Chapter 10

Chapter 10
My cheek still burned where Morgana’s hand had landed. The sting had dulled, but the humiliation clung to me like smoke after a fire, thick, suffocating, impossible to wash away.
The kitchen was back to normal, but it felt wrong, too loud, too fast. Pots clanged, knives chopped against cutting boards, voices overlapped in low, buzzing murmurs. I stood among them, wooden spoon in hand, trying to convince myself I was steady, that I wasn’t breaking apart inside.

But I was.

Her words replayed in my mind with cruel precision.

“You filthy little thief!”
“He was mine before you ever set your claws in him!”
“Everyone will see you for what you are.”

I needed to know how she found out.

I gripped the edge of the counter until my knuckles turned white. I should have expected this. Secrets never stayed hidden in a house like this, not when every shadow had ears and every servant had a tongue eager to wag.

Still, I couldn’t think about it. I had to do something...anything....to keep my thoughts from spiraling.

So I chopped vegetables. My hands moved fast, almost frantic, slicing carrots into neat strips, then onions until my eyes blurred and stung. I stirred broth with unnecessary force, the spoon clattering against the sides of the pot. My arms ached, but I welcomed the dull pain.

It was better than the other kind of ache.

Behind me, the maids whispered. They didn’t bother to lower their voices much anymore.

“She thought no one would notice,” one of them sneered. “Crawling into the prince’s bed like a common whore.”

A second voice chimed in, sharp with derision. “Imagine letting him touch you. Imagine thinking that means anything.”

Their laughter rippled through the room. It sank into my bones like ice water.

I kept my head down, focusing on the knife, the vegetables, the simple rhythm of work. Chop. Chop. Chop. If I pretended not to hear, maybe the words wouldn’t stick.

But they did.

Every syllable was a needle.

A clang startled me, and I looked up instinctively. A pot lid had slipped from someone’s hands, bouncing across the stone floor. But my attention didn’t stay there.

It shifted to the sound outside.

A voice, sharp, heated. Familiar.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Skye.

My breath caught, and for a moment I forgot to move. I set the knife down carefully, afraid it would slip from my trembling fingers.

He was outside.

Drawn like a moth to flame, I drifted toward the narrow smoke vent cut into the wall. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for me to hear.

Another voice answered, sharper, imperious. Morgana.

“You embarrassed her!” Skye’s tone cracked with fury. “In front of the entire kitchen staff, you struck her like she was some animal!”

My knees nearly buckled. He was…defending me.

Morgana scoffed. “Don’t be naive. That girl is poison, Skye. Everyone sees it. She clings to you because she’s nothing without you.”

“She hasn’t done anything wrong!” he shot back, his voice too fast, too raw.

One of the maids near the hearth snorted softly. “Listen to him. The mighty Skye, fighting for his little plaything.”

More giggles followed, muffled but vicious.

I pressed closer to the slit in the wall, nails digging into the stone.

“You think I don’t see it?” Morgana spat outside. “The way she looks at you, the way you sneak to her like a starving dog? You shame yourself every time you go near her.”

Silence followed. I could picture him, jaw tight, fists clenched, chest heaving. For a moment, I thought or even hoped he might say something reckless, something real.

But when he spoke again, his tone had shifted. Colder. Calculated.

“Do you understand what you’ve done?” His voice was low, stripped of the heat from moments before. “You struck her in front of the staff. You shouted accusations. If anyone else had been listening, there would already be rumors. About me. About our family. Is that what you want?”

My stomach dropped.

So that was it.

Not me. Not my pain. Not the humiliation burning across my skin.

It was about him. About them. About the family name.

Morgana laughed bitterly. “Rumors? They already whisper. She gives them reason.”

“You’ve made it worse,” he snapped back. “Next time, if you have an issue with her, do it in private. Don’t hand the servants gossip on a silver platter.”

The words twisted in my chest, sharp and merciless.

It felt like a hand reached out but only to snatch itself back before it could touch.

That was Skye.

That had always been Skye. He loved breadcrumbing me, not as if I cared.

“You think you can protect her,” Morgana said after a pause, her tone like poison dripping from a blade. “You can’t. One way or another, she’ll ruin you.”

“I’ll handle her,” he said tightly. “Not you.”

Their footsteps faded, the conversation ending with nothing resolved.

I stayed frozen, my forehead pressed to the cold stone, my breath shallow and uneven.

For a fleeting moment, I had thought he cared. But I should have known better. Skye didn’t care about me. He cared about the stain I left on his reputation, the whispers that clung to his name.

That was all I had ever been to him, a problem to manage, a secret to hide, a fascination to indulge when no one was looking.

Nothing more.

Behind me, one of the maids spoke up again, her voice mocking. “Did you hear that? He’ll ‘handle’ her. Handle her like he always has, no doubt.”

Another giggled. “Poor little Blair. She thought she mattered. But she’s nothing but his shadow.”

Their laughter cut deep, sharper than Morgana’s hand ever could.

I turned back to the table, forcing myself to pick up the knife again. My hands trembled, but I pressed down hard, slicing through a carrot with more force than necessary.

Chop. Chop. Chop.

If I kept moving, maybe I wouldn’t feel the ache in my chest.
If I kept working, maybe I could pretend I hadn’t heard any of it.

But the voices stayed with me. Morgana’s scorn. Skye’s fury. His careful, cold cover. The maids’ cruel laughter.

It all wrapped around me like chains.

And for the first time, I realized something bitter and sharp:

I was alone in this.

Whatever Skye wanted from me, whatever games Onyx played, whatever punishments Morgana had in store, I would have to survive it myself.

No one was going to save me.