“Oh!” Marceline gasps. She takes a hesitant step back and almost falls over her stilettoes into the wall.
“Sorry,” I growl, ignoring her. I have my razor sharp glare trained on Luke, who is sputtering out apologies to Marceline and frantically trying to help her up. After she’s stable he turns to face me and flinches under the intensity of my stare.
“What is wrong with it?!” Marceline screeches, curling up her lip at me. “Doesn’t it have any manners?!”
Luke forces himself to look away from me and quietly answers, “Her, not it, Marceline. And I’m sure she was just startled.” He turns a vicious look back on me. “Right Kylee?”
I glare at him. “Yes master.” I keep my hostile gaze trained on him as I bend down, and then flick my eyes forward to observe the mess before me.
“How much money did you spend on it?” Marceline asks in what I suppose she thinks is a hushed whisper. “Surely too much. I mean look at it, Lukey, there’s something wrong with that thing.”
“Quiet Marceline!” Luke hisses. “She’s not deaf!”
Marceline snorts. “Might as well be.”
I clench my eyes shut to keep from screaming and force myself to continue scooping up the glass. After I’ve gotten most of it up off the ground I wipe off my hands and reach up in the cupboard for another plate.
“Here,” I growl, setting it in front of Marceline. I begin to walk toward my own seat, but freeze halfway there when a sudden “Servant!” stops me in my tracks.
I turn on my heel and put on an entirely awful fake smile. “Yes?”
“You left blood on my plate!” Marceline screeches, pointing with an outraged finger at a red smudge on the edge of her plate.
I look down at my hand and realize there is a cut along my thumb. It must have happened while I was cleaning up the glass. I put my hand down and scrunch up my face at Marceline. “You know what? You can have my plate. I think I’ll skip dinner tonight.” I switch my gaze over to Luke. “See you in the morning Lukey.”
I stomp out of the kitchen and break into a run when I hit the stairs. I don’t stop until I reach the purple comforter bed and burry myself beneath the stained covers. It’s no use pretending like I’m a Royal; I’ll never be like them. I’m not sure I even want to be like them. Not when they act like that.
I knew things were too good to be true. My luck never lasts long, and it was high time my luck ran out. I should have been expecting it. I don’t know why I wasn’t more suspicious in the first place—I guess I was just too exhausted processing everything else I forgot to look out for something like this.
I ball my hands into fists around my hair, tugging up my scalp. It hurts, but I keep pulling tighter. Everything is a mess. And in the morning I’ll bet I have a big lecture about manners waiting for me. Actually, scratch that, I’ll be lucky if Marceline doesn’t put in a death order for me after that little display down in the kitchen. Hopefully Luke can talk her down.
If not, I’m done for.
I wake up sometime in the middle of the night. My skin feels tight and my mouth is so dry I can hardly breathe. I stand up to get a drink but as soon as I move to take a step forward I trip over the blankets and go flying into the wall.
“Ouch,” I moan, putting a hand to my head. I shut my eyes to keep out the dizziness and carefully pull myself into a sitting position.
“If you keep getting yourself hurt people will think I’m abusing you,” someone says quietly from the door. I open my eyes to look up and frown when I see Luke.
“Wouldn’t matter,” I comment. “No one would care anyway.”
Luke is silent. Then, in a small voice he asks, “Now why would you say that?”