Chapter 27 Invisible Chains

Chapter 27 Invisible Chains

Jannelle

The chamber pot slips from my raw, cracked hands and crashes to the stone floor, sending foul-smelling water splashing across my already filthy dress. I bite back a curse and drop to my knees, frantically trying to clean up the mess before Mrs. Crawford finds me.

"Clumsy girl!" The shrill voice makes me flinch. I look up to see Lady Bethany standing in the doorway, her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Can't even manage the simplest tasks properly."

"I'm sorry, my lady. It won't happen again." The words taste like ash in my mouth, but I've learned to swallow my pride over the past three days. Pride is a luxury I can no longer afford.

"See that it doesn't. The smell is already unbearable." She sweeps past me without another glance, her silk skirts rustling like snake scales.

I finish cleaning the mess with shaking hands, my knees aching from kneeling on the cold stone. This is my life now, scrubbing chamber pots until my hands bleed, mucking out horse stalls until I reek of manure, working in the kitchen grease pits until my hair is permanently slick with oil and my skin burns from the heat.

Mrs. Crawford appears in the doorway as I'm wringing out the filthy rag. Her face shows no sympathy, only cold disapproval.

"Finished with the east wing?" she asks curtly.

"Yes, ma'am. Just this one accident—"

"There shouldn't be any accidents." Her voice cuts through my explanation. "Perhaps you need more practice with the basics. Report to the stables after this. The horses need mucking, and the stable master says you missed several stalls yesterday."

My heart sinks. I didn't miss any stalls, I worked until my back screamed and my hands were raw. But there's no point arguing.

"Yes, ma'am."

She turns to leave, then pauses. "Oh, and Janelle? Prince Adrian specifically requested that you be given these assignments. He felt you needed to learn proper respect for your station." Her lips curve in what might be a smile if it weren't so cold. "His Highness is very concerned about your... education."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Adrian requested this. He specifically asked for me to be humiliated, degraded, broken down until nothing remains of the girl who dared to dream she meant something to him.

"I see," I manage to whisper.

"Good. The stables are waiting."

She leaves me alone with my shame and the stench of the chamber pot. I press my back against the stone wall and try to breathe, but each breath feels like swallowing glass.

Clara says it's the mate bond fighting against his rejection, that it's killing both of us slowly. But if Adrian feels even a fraction of what I'm experiencing, he hides it well behind his mask of princely indifference.

The walk to the stables takes me through the main courtyard, where nobles gather to gossip and show off their fine clothes. I keep my head down and try to move quickly, but fate has other plans.

"Careful there!"

I look up just in time to see Lord Marcus stepping directly into my path. The bucket of cleaning supplies I'm carrying slams into his pristine white doublet, leaving a streak of brown water across the expensive fabric.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry!" I drop to my knees immediately, trying to dab at the stain with my apron, which only makes it worse since my apron is filthy from the morning's work.

"You stupid, clumsy girl!" Marcus shoves me backward, and I land hard on the cobblestones. "Look what you've done!"

A crowd begins to gather, drawn by the commotion. I see familiar faces, Lord Garrett, Lady Vivienne, several other young nobles who view servants as entertainment. My face burns with humiliation as their laughter rings out across the courtyard.

"She can barely walk without falling over," someone jeers.

"What do you expect? She's just a common servant."

"I heard she tried to escape from the dungeons. Clearly not bright enough to know her place."

I scramble to collect the scattered cleaning supplies, my hands shaking so badly I can barely grasp them. That's when I see him, Adrian, standing on the steps leading to the main hall, watching the entire spectacle unfold.

Our eyes meet for a brief moment, and I see... nothing. No concern, no recognition, no flicker of the man who once caught me when I slipped on soapy water and asked if I was hurt. His gaze slides over me like I'm invisible, then moves on to something more interesting.

He doesn't even glance up when Lord Marcus kicks the bucket, sending dirty water cascading over my knees.

"Perhaps you should stick to tasks more suited to your abilities," Marcus sneers. "Though I'm not sure what those might be."

The laughter grows louder, more cruel. I want to disappear, to melt into the cobblestones and never be seen again. But I force myself to stand, to gather what's left of my supplies, to walk away with whatever dignity I can salvage.

