Page 3 of Labyrinth of Broken Vows
Instead, he pauses, lifting his head to sniff the air, his eyes closed for just a moment.
“Smells good in here,” he says.
I flinch when his gaze finally lands on me, my lungs burning as I remind myself to breathe. “Thank you,” I blurt out, the words tumbling from my lips too fast, too eager to please. He doesn’t reply. He simply walks past me toward the bedroom, the clank of his armor fading as he sheds it piece by piece.
Not enough words have passed for me to gauge his mood, and the silence weighs heavy in the room. My hands trembleas I plate his food, trying to keep my movements steady, my thoughts quiet. He returns just as I set the plate on the table before him. He nods, barely acknowledging my presence. No 'thank you.' Never a 'thank you.' After all, this is my duty.
I make my own plate and sit across from him, my heart pounding in my chest. He takes the first bite, chewing slowly, deliberately.
“A fine meal,” he says, the words almost sounding like praise.
I open my mouth to respond, but the moment our eyes meet, the words die in my throat. His gaze sharpens, pinning me in place.
“Must’ve taken you all day,” he says, his voice low and pointed.
I close my mouth, my pulse racing, dread pooling in my stomach. I know what’s coming. I feel my mind slipping into that numb, hollow place where his words won’t sting as much, where the inevitable rage will be muted. I nod, my head heavy.
“How did you find the time to go parade your ass around town and cook this meal?”
The question slashes through the silence like a knife. My hands go cold, and my mouth dries up. I shake my head, but no words come.
He slams his fist down on the table, the plates rattling from the force. My body jolts, and the words I’ve been struggling to find spill out, shaky and weak.
“I’m sorry.”
It’s pathetic, barely a whisper, but it’s all I can manage.
“You’re sorry.” His voice drips with venom. “Yes, you are. Where did you go? You have everything you need here. I provide everything for you. I work, bleed, sweat…all of it for you. What could you possibly need that I’m not giving you, Brielle?”
His words used to burrow into me, twisting guilt around my heart like a vice. But now, I know better. They’re a weapon; sharp, calculated. Another way to break me down. The tensionis suffocating as he circles me, his presence a dark cloud. I can hear my pulse in my ears, my stomach clenched tight as I watch his boots scrape across the floor. His silence feels heavier than his words ever could. I know what’s coming, the storm is always inevitable. He stops just behind me, his breath hot against the back of my neck, and I try to steady my own.
“You think I don’t know?” His voice is cold, a sharp blade in the quiet. “I am the law around here, Brielle. I have eyes everywhere. People talk. And you were seen today. You, with a book in your hand, like some... airheaded fool.” He steps in front of me now, his eyes boring into mine. “Where is it?”
My heart stops. I feel the panic clawing its way up my throat, but I force myself to stay composed. I can’t let him see how terrified I am, even though it’s written all over me.
“I…” I swallow, trying to find the words. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“Bring me the book,” he interrupts, his voice a low growl. “Now.”
I shake my head, pleading with my eyes more than my words. “Please… it’s nothing. It’s just a—”
His hand connects with my face before I can finish. The slap is hard, snapping my head to the side. Pain explodes across my cheek, and I stumble back, tasting blood where my lip has split. The room spins for a second, but I right myself, holding onto the counter as if it will somehow save me.
“Shall I rattle that brain of yours again?” His voice is icy. “Or will you listen this time?”
I can’t breathe. The coppery taste of blood fills my mouth, and I press my shaking fingers to my lip, feeling the sting where his hand left its mark. I nod, the fight already drained out of me, and start walking to the pots and pans, the weight of my defeat settling over me.
He laughs behind me, low and mocking. “You were hiding it. Like some child.”
My hands are trembling as I reach behind the heavy iron skillet, pulling out the book I was foolish enough to believe I could keep hidden. Before I can even fully extend my arm, he rips it out of my hands.
“This?” He holds it up, shaking it like it’s some absurd joke. “This is what you disobeyed me for? This rubbish? Fake, make-believe nonsense. Are you a child, Brielle?” He tosses the book onto the table, glaring at me like I’m something beneath him.
I say nothing. There’s nothing I can say that won’t make it worse. My lip throbs, and I can feel the tears stinging at the corners of my eyes, but I force them back. Crying won’t help me now. It never does.
His fingers curl around the cover, and before I can react, he’s tearing at the pages, ripping them out one by one. The sound of paper shredding fills the room, and each tear feels like it’s ripping through me.
“Where did you get this?” He demands, his eyes flashing with anger. “If it was that old man in town, he’ll be dealt with.”
