“I’m sorry…” Elena winced, biting her lip and squeezing her eyes shut. She braced herself for Hazel’s inevitable explosion of fury, mentally preparing for the onslaught of insults and violence.
But only silence greeted her. A suffocating, heavy silence that stretched on for what felt like an eternity.
Then, a sound shattered the stillness. An unsettling, high-pitched laugh, utterly out of character for a noblewoman, erupted from Hazel’s throat. Elena snapped her eyes open in shock.
Tears streamed down Hazel’s face as she doubled over, clutching her stomach and rocking back and forth in a fit of manic laughter. Elena and Cura exchanged bewildered glances. Only Carmen remained composed, her expression a mask of cool indifference.
Finally, Hazel’s laughter subsided into gasping breaths. Wiping her eyes with trembling fingers, she looked at Elena, one eye narrowed suspiciously.
“You think very little of me, don’t you?” Hazel rasped, her voice laced with a newfound anger. “Do you take me for a fool?”
Elena’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?” she stammered, completely lost.
The laughter and tears were gone, replaced by a cold fury that burned in Hazel’s eyes. “The day that sound, a sound that felt like it could shatter my eardrums, echoed through the castle walls,” Hazel began, her voice low and dangerous. “The day the Grand Duke emerged from your room. Isn’t that right?”
Elena’s tongue felt thick and heavy. It was true – Kennard had visited her room and even attempted to play the flute, the shrill sound echoing through the halls. There was no way Hazel, confined within the castle walls, could have missed it.
“Were you caught stealing, or was this gifted by the Grand Duke himself?” Hazel sneered, the tip of the flute digging into Elena’s collarbone. “Either way, possessing this little trinket implies that His Grace has given you this, wouldn’t you agree?”
The chain slipped from Hazel’s grasp, dangling mockingly over Elena’s hand clasped protectively over her chest. The pain in her collarbone was a dull throb compared to the growing terror that clawed at her. This day, shrouded in an unsettling silence since dawn, had taken a horrifying turn.
Hazel’s grip tightened, scraping the flute tip roughly down Elena’s chest. “Ouch!” Elena cried out, recoiling as a thin red line blossomed across her skin, quickly welling with blood.
Cura’s scream was cut short by Carmen’s steely form blocking her way. Elena watched in horrified fascination as fat crimson droplets welled from the wound, staining the white fabric of her dress. When Carmen took the flute, a similar crimson bloom appeared on her neck, a mere scratch compared to the brutal gash on Elena’s chest.
As if reading Elena’s thoughts, Hazel jabbed the bloodstained tip at a faint scar peeking from beneath Elena’s collarbone, a mark of unknown origin. The daily ministrations of Cura’s ointments had softened the harsh lines, but under Hazel’s cruel ministrations, the memory of the injury flared anew.
“Does it sting? Or perhaps it’s the indignity of another wound? Compared to the battle scars that adorn your body, this is a mere pinprick.”
Hazel tossed the flute aside with a clatter, her gaze dropping to the pristine white gloves adorning her hands. A smear of Elena’s blood marred the immaculate surface. With a grimace of disgust, she peeled them off, letting them fall limply beside the discarded instrument.
A surge of anger, hot and unwelcome, threatened to boil over within Elena. If Hazel harbored such animosity towards her, why this charade of keeping her close? Why not cast her out, away from the suffocating confines of this castle? Elena hadn’t believed Hazel’s promises of help from the very beginning. Now, the bitter truth gnawed at her – her own foolishness had landed her in this gilded cage with a sadistic jailor.
“To bask in the Grand Duke’s favor, oblivious to your own lowly position,” Hazel spat, her voice dripping with venom. “While I, his supposed betrothed, am ostracized like a foreign pest. How very convenient for you, wouldn’t you say?”
“It wasn’t what I wanted,” Elena stammered, the anger in Hazel’s eyes a chilling counterpoint to her own growing fear.
“Convenient,” Hazel repeated, the word turning into a mantra. “That’s all you ever say. Convenient for you to be showered with luxuries while the rightful heir simmers in resentment.”
Her gaze darted around the room, landing on a hefty rock nestled amongst the saplings. Before Elena could register Hazel’s intent, the stone arced through the air, aimed squarely at the greenhouse’s inner door.
Elena whipped around, throwing her arms over her head in a desperate shield. A deafening crash erupted as the stone connected with its mark.
