Blood for her Crown

Chapter Thirty-Nine

(Tw: Thoughts of suicide)

Grace
Three weeks later

She could barely remember what her face used to look like mere weeks before.

Standing by the cracked mirror in the bathroom, staring into the dull eyes she couldn't believe were her very own, she felt nothing but numbness. She couldn't remember her face before it had turned into nothing but a bony structure with pale skin stretched across it. She couldn't remember the sound of her voice before only hoarse screams left her mouth. She couldn't even remember how she had ended up there, nevertheless, how long ago that confinement happened. All she knew was that it would only take one punch to the already damaged glass in front of her, and everything could finally end. It could be so easy.

Would the girl she had been weeks ago have considered that opinion? No, she would have rather gone down fighting the king until she had given her all, until she was deserving of it. But that girl would never return to her, no matter what she did. So she might as well end her misery now.

She had clung to a plan all this time, but when she struggled to recall the details, she realized it was pointless to grasp on to every sliver of hope she could find.  Hope did not exist for her in that bedroom. There was the cruel reality, her worst nightmares, and never-ending pain—none of which left space for anything to hold onto.

She told herself over and over that Jamie would find a way to move on. He'd lost so many people in his life already. What difference would her death make?

She was just about to finally do it—slam her fist into the damned glass that reflected the girl she never wanted to see again and let go—when suddenly the door to her bedroom burst open and heavy footsteps echoed.

No, not again. This was the second time that day.

Defeated by misfortune, she lowered her hand. As long as he was unaware of what she was about to do, the mirror would stay. Really, she was surprised to have found it still hanging there after her first attempt, leaving only a few cracks.

The king did not call for her; he knew she would come. Further proof of how she wasn't unbreakable at all and would eventually bend. What had she become?

Slowly, on shaking legs, she walked through the doorway to find him standing in the middle of the room with a dress in his hand.

Despite her surprise, she felt no interest, no hope, or excitement. After the first four days, she had been past the point of feeling anything at all. When he didn't say anything, she only stared at him, waiting for an explanation for the, as far as she could tell, beautiful dress.

Seemingly losing his patience, he caved and spoke first. "You will take a deep bath now and wear this dress tonight. Once you've finished, I'll explain further. Until then, I'm sitting right here," he said, pointing to the bench by the windows, "and make sure you get no reckless ideas."

Apparently, she wasn't past feeling confused. What, by all means, was this about? He had taken away all of her clothes, except for one overly long and now far too wide shirt, because she wasn't meant to waste his time by wearing anything. She had felt humiliated and cold at first, but that had faded after a while as well. He wouldn't give her a dress if they were about to stay in that castle. He was going to take her somewhere, and based on the looks of it, somewhere important.