Dionne
"Everything about you makes me want to murder you." His voice was low and rough, each word enunciated with careful precision. "Your presence. Your scent. Your pathetic incompetence. Even the simplest tasks are beyond you. You're worthless. Completely and utterly worthless."
The words carved into me like blades, each one finding its mark with surgical precision. Tears spilled down my cheeks, but I couldn't look away from those terrible eyes.
His gaze dropped to my neck, to the rogue burn scarred into my skin, and his expression twisted with disgust.
"Even your body advertises your failures."
Then he released my hair with a violent shove that sent me stumbling backward. My hip connected with the sink hard enough to make stars explode across my vision. The edge caught me wrong, and I felt something warm running down my side before the pain registered.
"I expect my breakfast when I'm done." He turned away from me dismissively. "Get out."
I didn't need to be told twice. I scrambled for the door, my hands pressed to the bleeding cut on my hip, tears streaming down my face so fast I could barely see where I was going.
The corridor between his chambers and my room had never felt so long. I collapsed against the wall once I was out of sight, my whole body shaking with silent sobs that I couldn't let him hear.
Worthless. Pathetic. Incompetent.
The words circled through my mind like vultures, each repetition cutting deeper than the last.
I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to stop the tears, trying to pull myself together enough to face what came next. The breakfast. I had to make his breakfast perfectly, or this might get even worse.
The kitchen was thankfully empty when I stumbled in, except for the head cook, Marcus. He looked up from where he was preparing vegetables, and his expression shifted to concern the moment he saw my face.
"Goddess above, girl. What happened?"
"Nothing." I wiped at my tears, trying to compose myself. "I just need to prepare the King's breakfast."
"Dionne." Marcus set down his knife and moved toward me. "You're bleeding."
I looked down at my side where the blood had soaked through my dress. The cut wasn't deep, but it stung fiercely. "I'm fine. I just need to focus on the breakfast."
"Let me help you." Marcus guided me to a stool, pressing a clean cloth to my side. "The King gave specific instructions that I'm not to assist you directly, but that doesn't mean I can't offer guidance."
The kindness in his voice nearly broke me all over again. After the cruelty I'd just endured, basic human decency felt overwhelming.
"Thank you," I whispered.
Marcus walked me through each step of the breakfast preparation. Toast with butter, eggs cooked a specific way, fresh fruit arranged just so, tea at the exact temperature. His patience steadied my shaking hands enough that I could actually focus on what I was doing.
"You're doing well," he assured me as I plated everything carefully. "That looks perfect."
Perfect. The word felt like a prayer. Please let it be perfect. Please let me have done something right.
I carried the tray back to the King's chambers with my heart in my throat. He sat at his desk now, dressed in clean clothes, his hair still damp from the bath. The blood was gone, scrubbed away, leaving no trace of the violence except the lingering scent.
I set the tray on the desk carefully, my hands still trembling despite Marcus's encouragement. Then I stepped back and waited, barely breathing, as he picked up his fork.
He took one bite of the eggs. Then he stopped. His jaw worked as he chewed slowly, deliberately. Then he turned his head and spat the food directly onto the floor.
"Are you trying to poison me?"
The question came out so calmly, that it took a moment for the words to register.
"N-No!" I stammered, my voice breaking. "I followed the recipe exactly, I did everything—"
"Everything wrong, apparently." He pushed the plate away with one finger, his expression disgusted. "This is inedible."
"Please, Your Grace, I did my best, I can—"
His hand shot out, and before I could process what was happening, he'd swept the entire tray off the desk. China shattered against the floor with a deafening crash. Pieces scattered everywhere, and I felt sharp stings as shards cut into my feet through my thin slippers.
"Make it again." His voice was perfectly level. "And if you mess up this time, you don't eat for the entire day. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
I fled back to the kitchen, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind me.
Marcus looked up as I burst through the door, tears streaming down my face again. "He hated it," I gasped out. "He said it was inedible. I have to make it again, and if I mess up, I don't eat the entire day."
The cook's expression shifted to something I couldn't quite read. Anger, maybe, or frustration. "Dionne, calm down." He tried, but I couldn't. I couldn't stop the hurt in my chest, I couldn't stop the frustration that filled my entire frame. A part of me wanted to blame him for misleading me, for not helping me make it as perfectly as the King would have preferred.
"That meal you just made? That's exactly how I've been preparing the King's breakfast for the last five years. There's nothing wrong with it."
The words took a moment to sink in. "What?"
"There was nothing wrong with the meal Dionne." Marcus's voice was gentle but firm. "The meal was fine. He just wants you to think it wasn't."
Understanding crashed over me like a wave. This had nothing to do with the food. It had everything to do with making me feel worthless, with breaking me down piece by piece until there was nothing left.
But what choice did I have except to try again?
I made the breakfast a second time, my hands more steady now that I understood this wasn't really about my cooking. Marcus watched quietly, offering small adjustments that I knew wouldn't matter but appreciated anyway.
When I carried the new tray back to the King's chambers, my feet hurt like a bitch. The cuts were shallow but numerous, and it made walking hurt.
He looked up as I entered, and something that might have been satisfaction flickered across his face when he saw me limping.
I set the tray down, then stepped back and waited.
This time he took two bites before pushing the plate away. "Still not right. Tell Marcus to prepare it himself." He didn't look at me as he began sorting through some paperwork on the side. "You don't eat today. And clean up this mess before you do anything else."