Page 4 of Thomas
When he’d finally been given blood, he’d gulped it down, only to realize it was like poison to his purebred nature.
It dawned on him now. The truth that they had all stood by, compliant and sedentary, as he sat rotting, sick and starved beneath the castle. The serving staff, his younger father and his siblings. Even Mira, his maidservant since he was a boy. No one had come for him. No one had rescued him nor put a stop to the torture.
The white emptiness in his mind shifted sinisterly as he inhaled a deep breath. Not looking at her, he croaked, “Where were you?”
Mira’s confusion was obvious. “Excuse me, your grace?”
“Where were you?When I was down in the dungeon for God knows how long, decaying. What were you doing?”
“I…” Mira paused for so long that Thomas looked at her. She was still kneeling at his side, her head bowed. “I was assigned other duties, in addition to keeping your quarters clean and free of dust, my lord.”
Free of dust.He nearly barked in a nonsensical laugh. Thomas watched her in the silence, hating her with every fiber of his being. He hated every one of them for doing nothing to help him.
His younger father, who’d always doted on him and encouraged him in his literary and philosophical studies. Oliver and Sasha, his siblings, whom he’d been intentionally kind and thoughtful toward as their elder brother. All of the serving staff who had smiled in his face for years. He’d smiled right back and made it a point to treat them with dignity and respect, a trait that his elder father had severely lacked.
Thomas closed his eyes. The pain and bitterness in his chest were overwhelming, as if what remained of his already corroded and broken heart was crumbling to ashes.
“How long was I down there?” he asked.
Another long pause. Mira spoke quietly. “Nearly three months.”
Everything within him stilled and stiffened. He couldn’t believe it. How had he even survived that long? Why had he?—
“Sir Thomas?—”
“Do notcall me that.” Thomas clenched his eyes shut tighter as the words came out rough and sharp. How dare she feign respect toward him when they’d all left him for dead beneath the castle? Wasting away in his own filth and surrounded by rats and cockroaches. This entire charade was utterly ridiculous.
Mira took a breath. “My lord… if you don’t feed of your own volition, I’m afraid that Lord Blakeley will punish you further. He could easily switch out the quality of your blood supply again and keep you half alive in this room. I think… I believe strongly that you should cooperate.Pleasedrink the blood?”
She stood, hastily dusted her skirt and walked back to the bistro table. The sound of flatware clicking and dishes being settled littered the silence as she set up his breakfast and removed the untouched plates of food from the prior evening.
Thomas couldn’t escape. How could he possibly manage it in his weakened and emaciated state? He could barely tolerate the reflected rays from the overcast sun. And where would he go?
He did not wish to be physically abused any further. The thought of being given malnutritious blood made him shiver within his core.
It seemed the question wasn’t whether Thomas wanted to live or die. Rather, it was whether he wanted to live with a potential modicum of dignity or be forcibly kept conscious and tortured.
Steeling himself, he attempted to stand. He’d been sitting in the tufted chair for hours, awake since the middle of the night and unable to sleep. His legs were numb. When he attempted to push himself upright, he faltered. Mira took a hurried step toward him as he caught himself on the arm of the chair and hissed, “Don’t touch me.”
She froze mid-step, eyeing him wearily and with pity.
Taking a deep breath, he straightened. His entire body ached and his head swam, but slowly, he made it over to the table. He allowed Mira to pull out the chair for him before he sat down in an exhausted heap.
“May I assist you, my lord?” she asked, hovering.
“No,” he said. “Go away.”
She dipped in a polite bow, then grabbed the tray stacked with yesterday’s food. “Yes, your grace… I—I’ll be just outside the door. Please call for me if you need help.”
Ignoring her as she left, he looked over the colorful arrangement before him. Fresh fruit—strawberries and diced honeydew melon—a hard-boiled egg, almonds, a wedge of buttery cheese, toast, jam and a pot of tea with a single cup. Beside the empty teacup, a tall glass of blood.
He didn’t think he could keep any of this down aside from the blood. Thomas couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a meal this full and rich.
With a trembling hand, he reached for the glass of blood, willing himself not to knock it over. He lifted it, then licked his dry and cracked lips before bringing the rim to his mouth.
Hesitating, he tasted. He’d never drunk blood from a glass before, and something in it was unsettling. Still, if he ignored the utter strangeness of that, the first sip was surprisingly palatable, so he drank more. The liquid was warm, peppery and sweet as it coursed down his sandpaper throat and into his body. It soothed him fundamentally and was oddly… comforting?
Purebred blood.So, Mira wasn’t lying. The torture was truly over. For now.
