39
~Lisa’s POV
I took the dicine that night, my hands still shaking as I forced the bitter powder down my throat. It scratched the back of my mouth and clung to my tongue like dust, but I didn’t care. I needed sothing, anything, to dull the ache burning through every inch of my body.
After that, I did the only thing my body could manage.
I slept.
And I slept hard.
There was no peace in it, just long stretches of darkness and a drifting numbness that wrapped around my bones like fog. Every ti I stirred, the pain reminded I was still here. Still alive. Still unwanted.
No one ca.
Not the maids.
Not the guards.
Not even Maltida.
They left alone like I was sothing diseased, a ghost shut in a room no one wanted to rember.
There was no food.
Not a single tray at my door. No knock. No scraps.
The next morning, my stomach twisted in hunger, gnawing at itself as if trying to eat what little strength I had left. I dragged myself out of bed, legs trembling, back aching, and wandered down the halls in silence, praying no one would see , praying I could just get to the kitchen and find sothing. Anything.
By the ti I got there, it was empty. The dishes were already washed, the pots scraped clean, and the fire was dead.
There was nothing left.
I checked the wooden bin in the corner where they sotis dumped scraps, and even that was picked clean.
No food.
No one left anything for .
I leaned against the wall, swallowing down the bitter lump in my throat. My body felt so light and shaky it scared . I was surviving off pain and sleep and mories now. That was all.
Milo would’ve brought sothing. Anything.
He used to sneak in crusts of bread when I missed dinner. Sotis he’d show up with a napkin-wrapped fruit or sweet from the dining hall, grinning like he’d stolen treasure.
My throat tightened.
I missed him.
I missed him so much I thought it might choke . His voice. His laugh. The way he always looked at like I mattered, even when no one else did.
Now he was gone.
And I was still here.
Starving. Alone.
Forgotten.
I didn’t go back to my room right away. I sat by the cold hearth in the kitchen, holding my knees to my chest, eyes fixed on the dead coals. I stayed there for hours until the aches returned stronger than before. Until the cold reached my bones.
And still, no one ca.
And the mory of the boy who once made it all a little easier to bear.
That night, the hunger clawed at like sothing alive. It gnawed at my insides, twisted my stomach into knots, and made my head throb worse than the fever ever had. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t even lie still.
Every bone in my body ached, but I was too hollow to rest.
By midnight, I couldn’t take it anymore.
I needed to eat.
I pulled myself from the cold bed, legs wobbly beneath , and wrapped a shawl around my shoulders. My hands were shaking so badly, I could barely tie it. But I moved quietly, creeping down the hallway like a thief. The palace was mostly asleep, only the distant torchlight flickered against the stone walls.
I knew my way.
I’d been to the kitchen enough tis, cleaning, serving, scrubbing floors until my knees bruised. I knew which doors creaked, which corners to hide behind if soone appeared.
Still, every step made my heart hamr against my ribs.
Please... just a little food. Just sothing. Please.
When I reached the kitchen, it was as cold and silent as it had been that morning. I moved straight to the pantry, glancing over my shoulder before slowly turning the latch.
It opened with a soft click.
I slipped inside and shut the door gently behind .
The shelves were lined with sacks of flour, bins of grain, jars of preserved fruit. Nothing fancy. Nothing luxurious. But it looked like a treasure chest to . I moved toward the back where the bread was usually kept and spotted half a loaf wrapped in cloth.
My mouth watered just looking at it.
Hands trembling, I reached for it.
And froze.
The door swung open.
A torch flared in the doorway, casting light straight on .
My breath caught in my throat.
I was just about to break off a small piece of the bread, just enough to soothe the gnawing pain in my stomach, when the door behind flew open.
I froze.
My breath hitched in my throat as I turned slowly.
It wasn’t a guard.
It was worse.
Matilda.
Her night scarf was still wrapped around her head, her arms stiff at her sides, and the fury in her eyes nearly knocked the air out of my chest. She stepped inside with a speed that didn’t match her age and raised her hand before I could even explain.
Slap!
The sound echoed in the pantry like a crack of thunder.
My head snapped to the side, my cheek stinging sharply. I stumbled back a step, barely catching myself on a sack of rice.
"How dare you," she seethed. "We do not tolerate stealing in this palace. Do you understand ?"
"I-I wasn’t..." I stamred, but she raised her hand again, and I stopped.
I bowed my head instead, my hand pressed to my burning cheek. "I’m sorry," I whispered, voice shaking. "I just... I haven’t eaten in days. I didn’t know who to ask. I didn’t know if anyone would listen."
Matilda didn’t reply right away.
She just looked at for a long, cold second, like she was debating whether I was worth the trouble of another slap. Then she huffed and pointed toward the back of the kitchen.
"If there’s no food left in the pots," she snapped, "you go for leftovers. Crusts. Bits. Scraps. But you ask before you take anything. Next ti you steal, I’ll have you tied up for it. Do you understand ?"
I nodded quickly, wiping the tears from my eyes. "Yes, ma’am."
"Now get out of here," she barked. "And don’t ever let catch you sneaking around like a rat again."
I hurried out of the pantry, cheeks flushed, sha burning hotter than the fever ever did. My hands still trembled from the scare, but I did exactly what she said. I headed to the bins near the back counter, where the maids sotis dumped the uneaten ends of at or stale bread.
I found a few scraps of yam and half a chicken bone with barely any at on it.
I took it.
I sat in the corner of the kitchen floor, hidden behind a stack of baskets, and ate it slowly. Like it was a feast.
Reviews
All reviews (0)