Page 13 of Stolen Empire
And then I swear the first thing I'm going to do is call home to Perm where my mother lives and tell her I'm sorry for vanishing and never saying goodbye.
By midday, I've finished half the stalls, and my hands are blistered and raw.
I'm leaning against the wall outside, trying to catch my breath, when one of the stable hands walks past me.
He's older, with a thick neck and a gut that spills over his belt, and he doesn't bother to hide his contempt as he looks me over.
"Move," he says, shoving past me.
I stumble but catch myself, and the anger flares in my chest again.
"Watch it!" I snap.
He stops and turns, his eyes narrowing.
"What did you say?"
"I said watch it."
I straighten up, meeting his gaze, and I know it's a mistake even as the words leave my mouth.
He takes a step toward me, his hand rising, and I brace myself.
But before he can reach me, another voice cuts through the air.
"Touch her, and I'll break your arm."
Dimitri is standing a few paces away, his arms crossed, with a stern expression.
The stable hand freezes, his hand still raised, and then he lowers it slowly.
He glances at Dimitri, then at me, and his face twists with resentment.
"She's in the way," he mutters.
"Then walk around her."
Dimitri's tone is calm, but there's a finality to it that makes the stable hand back off.
He turns and walks away, muttering under his breath, and I'm left standing there with Dimitri watching me.
"Get back to work," he says, and then he's gone, disappearing around the corner of the building.
I stand there for a moment, my heart pounding, and I realize that what he did wasn't kindness.
It was ownership.
He stopped the man not because he cared about me, but because I belong to him now, and his men know no one else is allowed to touch me without his permission.
The thought makes my skin crawl, but it also settles something in my chest.
I know where I stand.
I know the rules, even if I hate them.
I pick up the pitchfork and go back to the stalls.
By late afternoon, I'm barely upright.
