In the Nest of the Fallen Serpent - Chapter 52

Schedule: Thurs and Sun

Chapter 52

Hilde’s face paled. Her trembling legs barely supported her as she rose and stumbled out of the bathroom.

Benedict, left alone, chuckled softly, then erupted in laughter. It was as if nothing could be more amusing. Abruptly, a harsh curse ripped from his throat. “Damn it.” He raked a hand through his wet hair, his jaw tight.

“Insolent wench.” His wet trousers strained against him. She’d followed him in, feigning concern, and now look at the mess she’d made. He hadn’t forced her to her knees, hadn’t taken her small mouth with his, hadn’t ravaged her then and there only because of that damned wound on her shoulder.

He hadn’t hesitated when he’d shot her. Even if it had left her slightly disabled, it wouldn’t have mattered. As long as she lived, she would serve her purpose. But afterward, the wound had bothered him, inexplicably. He found himself constantly checking it, even applying medicine himself while she slept. It was baffling, inexplicable. Yet, the compulsion to care for her was relentless.

No, it was more than a compulsion; he couldn’t bear not to. It was similar to an obsession, but fundamentally different. Like a duty etched onto his very soul… Nonsense. Benedict deliberately cut off the thought. She would soon realize she was meant for his bed. This was merely a temporary reprieve. His patience was wearing thin.

Benedict stared at his reflection in the water. Lvst simmered beneath the surface. Strangely, it felt familiar, even though he’d never felt desire, let alone sated it with any woman. “Irritating,” he muttered, his hand slashing through the reflected image, scattering the water droplets. As he watched them fall, Benedict reminded himself of a crucial fact. That woman— “Master.” “My name is Hilde.” —was nothing but a slave.

Hilde barely made it out of the bathroom. She stumbled into the adjoining room next to the bedroom, closing the door behind her before collapsing onto the floor. Tears welled up, a torrent of suppressed grief finally breaking free. She’d wanted to do well, tried so hard. Today, she’d even been brave. He was frightening, intimidating, but he was her master, the one she must serve. She’d forced herself to imagine a hidden gentleness, a kindness he kept concealed.

“I… I was hoping, wasn’t I?”

She’d told herself he was cold-blooded, that she shouldn’t expect kindness or compassion. Yet, she’d allowed herself a foolish glimmer of hope. The silent treatment of her shoulder, the few times he’d granted her requests, had fueled her naive optimism.

Hilde’s fingers traced the knot of the bandage on her shoulder. She knew its unique feel by heart now.

“Shouldn’t I have known better? Shouldn’t I have been prepared to… to open myself to him whenever he desired?”

So, this was her purpose after all. It was obvious, wasn’t it? Why had she pretended not to know? She’d heard the whispers when she was captured, imprisoned in the dungeons. Yet, the tears wouldn’t stop. Grief and sorrow pierced her heart like thorns. Foolish Hilde. Stupid Hilde. Naive, pathetic Hilde. Who would ever cherish someone like her? Abandoned even by her parents. The cursed twin.

The buried memories of her miserable past, the carefully glossed-over stories she’d told herself, clawed their way to the surface. Know your place. Don’t be greedy. Stop with these pointless hopes. You’re ruining everything. Your unhappiness is your own fault.

Sobs wracked her body. With no one else to blame, she turned her anger inwards, the wounds in her heart raw and bleeding. She longed for comfort, for even the slightest touch of warmth. But she knew it was a futile wish. She would have to soothe her own wounds, wash away the pain with her tears.

After a while, the sobs subsided, and Hilde composed herself.