Chapter 3. A Commanding Voice

Isla

“This way. Keep up, and don’t touch anything.”

I follow along behind the tall, middle-aged, blonde woman in a suit as she walks very quickly through the castle. She’s wearing a pair of gray slacks and a black jacket, the shirt beneath with a white collar that’s buttoned up to her chin. Her hair is in a tight bun, and she has her nose in the air. She seems very proper, and I don’t think she’s very nice.

I keep thinking about that word. Breeder. What does it mean? Why am I here?

I do my best to keep up, but she’s walking so fast, and I have no idea where we are going or why we are going there. I didn’t hear much of the conversation between Alpha Ernest and Alpha Maddox. Once Alpha Ernest offered to sell me to Alpha Maddox to get rid of his debts, they began to negotiate much quieter, and I don’t know what’s happening now.

I walk through narrow halls, through larger openings that have pieces of artwork like vases and paintings, and even some suits of armor. Everything is regal and expensive as it had been before, and I wouldn’t touch anything even if she hadn’t told me to because I am afraid I might break something.

Everything here looks like it is worth more than my family makes in a year.

“I have no idea why Mr. Thompson, the butler, has asked me to show you to this room,” the woman says as I follow along, carrying my bag in front of me and trying to keep up. “But apparently, the king has asked him to. I, personally, think it must be a mistake, judging by how you’re dressed.”

My eyes immediately drop down to see what I am wearing, and I remember that I didn’t have much time to get ready to come on this journey. I am still wearing a black skirt and white blouse I had put on for work that morning under my black cloak. My shoes are old tennis shoes that have a hole in one toe, and because they are wet from the rain, they squeak a little. I’m sure she loves that.

“I asked him if he meant for me to show you to the maids’ quarters, but he said no. I was to show you to this suite. Whatever in heaven’s name the king has in mind for you, it’s none of my business, but perhaps he’s got it in his head that you’re from Alpha Jordan’s pack, Maple pack, though none of them have arrived yet. I’ll set him straight in a bit.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, trying to be polite.

She stops and spins around, her dark eyes like daggers. “I am the head of the staff here at Castle Blackthorn. You will address me as Mrs. Worsthingshorethinshire. Do you understand me?”

I stare at her for a long moment, wondering why she would address a guest in such a way. Her eyes are wild, and I imagine a maid would get a slap across the face for such an offense. I’m not even sure how to answer since I’m quite certain I cannot repeat back that name.

I most certainly will not say, “Yes, ma’am.”

So instead, I nod my head. “Beg your pardon,” I say.

She continues to stare at me for what seems like a minute or two before she says, “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Worsthingshorethinshire.”

I clear my throat and say, “I beg your pardon Mrs. Worsthingshurtinshirthenshire.”

She takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “Worthingshorethinshire. It’s not that difficult!”

I am afraid she’s going to make me try to say it again, but she doesn’t. Instead, she spins around and starts walking once more, and I follow, feeling sorry for the maids who have to answer to her and attempting to practice her name as I go.

I do not like her at all, this Mrs. Worsthingstirshorethinsire… or whatever her name is.

And I just want to go home.

“Your room, for now, is just down the hall from the king’s room. But don’t expect it to stay that way. Because, as I said, I believe there has been a mistake.”

We round a corner quickly, and I run into a table. The contents, a silver bowl and a vase, clatter, and she turns around and comes at me. “Be careful!” she shouts.

“I’m so sorry!” I say, praying that nothing falls.

She rights the bowl and steadies the vase, shaking her head as she does so. “I told you not to touch anything. If that happens again, you’re going to wish you never stepped foot in this castle! I don’t care who you are or why you’re here, young lady! In my castle, under my watch, there are consequences for breaking rules!”

I take a step backward, feeling myself shrink a bit with each shout. I know I must try to say her name again as she towers over me, her face red with rage.

“Yes, Mrs. Worthersthershirhirethire.”

“That’s not even close!” she screams in my face. “You’re incorrigible, aren’t you! It’s no wonder someone brought you here and left you!”

I wonder how she knows that, but I say nothing, only watch the veins in her neck protrude.

I have seen that before, right before my boss at the flour mill would hit me because I dropped a bag or before my boss at the diner would beat me for accidentally spilling a tray of food. I’m not clumsy, but I’m not that strong. Eventually, after working eighteen or nineteen hours, I would grow tired, and things would slip.

I am afraid she’s going to hit me now, but she doesn’t. She only walks a few more steps before she produces a key and unlocks a door.

We walk inside what must be an antechamber because there’s another door. This room is mostly empty. Just a little sitting area and a table with another vase on it. It’s quaint and pretty.

She props the main door open with a doorstop and then continues. “These are your rooms, for now,” she says, leading me to the other door.

As she pushes the other door open, I step aside and bump the table, slightly, with my hip. I think nothing of it, though, because these are my rooms.

Until I feel pain radiating through the side of my face and am knocked off my feet, falling to the floor as my bag goes flying free from my hands so that I can try to catch myself.

“I told you not to touch anything!” she screams at me.

Shocked, I sit there on the floor for a moment, trying to grasp what has just happened. Did she just hit me for bumping a table in my own chambers?

Am I not supposed to sleep in the bed the king has appointed for me?

Or sit on any chairs?

Before I can react, she reaches down and grabs me by the collar of my cloak, yanking me to my feet. She is so much bigger than me, and stronger. She is shaking me as she screams, “Who do you think you are, coming in here and messing things up? You little tramp? She slaps me again, and this time, I manage to get my arm up to partially block it, but I still feel her hand make contact with my cheek. Over and over again, she swings at me, and it’s all I can do to keep her from knocking me down again.

Until I hear a commanding voice shout, “What on earth are you doing?”