For nearly seven years, I devoted myself entirely to William, assisting him in his rise to power as Prime Minister. But when bandits abducted both Princess Beatrice and me, forcing him to choose between us, he chose Beatrice without hesitation. His army surged through the bandits like a tidal wave, yet I was captured by the fleeing marauders. They subjected me to eighty-one needle wounds, leaving me debilitated and unable to use my skills.

Upon my return to the capital, William married Beatrice with great fanfare, publicly denouncing me as a faded flower and a promiscuous woman who had thrown herself at him. Despite his grand displays and harsh words, it was William who ultimately found himself at my feet, weeping and begging for my forgiveness.

——

“Lord Taylor, we’ve heard that some womanizer you are. Now look, your new love and old flame are both here,” the bandit sneered. “And only one can live. So, who’s is that going to be?”  

I couldn't help but look at William as the bandit spoke, my eyes flickered filled with hope. I had spent nearly seven years by his side, risking my life countless times for him and I had helped him build many of his connections. He had promised to marry me.

But in the next moment, without a second thought, he chose Princess Beatrice, whom he had recently brought back from the common folk. He held her tightly in his arms and spoke softly to comfort her.

In that instant, my heart turned cold.

With only a little time left, I couldn't help but ask William, “Have you ever loved me even the slightest, in the past seven years?”

He replied without hesitation, his eyes cold, “Never. You’re a disgrace. A stain to my name. Think a harlot like you deserved to be by my side?”

He had promised me that he would marry me once he achieved success. He spoke of how, in all the world, I was the only sunshine illuminating his life, a sentiment he repeated often to assure me of his intentions.

As I stood there, the weight of his words pressed heavily upon me. My voice trembled with desperation, the urgency of my emotions heightened by the cold, mechanical prompts of the system urging me forward. “If I had known you would do this,” I said, my voice breaking, “I would never have chosen to stay with you.”

He merely scoffed, a dismissive, contemptuous sound and turned away, his attention shifting to Beatrice. With a final glance of indifference, he left, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound of the door closing was swallowed by the howling wind that seemed to rage with a fury that mirrored my own despair.

What do I do now? How can I go home?

The bandit laughed, his voice filled with malice, “Miss Davis is a lady who holds her honor in high regard. I didn’t expect her to be head over heels for someone who doesn’t love her.”

“It's a shame that she’s roughed up. Otherwise we could have had some fun with her.” 

“She probably don't know that this whole thing was Lord Taylor's idea. A scene set up to impress the princess.”

I was stunned hearing them. “What’s going to happen to me?”

The bandits grinned, their eyes filled with lust, “Well, you're ours to play with!”

Before they could do anything, whole bunch of army charged in. I heard one of the bandits curse, “Fucking bastard! William double-crossed us!”

Everything that followed was a living nightmare. The bandits, furious and betrayed, took it all out on me. Their rage was relentless, their cruelty knowing no bounds. They tortured me in every way imaginable. I dreamed of escape, of death, anything to end the agony. But no matter how hard I tried, they always caught me. They always stopped me.

My tendons were severed and my body was torn apart by eighty-one stab wounds. I was left barely alive, a shattered remnant of who I once was. I knew I would never play the violin again. I would never write again. I could barely even think of surviving.

When I finally saw William again, he was surrounded by his men. They had caught up to us at last. His eyes met mine with nothing but disgust, as if I were a broken thing, no longer human.

He gave the command without hesitation. “Throw her onto the wasteland and let the stray dogs feast on her. Don’t let the sight of her scare the princess.”

Watching the flies and insects buzzing around me, I had become numb, my heart overflowing with intense hatred. Each buzz seemed to taunt me, a reminder of my helplessness and the torment I had endured.

As my eyes slowly closed, I found myself reliving the events of the past few days in a slow, surreal manner. It was as if time had stretched, each moment unfolding with painful clarity.

“Mr. Taylor invites you to the House of Roses for a banquet, Milady,” he announced, his voice dripping with false courtesy.

I wanted to refuse, to escape this cruel scheme, but the servant’s next words stopped me. “He added that if Milady refused, there would be no chance of reconciliation.”

A wave of despair washed over me. Reconciliation? Was that even possible after the events of the past year? I felt a crushing weight in my chest as I realized the futility of my resistance.

“Very well,” I replied, my voice barely a whisper.

