Page 34 of Princess Claimed

“Nothing specific. The past, the future…” My hands slide up and down the thin silk of her bodice, and every muscle and nerve in her body reacts under the fabric. Waves of pleasure flow from my fingertips and palms, filling my entire body.

Leaning back from me, she looks up into my eyes. “Would it help to talk about it?”

Another revelation hits me—hard.

Either I tell Ana nothing, or I tell her the truth. I can’t lie to this woman. I don’t want to. I want her to understand me. I want her to see into my soul.

I back us into a shadow at the end of the hall, and she leans her head against the limestone, looking up into my eyes with interest and expectation. It’s like Ana’s some kind of vortex, drawing emotions and memories up from inside me. Emotions and memories I was trained to suppress.

“Maybe you can start with the past?” she suggests. “The future feels so uncertain.” One of her hands drifts from my throat to my chin, and then to my cheek. The backs of her fingers trace my jaw, my cheekbone, and her caress vibrates everywhere in my body.

“Earlier today…” I start slowly “…you asked me whether I’ve always been so protective of others.”

She nods, her eyes brimming with interest.

“My father, my Da, he died when I was very young.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Her eyes fill with compassion and understanding. “We have that in common.”

I nod. She also lost her birth father to violence, her entire human family.

“How old were you?” she asks.

“About nine. I was the eldest, the only boy, and so after Da died, I became responsible for my mother and three younger sisters.”

“I’m sure your mother didn’t hold you responsible.”

I glance up to the vaulted, tiled ceiling and then back to her. “I understand that now. It’s absurd to think anyone would consider me the head of the family at such a young age, but at the time…”

“I understand,” she says.

I look down into her eyes and see that she does understand. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so seen by someone, so fully recognized. With hindsight, The Master always saw me. He saw parts of me I didn’t know existed, but the Master used what he saw to manipulate me, to bend me to his will. Ana hasn’t shown any such motives.

“We lived in Ireland,” I tell her, suddenly wanting my whole life to pour out. “My father fought in a rebellion against the rich landowners. They were kicking us off the land that our family had farmed for centuries.”

“That’s terrible,” she says, and I try to forget that she has more in common with those landowners than the class I was born to.

“The soldiers captured Da. Held him prisoner. The rest of us fled, hiding in the barns of neighbors. For months, we ran from place to place. I tried to keep us safe, but we had so little food—” My voice breaks.

Her body slides against mine, and arching back, she strokes her hand down the side of my face as she looks expectantly into my eyes, encouraging me to continue.

“Looking for us, the soldiers went after our neighbors until none were willing to hide us anymore.” I close my eyes against the images of burning barns and homes filling my mind. Images of our neighbor, Mrs. Murphy, screaming as her husband was taken, and as she held her baby girl as their house burned.”

The Murphys had let us stay in their root cellar for nearly two weeks, and I watched from my hiding place, wishing I could help. But instead, I ran to catch up with Ma and my sisters. My duty was to protect my family, not Mrs. Murphy.

“Eventually, the soldiers caught us. They grabbed Mary first, then Ma, and then me and Sinead. I tried to make a plan to save us, but one of the soldiers touched Ma where I knew he shouldn’t, so I rushed at him without any plan. I slammed my fists on him, everywhere I could reach.”

I shake my head. “The men fecking laughed at me, but it took three of them to stop my torrent of kicks and punches.” A small amount of pride flicks through me, but it’s quickly smashed by memories of what followed.

“Three soldiers held me, making me watch. They killed Ma first, abusing her body in the worst ways before driving a sword through her chest. My sisters screamed. I fought and fought to get free, but then they ran their swords through my sisters too, mostly to quiet them, as if they were nothing. As if they were sacks of straw.”

“Oh, Crusher.” Ana’s eyes are drenched in agony, like she’s reliving the pain alongside me. And I realize that she is.

“You saw your family murdered too.” My voice is hoarse, clogged with emotion.

“Yes.” She nods. “I understand that kind of pain. But yours was amplified because you felt responsible for keeping them safe.”

My heart breaks open, and I drop fully into her eyes, finding comfort there, safety and a balm for my pain like I’ve never found before. Under the Master’s tutelage, I learned to fight my emotions. To fight them by building my strength and power and putting both to use. I learned to crush my feelings by smashing everything else whenever a felt a hint of emotion.

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