and utter bewilderment.