As the servant turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes, for a moment, lingered too long on my chest, their lustful gaze sending a shiver down my spine.

But I was determined. I couldn’t stay away from William, no matter how much I wanted to defy him. I insisted on attending, despite Ellen’s pleas.

I hurriedly changed into my finest dress, a gown that I hoped would convey my dignity despite the circumstances. I meticulously prepared myself, trying to suppress the turmoil roiling inside me, before heading to the House of Roses.

The House of Roses was renowned throughout the capital, not merely as the largest brothel in the city, but also as the most infamous. It was a sprawling establishment of opulence and debauchery, frequented by many of the city’s elite and known for its extravagant and morally questionable allure. The brothel's reputation was built on its ability to cater to the most depraved of desires while maintaining an air of exclusivity and sophistication. Despite its grandeur, the very notion of it was anathema to the principles William had once espoused. He had always dismissed such establishments with scornful derision, labeling them as the den of vice and corruption. This was why I found myself bewildered by his sudden and inexplicable desire to summon me here.

As I stepped through the heavy velvet curtains into the brothel's interior, a hush fell over the room. The ambiance was a heady mix of perfume and incense, designed to mask the underlying stench of decay and debauchery. The lavish decorations and gilded mirrors, though ostensibly beautiful, seemed to mock my predicament. Every woman in the brothel turned to regard me with a mixture of curiosity and contempt. Their gazes followed me, eyes narrowing with suspicion and disdain, as though my very presence here was an affront to their established order.

I became acutely aware of the piercing stares as I made my way through the opulent corridors, my footsteps echoing ominously on the marble floors. The brothel’s reputation preceded me and it wasn’t long before I became the center of whispered speculation and derision. The recent scandal had placed me in the public eye in ways I could never have anticipated. Eleanor Davis, once the epitome of propriety and restraint, was now a subject of scandalous gossip. The rumors painted me as a woman who had once refused every suitor, a “withered virgin” who had now inexplicably turned into a figure of lurid interest, trailing after men of status and seducing powerful Barons and Dukes.

The air was thick with gossip as I passed by, snippets of conversation drifting through the space like venomous whispers.

“Miss Davis, have you grown restless with loneliness? Did you come seeking some pleasures?” one woman taunted, her voice dripping with mockery.

“What in the world is Eleanor Davis doing here? Isn’t she the epitome of scandalous gossip now?” another voice chimed in, laden with disbelief.

The words stung like a physical blow. The wound on my chest, a recent injury from a fall, seemed to throb more intensely with every step I took. The bruise on my palm, still tender from a mishap the previous day, pulsed faintly, a reminder of my vulnerability.

As I approached the entrance to a private room, I caught snippets of a conversation coming from within. The voices were laced with malice and anticipation and I paused, pressing my ear against the door to catch every word.

“Will she really come? No matter how you look at it, she’s a Lady. This will undoubtedly damage her reputation beyond repair,” one voice said, dripping with concern masked as condescension.

“Don’t forget how devoted Eleanor was to William. She’s nothing more than his pet now,” another voice responded, followed by a menacing laugh. “She’s become a mere plaything, a trophy for him to parade.”

The cruel words pierced through me and I found myself frozen in place, unable to move. My heart pounded violently in my chest and I struggled to steady my breathing. My hands trembled as I pressed them against the door, desperately trying to suppress the tide of fear and humiliation threatening to overwhelm me.

I needed to hear what William would say, to understand the twisted motives behind this cruel charade.

“She'll definitely come,” someone said with a leering tone. “That shameless, clingy woman couldn't refuse me if she tried. If any of you are interested, I can make arrangements for a little 'entertainment' later.”

The room buzzed with malicious anticipation and I heard the rustling of fabric and the clinking of glasses as the patrons shifted in their seats, eager to partake in whatever sordid spectacle was about to unfold.

“Are you certain about that, Will?” another voice questioned, laced with skepticism. “Even though she’s getting on in years, I must admit, Eleanor is quite beautiful. Her voice is renowned cross the land; she’s famous for it.”

A harsh, cynical laugh followed. “Think I’d risk myself having a woman like her around me? Besides, the only one I have eyes for now is Her Highness. I don’t waste time on old flames.” The derisive laughter echoed through the room, cutting through my heart like a blade.

