Chapter 6 Memories in His Hands

Ivy’s POV

“Did you really think I was going to make love to you?”

His voice is full of icy scorn. His eyes narrowed and zoning in on me like prey he wants to destroy.

“Did you think that’s how this wedding night was going to be?”

Dread fills my chest as I take him in. There is an odd kind of mercilessness in him. Almost as if he is readying himself to be ruthless. He holds himself rigid, his eyes sparking with anger.

“Did you think I wanted to willingly touch you?”

Almost on instinct, I want to shake my head. His questions make me feel so unbelievably small. However, his hand in my hair tightens, not allowing me to move an inch. I wince as he keeps me in place, forcing me to meet his eyes.

Then, slowly, he leans forward until his forehead touches mine. His other hand comes forward and lightly caresses my cheek. The mocking gesture lacks affection, and I feel burned by his touch.

His fingers come away wet from tears I didn’t know were there. He rubs his fingers together, and a small smile makes way on his lips. Almost as if he is enjoying the sight of my tears.

Then, his smile is gone.

“I would never willingly touch you, little liar. You disgust me. However, next time you try to kiss me, there will be consequences far worse than you’ve imagined.”

With a hollow feeling in my heart, I realize what this is. His own form of revenge for the wedding kiss. By humiliating me like this and forcing himself into my personal space, he is getting back to me for kissing him without permission. He doesn’t even care that I was forced into it just the same.

With those words, he yanks his hand away from my hair as if I am unclean. The movement is too sharp, and I am not expecting it. My head twists to the side, and I lose my balance on the forearm that is keeping me upright.

A terrified gasp leaves me as I am about to land on the bed in a painfully odd angle. However, moments before it is about to happen, his hand once again shoots forward and wraps around my throat.

An uncontrollable breath of relief escapes me as he fixes the odd tilt of my head, easily breaking the fall, even as he pushes me down on the bed. The breath leaves my body, and I stare up at him, feeling helpless and confused.

My eyes peer up at him, trying to look behind the steely mask he always wears. There is a strange contradictory feeling to his actions. He hurt me so brutally with his words, but the way he holds my neck right now is almost gentle. As if my almost fall somehow softened him a tiny bit. As if even though he wanted to terrify me, he didn’t really mean to harm me.

Now, he just stares back at me, his expression tight and unreadable. For a moment, a small hope starts to build in my chest.

Maybe … maybe, he isn’t completely made of stone after all? Maybe, underneath all that cruelty, this is some … tenderness? Maybe, I can appeal to that part of him in order to survive this marriage?

Almost, as if sensing where my thoughts are going, his hand around my throat tightens. It is a primal gesture. Not meant to hurt but to subdue. Then, once again, his face shutters down hard, leaving no expression for me to read into.

“You make me sick.”

He bites out, before abruptly getting up and stalking out of the room.

I don’t know how long I stay where he left me. I feel exhausted, and the wedding dress feels too heavy and suffocating on my body. I just stare at the ceiling, unable to cry or think. His hurtful words circle in my head on repeat.

You disgust me.

You make me sick.

I feel impossibly cold and stuck. Like, I am drowning in the ocean, and wave over wave of freezing water is pelting my skin, making it impossible to breathe.

The slamming open of the door makes me sit upright. I look up to see the only other person I have interacted with in this mansion come through the door. She is the same maid who always brings my food. Usually, she never bothers to talk to me, but this time, her face is flush with irritation.

She watches me splayed on the bed, still in my wedding dress, and a condescending expression twists her features.

She carries forward the tray of food and slams it down on the side table with such force that the soup sloshes over the bowl and into the tray. She huffs, looking at the mess, and then shrugs like it isn’t a big deal.

“Uh, can you please bring me the tissue papers?” I ask her politely, wondering if this attempt to engage with her would go unanswered as well like all the previous times I have tried.

“No, I have better things to do than babysit the king’s unwanted wife.”

Her words shoot at me like bullets, and I am so surprised by the meanness in them that for a moment, I have nothing to say. Slowly, I realize what is happening. Alexander’s lack of regard for me is trickling down to his servants.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she scoffs at whatever she sees on my face. “You know, when we heard the king was getting married, all of the maids fought to be able to get the opportunity to serve the new Queen. It was supposed to be an honor! But now I realize, it is nothing but a disgrace. The king clearly loathes you, doesn’t even want to spend the wedding night with you, and I am supposed to serve you when you are less than a servant?”

She spits out as if she had all these things bottled up in her chest. I bury my hands in the duvet below me and squeeze so tight that my fingers hurt. I don’t say anything, but I try to get a hold of my expression.

I refuse to show these cruel people how much they are breaking me any longer.

