Page 3 of Curse of the Sun and Stars

“You can keep playing hard to get, my sweet. But soon you’ll give me what I want.”

I know exactly what that is, what thoughts have been circling in Bede’s hideous mind. Since his arrival a few months ago, his gaze on me has turned from intrigued, to lewd, to downright ravenous.

He’s had to bide his time, of course—not be too obvious. But he figured out quickly that Marlowe doesn’t give a damn what happens to me as long as I don’t interfere with his schedule of spending his nights in town, getting drunk and making trouble, and his days in his private quarters, sleeping it off. Taking the measure of the guards took longer, but Bede’s slowly ingratiated himself with them, and now he’s one of the leaders of the pack. No one seems to either notice or care about his interest in me. Since he’s realized how defenseless I am, he’s stopped bothering to hide his twisted desire, especially when it’s so easy to get me alone.

I’m so often alone.

“But you don’t want to be wasting time with me,” I play it light, like the thought’s just occurred to me. “People might get the wrong idea.”

“What people? The other guards?” he laughs. “How about that oblivious maid of yours? Or that ugly cook and her little slut of a daughter? What business is it of theirs?” He takes a step closer. “If they’re the sort to tell tales about what happens here, it seems to me they pose a security risk and will need to be dealt with accordingly. Should I report them to Marlowe?”

I fight to keep my face from crumpling. Bede is Marlowe’s favorite, and he knows how to exploit that. He also knows exactly where my weaknesses are. If Bede reported Tira as a troublemaker, her family could face serious consequences. I can’t risk that. I won’t. Which means I have to handle this another way.

“Bede? What are you doing? You know you’re not supposed to touch her.” My head snaps up to see one of the younger guards standing in the doorway. His hand hovers over his sword, but he’s smart enough not to draw it.

“Mind your own business,Sneeze,” Bede tells him as his grip tightens on me. Sneeze isn’t his name and for the life of me, I can’t remember what it is, but it’s clear that when Bede can’t charm the others, he’s willing to bully them. The young man swallows, his fingers brushing the hilt but he doesn’t leave.

Swallowing back my disgust, I put my free hand to the one clutching my wrist, gently lifting it away. He seems so surprised I’d willingly touch him that he lets go.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I say more evenly, “I’m expected at breakfast.”

His smile widens, exposing his shiny teeth, but though he’s let my wrist drop, he doesn’t withdraw his fingers. Instead, he runs them all the way up my arm until his knuckles graze the curve of my breast.

“Bede.” The young guard clears his throat, but my tormentor ignores him, his eyes on me.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, and my stomach curdles. “Be nice, and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. I’m missing the twilight shift because I’m on duty later tonight. That’s when we’ll have our fun.”

I pull away, appalled. He just laughs at the noise of disgust I make, his grin even wider.

“You can swan around here like a queen all you like, but I bet you still scream like a whore,” he whispers to me before he turns to walk away. He passes the young guard and speaks loud enough for me to hear. “You better hope you know which end to point should you ever be stupid enough to pull that blade on me,” he threatens him.

It’s all I can do to keep from throwing up. I don’t dare say another word—in my defense or the guard’s—I just take my chance to retreat down the corridor. I hate my silence as they both watch me go.

I knew this day was coming. It was only a matter of time before Bede grew confident enough to lay hands on me. It’s why I started making plans these last few months, knowing all along I was running out of time.

At least Bede is arrogant enough to brag about his intentions. It means I can plan accordingly. Today will be my last at the manor.

* * *

Steam billows from the stove Una bends over to stir something hot and aromatic in a deep pot.

“Lunch?” I ask, breathing it in. “Smells good.”

“And it will be good,” she says, “but you’ve got to have your breakfast first.”

She straightens up, adjusting the curly hair piled haphazardly on top of her head and tied in place with a magenta scarf. Una Holms and her family are the brightest spots of color and vibrancy in my life, so it’s fitting that they always dress brightly, whether working in this dreary house or at the inn Una’s husband owns in the village. Her eyes land on me now and narrow shrewdly.

“Are you alright, my dear? You look pale as anything.”

I force my face into a smile. “Yes, fine. Like you say, I probably just need to eat something.” I move toward the pastries piled on the counter, freshly made every morning by Una’s deft hands. I may be trapped in this place with no family and creeps breathing down my neck, but I’ve never wanted for good food.

A foot kicks open the back door, the rest of the figure blocked by a pile of perfectly split logs with curly hair sprouting out over the top.

“Good morning, Tira,” I say as Una’s daughter drops the pile into the basket in the corner.

“Mornin’, Ana. Wait, what’s wrong?” My best friend looks me over, instantly noticing something’s off. For most people, I have a hard face to read—Will used to comment on it often enough when we played chess—but these women know me too well.

I start to shrug, but she’s grabbing a pastry with one hand and my fingers with the other, dragging me toward the back door before I can form an excuse.

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