I pressed my lips together, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. How could he speak of me with such callous disregard? The disdain in his voice, the utter contempt—it was unbearable. I could taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth as I bit my lip too hard, trying to steady myself. The pain from the wound I had sustained a few days ago, when I had taken an arrow meant for him, flared up with a vengeance. The injury had never fully healed and the pain was now a constant, throbbing reminder of my sacrifice.

The weight of my situation bore down on me and I felt a cold wave of despair wash over me. Seven years. Even a dog would show gratitude to its master after such a long time, yet William had cast me aside without a second thought, abandoning me for the princess. He was even willing to force me into another man’s bed, as though I were a mere object to be used and discarded.

I wanted nothing more than to leave this wretched place, but my legs felt rooted to the spot, heavy with despair. Gathering every ounce of strength I could muster, I stepped into the room, heart pounding, only to be greeted by a sight that twisted my stomach. Beatrice, dressed in men’s attire, reclined comfortably in William's arms, her laughter ringing through the air like a mocking echo. Her new status as the King's recently discovered daughter—and his obvious favorite—had transformed her into something untouchable, smug and cruel. She cast her eyes on me, scanning me from head to toe and her delicate features twisted into an expression of pure disdain.

Her voice dripped with venom as she sneered, “Oh, isn’t this a sight? Pathetic, aren’t you, Eleanor? Running around trying to fulfill the whims of men who no longer want you. Maybe it’s time for you to crawl into a brothel.”

Her words hit me like a lash across the skin, sharp and intended to wound. A pang of pain shot through my chest, but I refused to let it show. I straightened my back, holding my head high and met her gaze with steely resolve. “Yes,” I said, my voice steady, “but wouldn’t it be even more shameful to cling to a man who isn’t your husband, Princess?”

Her smug expression vanished in an instant, replaced by cold fury. She rose from William’s lap, her fists clenched at her sides, glaring at me with fire in her eyes. “How dare you, Eleanor!” she hissed through gritted teeth.

Without a moment’s hesitation, William stood and strode toward me, his face hard with anger. Before I could react, his hand cracked across my face, the force of the blow knocking me to the ground. I collapsed with a gasp, my cheek throbbing and the coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. I raised a trembling hand to my face, trying to stifle the pain.

William towered over me, his voice low and dangerous. “If you ever upset Beatrice again, I’ll tear you apart, limb by limb. And you’ll never see me again.”

There it was—the same threat, the same manipulation. He knew exactly how to keep me in line, how to bend me to his will. The cruel irony of it all nearly made me laugh. Instead, I forced a weak smile, though the movement sent fresh waves of pain shooting through my face.

I must have looked utterly pitiful, because Beatrice and her entourage erupted into laughter, their jeers echoing in my ears like a chorus of vultures circling a wounded animal. Swallowing my pride, I lowered my eyes and tugged at the hem of William’s coat, my voice hoarse and trembling as I whispered, “I was wrong. Please don’t leave me, okay?”

The sound of my voice, so broken and filled with desperation, only seemed to delight them further. I sounded pathetic—almost begging. The once-proud woman I had been, known for my wit and talent, was reduced to nothing more than a crumpled, pleading figure at William’s feet.

William’s friends sneered at me, their mockery slicing through the air like knives. “Look at her,” one of them said with a chuckle. “The once-famous Eleanor, now nothing more than a pitiful beggar.”

Beatrice's laughter echoed in the room, loud and unrestrained, her eyes brimming with tears of amusement. She reveled in my humiliation, her cruel nature fully on display. “How about this?” she said between fits of laughter. “Apologize to me—on your knees—and do it three times. If you do, I’ll ask William to spend more time with you.”

I stood frozen for a moment, stunned by the audacity of her request. Surely, William would stop this. He knew me—knew that I had my own sense of pride. I had never knelt before anyone, not even the King himself, unless forced. It was something William used to admire about me, my strength and dignity. He had once promised me that when he rose to a high-ranking position, he would convince the King to exempt me from such formalities. I had believed him, clung to that promise as a sign of the respect and love he supposedly held for me.

But instead, he spoke the single word that shattered any hope I had left. “Kneel.”

I stared at him, disbelief etched across my face. His voice had been cold, devoid of any emotion, as though he were speaking to a stranger. Slowly, I looked up at him, searching for any trace of the man I had once loved, the man who had promised to protect me. His eyes, once so warm, were now empty, filled with a cruel indifference that sent chills down my spine.

“If you don’t kneel,” William continued, his tone harsh and final, “then don’t ever come to see me again.”