Page 3 of Apples Dipped in Gold

“It is good you are awake,” I said, meeting his blue eyes. They were most like mine but untouched by burden or fear. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”

His face turned pink, the color settling most in his cheeks.

“Aren’t you going to laugh at my trick?” he asked.

I stared at him for a few seconds, knowing he wasn’t joking, and then opened my mouth and laughed—or tried to. It was a hollow, joyless sound, but I had never truly laughed around my brother, so Hans would not know the difference.

Hans joined, laughing so loud, I could barely hear myself, and then he stopped abruptly, a cold mask descending over his face.

“Get the fuck out of my room,” he said.

I left and moved to the next, which belonged to my middle brother, Michal. When I opened the door, I found a naked woman with long blond hair straddling him. They moved together, moaning. It was not the first time I’d gone to wake up my brother and found him like this, but it was the first time I’d seen Llywelyn, the chaplain’s daughter, in his bed.

I walked farther into the room to tend to the fire. Llywelyn shrieked when she noticed me and reached for the blankets to cover her chest.

“What are you doing, you ugly little wench?” she snapped.

“Ignore her,” Michal grunted.

“Ignore her? How am I supposed to ignore her? She is right there!”

“Think of her as a maid,” he said.

“But she isn’t a maid. She is your sister! What if she tells my father?”

“She will keep our secrets, or she will find herself in a grave.”

Llywelyn giggled at Michal’s threat, but it was not the first time he had made it. Truthfully, I did not care what my brothers did outside of hunting, and I only cared that they hunted so I could be alone.

When I was finished, I stood and turned to them. They were still kissing and rocking against each other. Michal’s bed frame squeaked with each movement.

“Breakfast is soon,” I said, adding as I headed for the door, “The church bells will ring in less than an hour.”

I left Michal’s room and made my way to my eldest brother’s door, my heart pounding hard in my chest. Despite being used to Jackal’s cruelty, my body always warned me away. But I knew if I ran, things would only be worse, so I entered his room.

It was dark, save for the hearth, where dying embers burned.

I crossed to the window and opened the curtains to let in the dreary morning light. Sometimes that was enough to rouse him, but not today. He remained on his side, eyes closed, dark hair mussed from sleep.

“Jackal,” I whispered, afraid to startle him. “Jackal.”

I spoke his name louder, noticing his eyes fluttering.

“It’s time to wake up. Breakfast will be—”

Jackel’s eyes flew open, and I stumbled back as he sat up and reached for the pitcher by his bed and threw it. I could feel it brush the edge of my clothes before it slammed against the wall. Pieces of ceramic and water exploded everywhere.

“You fucking ratbag!” he seethed.

His eyes were dark with rage. I had given up trying to figure out what had angered him. Sometimes, he just woke up like this.

“Get me another pitcher!” he ordered. “And clean this up!”

I obeyed, leaving to retrieve a new pitcher, though the only other one I had was my own. I filled it with water, gathered rags and a broom, and headed back upstairs.

Jackel waited, standing in his nightshirt. I started past him, intending to place the pitcher on his table again, but he stopped me.

“Give me the pitcher,” he said.

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