Page 10 of The Cruelty of Thorns

“I did in high school.” Your daughter has a natural ability. I think she would be a good candidate for a scholarship. I’d be happy to recommend her.

I was a sophomore when the art teacher, Ms. Appleton, had pulled my father aside at the high school’s annual open house, raving about what a gifted artist I was. He had always been impressed with my work and wanted to take Ms. Appleton up on her offer. That was before Poe’s death.

Poe was my one and only boyfriend; the first person I had ever opened myself up to. His real name was Allen–Allen Ravencourt–but everyone called him Poe. He was a poet, a musician, a lost soul. We bonded over books and music and art, and often fantasized about how we would move to the city after high school and live off our love for each other and our innate talents, but the world was too much for Poe.

I had tried to save him, to keep him engaged in life, but in the end, even I couldn’t stave off his darkness. He slit his wrists in the bathtub one night, devastating me. After that, I lost interest in everything creative, especially my art. At least, until my father passed away last year. Maybe it was just the shock to my system I needed. For the first time in three years, I started writing again and finally put pencil to paper to draw, but any ambition I held where my art was concerned died with Poe.

“Why not now?” Kristin asked, yanking me from my memories.

“I need to work on this paper,” I replied, closing the subject. I had no desire to revisit that pain right now.

CHAPTER 7

INTERLUDE

The pain of pleasure

ROSETTA RETURNED AT sunset with my evening meal. When I heard the key turn in the lock, I considered rushing her to escape my confinement, but I didn’t have the heart to push her down with her hands full. Instead, I glared at her accusingly as she set the heavy tray on the table before the fireplace.

“Why did you lock me in?” I demanded as I looked over the small feast before me–pheasant on a bed of potatoes and peas, more artichokes in oil, bread and pastries, along with another carafe of chilled wine. It smelled delicious but I wasn’t going to let that distract me from my anger.

“You spoke about leaving,” she replied.

“I have every right to. Am I a prisoner here?”

She looked away, avoiding my eyes. “You are a guest of my mistress.”

“And does your mistress lock all her guests away to prevent them from leaving? Is she that desperate for companionship?”

The maid looked distressed by my comments. “I am not privy to my mistress’s reasons. I know only what she tells me, and she did not wish for you to leave.”

“So you locked me up? You could have just told her I left on my own.”

“You don’t understand,” she hissed, wringing her hands. “If you leave against her wishes, it is me who will be punished.”

“Punished? How?”

She took a deep breath and composed herself. “Never mind. I will be back to fetch you shortly, then you can leave this room. In the meantime, it is important that you eat your meal. She will want to know that you are well-fed.”

She turned and left then, locking the door behind her. I didn’t know what to make of her remarks. Who was the Contessa, and what kind of household was she running that forced her staff to lock guests in their rooms? And what kind of punishment? Would she be beaten, denied food? The possibilities weighed on me as I picked at my prandium, and while it smelled as savory as my earlier meal, it tasted like ash in my mouth. I would rather be eating at home with my family, not being an unwilling guest whose presence is held over the head of an innocent maid.

The room had grown dark by the time Rosetta returned. She busied herself lighting the candles on the mantle before looking over the half-eaten remains on my tray.

“My mistress will not be pleased that you did not finish your food.”

“To hell with her,” I snapped. “How does she expect me to have an appetite when I am being held against my will?”

“Are you ready to leave this room then?”

I nodded, unsure as to where she was taking me. We walked down the hallway in the opposite direction from that I had taken earlier, passing several closed doors before coming to a wide intersection. She opened a door ahead of us and led me into the ornate hall I had traversed the night before. When we came to the door of the Contessa’s room, she knocked softly and glanced back at me.

“Do not displease her,” she murmured under her breath before the door swung open to reveal the lady of the house. She was clothed in a midnight blue silk dressing gown that left little to the imagination, and despite my earlier anger, I felt myself becoming aroused at the sight.

“You may go,” she told Rosetta, who managed another worried glance my way before scurrying off in the direction we had come. “Come in,” she beckoned to me in her honeyed voice, grabbing my hand and pulling me into the room before closing the door behind us.

I felt myself falling under her spell again and fought it, determined to get some answers. “Why am I being held here against my will?”

She smiled at me and reached out, tracing her pale fingers down the front of my shurt and pushing it open to reveal the evidence of her passion last night. Every pass of her nails sent shivers of lust coursing through me. “Were you not taken care of?” she purred, leaning into me, her tongue slipping out to taste the skin of my neck. I tried not to be distracted by her, but she was so close and smelled so incredibly delicious and that voice…that sultry voice caused the hairs on my arms to stand up and pulled at my cock.

---