Chapter One Hundred and Eighty Seven
A healer tended to my wounds in the dungeons; Thane had offered that I stay in the available guests room since we both knew I wouldn’t be agreeing on returning back to the room we once shared, but I didn’t need his generosity; if he thought I couldn’t handle the cold floors of the dungeons, then he was indeed mistaken.
I didn’t like how the healer kept staring at me. I am sure Thane had informed her not to tell anyone about this, but still her gaze was unnerving.
“I think that would be all,” she said after the last stitch. “Is there anything else you need?”
“No, you may leave,” I said to her, and she rose to her feet and offered a bow before walking
away.
A few hours passed, and Thane entered with a tray of food. He set it before me, but my gaze remained fixed on the wall, ignoring him entirely
“You’ve lost a lot of blood; you need to eat Riley, please,” he says softly.
My eyes never left the wall, and finally he left, giving me some space to think about my escape. Yes, I needed strength if was going to escape this place, but I couldn’t bring myself to eat anything from this pack. Call me foolish, but I’d rather starve.
I smashed the cockroach scurrying away with the bottom of my boot.
I rose, venturing into the darker inner parts of the room where I had spotted a tattered blanket. I used that as coverage. Though laying on the floor was more than uncomfortable, I managed to drift into a dreamless sleep.
I had spent hours lost in thoughts; I couldn’t tell the day from the night, but after what felt like hours, the door was opened once more and Thane walked in.
He had brought yet another tray of food; where did he actually expect me to put all those?
His
gaze dropped to the untouched food and then to me lying on the floor.
“That’s it; you’ll stay in a proper room.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“Don’t be stubborn…”
“You will not force me, not again.”
He inhaled deeply; I could tell he would so love the quicker option, and that was picking me up and shoving me into some room of his choice.
“You haven’t touched your food.” he stated.
1/2
“It could be poisoned for all I know.”
“And why would I poison you?” He asked, like that didn’t make sense. Again he inhaled, annoyed, but who was he to be annoyed?
He walked to me with the new tray of food and sat beside me. He took a bite of chicken broth and a spoon full of brown rice. “Satisfied?” he asked, but I gave no answer, looking away from
the food.
It smelled tasty, but I didn’t dare show that.
“Would you prefer it if you were spoon–fed?” he asked.
“I’ll rather die of starvation than eat any of those.”
The third sharp inhale.
He stared at the food like he was considering shoving it down my throat, but thought against it. “I hope you change your mind,” he says before he leaves.
I never did change my mind.
He always came back to see the untouched food there. I wasn’t only torturing myself but him too; I had lost weight, I could see it, my throat felt so sore, I needed water, and there it sat, right in front of me, and yet I wasn’t going to let myself have any of that.
I closed my eyes; I didn’t realize when he walked in; maybe it was the fact that I was too weak
I wasn’t helping myself; I needed my strength, yet taking even a bite of this food felt too much like giving up. I wouldn’t let him win, not this time.
