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This, I know, is where I’m meant to be bred.

“It’s west-facing, too,” the girl says, babbling along. “Do you think that’s a coincidence? I doubt anything here is a coincidence. Oh,” she gasps, pressing her face to the window. “You can see the clock tower from here! Isn’t that neat?”

I gape in her zipping wake, feeling the distinct suspicion I’ve just been played like a goddamn fiddle. “I hadn’t noticed,” I mutter, using the back of a settee to help guide me back to the bed.

Stella bounds up the platform and reaches for the comforter, “This bed is enormous. Look at all those pillows! You could suffocate under there. I bet it’s for your Princes, too. They must be–” Her enthusiasm slams into silence as she freezes, arms suspended in the air where she was gathering up the bedding.

What she inevitably sees–what I see–is the bloody stain on the pristine white sheets. My hand drops between my legs, and I feel the crusty, dried spot on the crotch of my panties.

“Shit.”

Her gaping mouth snaps shut. “Well, it could be worse, I guess.” She tosses me a grin that’s a touch more subdued. “I’ll start you a bath.”

“That’s not…” but my argument fades out. My vagina feels like it was assaulted by a battering ram. My insides feel even worse. A bath is probably theonlynecessary thing. Following her across the room, we enter the bathroom, and I concede that I don’t really have another choice. This is my life now.

As she begins running the water, she babbles on, “Wow, a real clawfoot tub! These fixtures are probably older than my nan. Do you think that’s real gold? Are you still bleeding much? Whoa, look at this mirror.”

I get whiplash just watching her zip around the room, my head beginning to throb with exhaustion. “Say, uh… Stella? I’m going to assume you’ve had some coffee.” There’s no way that much energy is natural. “Is there possibly… any left? In Forsyth? Or earth?”

She whirls around to nod, very urgently. “Oh, yes. I’ll take you right down to breakfast once we’ve got you all fixed up. But I don’t think they’d let you have any coffee. Maybe some orange juice, though?”

My face falls. “What? Why?”

She pushes the bridge of her glasses up her nose, a flash of something apologetic in her eyes. “Well, it wouldn’t be good for the baby, of course. It’s a part of the covenant.”

My stomach churns. “Oh. Right.”

The water runs furiously into the big tub. There’s also a shower, a large vanity, and dressing table area. The toilet, as I discovered last night, is cloistered away in a closet near the back. The floors are marble, the walls papered in a soft lavender flower pattern. Another elegant chandelier hangs over the bathtub.

It strikes me then. This is the trade-off. A servant and the fanciest bathroom in Forsyth; this is what you get for signing those papers. It sits heavily in my gut as she pulls something out of the cabinet, digging inside with a large scoop. Humming a peppy tune, Stella pours a cup of white powder into the tub.

“What’s that?” I ask, watching it dissolve in the steaming water.

“Epsom salt,” she answers, looking a little proud. “It should ease some of the pain and any swelling. It’s very natural.”

I shift uncomfortably. The sound of salt,down there, seems like a terrible idea. “Oh.”

She grabs a series of bottles next, pouring more and more things into the water. The fragrance is floral and delicate, and soon enough the water begins churning into a fluffy foam. Methodically, Stella places more bottles on the edge of the tub. Shampoo. Soap. Body wash. A loofah. A razor.

Glancing at me, she makes an eager gesture. “Well, go on! Go ahead and undress. Get in here while it’s hot and comfy.”

I realize I’m still clutching the nightgown, knuckles white from my grip. The last thing I want to do is change in front of this stranger, but she makes no move to leave, fixing me with another one of those toothy grins. Turning, I lift the dress, and then far more carefully, work my panties over my hips, down my legs.

Both the nightgown and the panties are stained an ugly brown.

I ball them up frantically, as if they’re crime scene evidence.

“Don’t worry about those,” Stella insists. “Just leave them on the chair, if you want. I’m a pro at getting blood out of linens–you have no idea.” This is punctuated with a chipper laugh, like she’s remembering something funny.

Taking a deep breath, I turn, covering my breasts with my arm. She seems unaware of my self-consciousness, though. Her eyes fall to my waist, her mouth forming a surprised little ‘o’. Confused, I follow her gaze, finding dark bruises blooming from hip to hip, the result of Whitaker slamming me into the edge of the table over and over. There’s also the matter of my forearms, which bear small scabbing cuts, vivid and angry against my pale skin. It’s a while before I remember how they even happened.

The rose thorns.

“Wow,” Stella chirps, beaming at me. “That’s messed up.”

My cheeks burn and I propel myself into the water, ignoring the stinging burn on my skin in an attempt to hide beneath the suds. “Jesus,” I hiss, biting down on my bottom lip.God, it burns–the heat and the salt awakening all the sting that’d settled overnight.

“It always has to get a little worse before it gets better,” Stella says, still flitting around the bathroom. “That’s what my sister says, and she’s really smart. A total boss babe! And alegitboss babe too, not the kind of boss babe that’s a capitalistic farce engineered from a faceless corporation that’s hoping a single mother will shell out twenty bucks for a coffee mug to feel the thin veneer of independence it gives her. Here, take these.” She barely catches her breath, holding out a glass of water and five pills. “Two of them are painkillers, and the rest are prenatal. Weird combination! The Princes really want you to be healthy, though. It’ll take a few days for you to heal.”