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He wants her tonight. He tells her this just as she has thought the night could be over and she could return to her own chambers, sparse and locked as they are.
She says nothing, and she walks with him. She will not suffer the additional humiliation of being dragged though sometimes she feels that the opposite is more shameful. He knows now she will not attempt to stop or flee and so pays her no mind until the door to his chambers is closed behind them. It is often these casual gestures, or their absence, that she still finds galling.
She is lucky, though, she thinks. It has been some time now since she has stood here waiting for him to tell her to remove her dress or become impatient enough and tear it off himself. She remembers vividly the first time when her hands shook so violently that she could not manage a single clasp on the shift she wore beneath a dress that was not her own.
She remembers how throughout the ceremony she had dreaded this, how she had tried in vain to make herself numb to the inevitability. But when she had stood there in his chambers and heard the door close she had frozen with such a violent rigidity she could not breathe.
She supposes it is lucky actually that in his anger he tore the material with such force. She does not have to wear that memory again even if she has to wear others.
She knows well why it has been some time. She knows well that he takes others to his bed. None go willingly though some pretend better than others. Indeed, she thinks this is why she has the little privacy she does. There are those who blame her for the others. She knows this too.
Her hands do not shake today.
It rarely varies, what he does. She thinks she is grateful for this, as much as she is grateful for anything about her position. She has little to compare it to and what she has, she will not.
She feels the glow of the firelight against her bare skin. The last of her garments fall to the floor.
It will be over soon. She tells herself this each time, even when it feels a lie and often it is. But she has nothing else to tell herself and soon is relative.
He is not angry with her tonight. Not yet.. She hates him and wants nothing of his approval or whatever he might consider kindness and her relief when he is not angry with her is so sharp and fragile she thinks it will tear her apart. She thinks in this relief she might betray herself far more than through any defiance.
When he removes his belt she still goes rigid with a panic she knows she will pay for even if she suspects also that he enjoys it. She does not want to spend what little fortitude she has left tonight in forcing herself to relax but she does.
It will end soon. She will not think that it will then begin again.
When he is done he will leave or he will sleep and if the door is left unlocked she can leave, most times. If it is not, or if it is those other times-
It hurts. Even when the pain is no longer exceptional it still hurts. Sometimes she thinks she would prefer it to the alternative. Sometimes she doesn’t know.
There are places within her that are safe and beautiful but often they are shattered here.
Instead she finds her mind wandering to the most mundane questions, anecdotes and memories even as she struggles for breath. Even as she bleeds.
She can breathe now but it is painful and sharp and ragged. The pain has dulled to an echo.
It is over now.
It is over and he has left and she has not heard the sound of the lock.
Aerin watches the fire in the hearth until her tears cause the flames to spread and cover all she can see as she waits for her will to return.