At my lack of response, the maid frowns and then haughtily storms out of the room. The moment the door shuts behind her, my shoulders slump. Numbly, I pick myself up and take off the wedding dress. I wash the makeup off - now ruined by my tears.

For some reason, the water in the sink is light pink, and I turn my hand over to see a faint red stain lingering there. It feels like blood, but it couldn’t have been, because I am not bleeding from anywhere. The only other person in the room was … Alexander. My mind flashes briefly to me pushing at his chest with my hand.

Could this be his blood?

The blood-red moon hangs high in the night sky, casting an eerie glow that mirrors the pale red water in the sink.

My brain is too tired to form an answer. I shut off the tap water and go back into my room, shutting off all thoughts. Like a robot, I pick up the bowl of cold soup and force it into my mouth bite after bite.

If I have to deal with all of this, I need to have my strength.

Still, when I finally fall back into bed, I don’t feel strong. Instead, I feel impossibly fragile. Like, a hurt little girl who just needs her mommy.

The humiliating wedding. Alexander’s painful words. The maid’s contempt.

It all just feels too much.

With trembling fingers, I open the side drawer and take out one of the few belongings that I still have with me. It is a small tape recorder. Even though it looks like something out of a treasure shop.

Gold plated and encrusted with jewels, it was something I had seen in one of the most expensive antique stores in the kingdom.

I remember passing by it on the street, my eyes going round in awe as soon as I saw it through the glass enclosure, and then quickly trying to hide my reaction from my mother, knowing we could never afford it.

She had seen it anyway, and then, on my fifteenth birthday, she had brought it to me, wrapped in the prettiest packaging.

Tears slide down my face as I hold it close to my chest. God only knows how many hours she worked, how she saved every penny, only so I could have this. Now, it holds the memories of who she once was to me.

I press the button, and her angelic voice fills the room.

Happy Birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, my little Ivy.

Sobs wrench out of me as I hear her singing. I close my eyes and imagine her holding me as she did on my birthday - the last one I’d spent with her. After that, I never heard her sing. All I saw were machines beeping in the hospital and her cold hands that did not move no matter how much I held them.

She was alive, but never with me.

Oh God, how I would give anything for her to be with me here right now.

I click another button, and once again her soft voice filters through my ears.

No ocean too deep, no mountain too high

Baby girl, believe in yourself and fly, fly, fly!

I can hear my voice mingle with hers as more tears fall down my cheeks. It was one of the songs my mother created for me. She loved to sing it to me any chance she got.

I press the recorder closer to my chest, imagining my mother’s arms instead. I mouth the words she sings until finally, a broken, fitful sleep overtakes me.

____________________

I know something is wrong even before I wake up.

I feel oddly cold and empty.

My eyes shoot open, and on instinct, my hand jerks towards my recorder.

Only to find it gone.

Panic overflows me as I frantically sit upright. Alarmed, I hurriedly pick up the duvet to see if it's under it.

It’s not.

With urgent fingers, I search the bed, the side tables, even the corners of the room. But the tape recorder is nowhere to be found.

A cold sweat breaks on my brow, and my throat feels itchy. The sense of loss I feel is so acute, it nearly makes me topple over.

“Looking for this?” A snarky voice comes from the doorway. I turn around to find the maid tossing and turning the recorder in her hands.

My breath halts as my eyes lock with it.

“Pretty little thing. It looks quite expensive too. I saw it when I came to give you your breakfast and thought; this is the least I should be rewarded for all my trouble.”

My eyes fall to the tray of breakfast - slightly burnt eggs and cold toast - and a shaky exhale leaves my body.

“Please,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “You can have everything else, just not this. Please.”

Her eyes spark with evil delight as she hears my begging. She is clearly enjoying the power it gives her, and I'd be happy to give more of it to her, if it means I’ll have my recorder back.

Then, her expression twists, and my heart sinks.

“Too bad, you really don’t own anything else that is nearly as valuable. So, I think I will be keeping this.” She smirks and moves to pocket it.

Sheer desperation grips me as I realize there is no reasoning with her.

Anything else, I could have let go. But not this. Not the memories of my mother.

A strangled cry leaves me, as on instinct, I move forward and make a grab for it. The maid is not expecting that, and she loses her grip on the recorder. It falls to the floor, the impact setting off the last recording.

I watch, with my heart in the throat, as it comes to a stop next to two powerful shoes.

No ocean too deep, no mountain too high

Baby girl, believe in yourself and fly, fly, fly!

My mother’s voice fills the room that has suddenly gotten silent.

Slowly, my eyes move upward until they lock with the icy cold ones of my cruel husband.

Fear envelops me once again as I watch him slowly lower his eyes until they are fixed on the recorder at his feet.

More panic envelops me as I see his eyes narrow.

Oh God, what is he going to do?