Behind me, I hear someone say, "The Prince was wise to distance himself from that mess. Imagine the scandal if he'd actually shown her favor."

Each word is a knife between my ribs, but I keep walking. I have to keep walking.

The stables are a blessed relief from the courtyard's humiliation, even though the work is backbreaking. I lose myself in the rhythm of mucking stalls, trying not to think about the way Adrian's eyes had slid right past me like I didn't exist.

"Janelle?"

I look up to see Clara approaching cautiously, a tray of food in her hands. Her pretty face is creased with worry.

"I brought you some bread and soup. You missed lunch again."

"I wasn't hungry." It's not entirely a lie. The constant pain in my chest makes it hard to eat, hard to do anything except focus on surviving each moment.

"You have to eat something. You're getting so thin I can see your ribs through your dress." She sits beside me on a hay bale, setting the tray between us. "What happened in the courtyard? I heard.."

"It doesn't matter." I take a small bite of bread to appease her, though it tastes like sawdust. "Lord Marcus was right. I am clumsy. I need to be more careful."

Clara's eyes flash with anger. "That's not true and you know it. You're the most graceful person I know. You're just..." She hesitates, clearly searching for the right words.

"Just what?"

"Hurting," she says softly. "The mate bond is tearing you apart, isn't it? Every time he ignores you, every time he pretends you don't exist, it gets worse."

I can't deny it. The pain is constant now, a sharp ache in my chest that steals my breath and makes my hands shake. Sometimes I catch myself pressing a hand to my heart, trying to ease the pressure that threatens to crush me from the inside.

"It doesn't matter," I repeat, though we both know it's a lie. "He made his choice. I'm nothing to him."

"But you are.."

"No." The word comes out sharper than I intended. "I'm not. I was delusional to think otherwise. He's a prince, Clara. I'm a servant. That's all I've ever been, and that's all I'll ever be."

Clara reaches for my hand, her fingers warm against my cold skin. "Janelle, listen to me. Something's not right about all this. The way he's acting, the things he's saying, it's like he's trying too hard to convince everyone he doesn't care."

"He doesn't care." The words taste bitter, but I force them out. "He requested these assignments, Clara. He specifically asked for me to be humiliated. That's not the behavior of someone who's pretending not to care. That's someone who genuinely wants to see me suffer."

She's quiet for a long moment, her thumb tracing circles on my knuckles. "Maybe. But have you seen him lately? Really looked at him?"

I shake my head. I've been too focused on avoiding his gaze, on trying to become invisible whenever he's near.

"He looks terrible," Clara continues. "Pale, thin, like he hasn't slept in days. And yesterday I saw him in the corridor outside the servants' quarters. Just standing there, staring at the wall like he was trying to see through it."

My heart stutters. "What do you mean?"

"I mean he was standing right outside your room, Janelle. At three in the morning, just... standing there."

Before I can process this information fully, voices drift in from outside the stable. I recognize Captain Thorne's gravelly tone immediately and gesture for Clara to be quiet.

"..getting worse," Thorne is saying. "The girl is becoming a distraction. Some of the servants are talking."

"Talking about what?" Adrian's voice is cold, emotionless. The same tone he used in the infirmary.

"They're saying you're being unnecessarily cruel. That your treatment of her seems... personal."

There's a long pause. I hold my breath, straining to hear Adrian's response.

"The servant girl is no longer my concern," he says finally, each word pronounced with careful precision. "Do whatever you see fit."

The casual dismissal in his voice stops my heart. Clara's hand tightens on mine, her eyes wide with shock.

"Whatever I see fit?" Thorne repeats, and there's something eager in his tone that makes my blood run cold.

"Whatever. You. See. Fit." Adrian's voice is flat, final. "I have more important matters to attend to than the discipline of one troublesome servant."

Their footsteps fade as they walk away, leaving Clara and me sitting in stunned silence. The bread falls from my numb fingers, forgotten.

Whatever you see fit.

The words echo in my mind like a death sentence. Captain Thorne has never hidden his dislike for me, his suspicion that I'm somehow dangerous to the crown. Without Adrian's protection, protection I now realize was never real to begi
n with, I'm completely at Thorne's mercy. And judging by the eager tone in his voice, mercy is the last thing I can expect from him..