Dill’s POV:

I scrub the cloth between my hands as quickly as I can manage without actually damaging the fabric. It has been a week since I’ve become the prince's slave and I have yet to see a single benefit, beyond the obvious exceptions being my room and the heightened quality of food I get to eat.

I have my moments, of course, when I think that maybe those two things are enough, but then there are other times, times like these, when I wonder what I did wrong to make the world hate me so much. That is after all, the only explanation as to why, even though I have to cater to the every whim of a moronic prince, I also have to carry out the Head Miss’s punishment on top of it.

I let my mind wander as I continue the repetitive task of scrubbing the laundry. Usually, it’s quite peaceful in my brain, but today seems to be a bit of an off day, then again it always is when it gets closer to that time of year.

Mom, if you could only see me now, I wonder if you would have still saved me.

She would have, I know. It just gets harder to remember that as the days draw closer to the anniversary of her death. My mother and I weren’t particularly close, not like she was with her older children, but she didn't love me any less because of it and neither did I. She raised me with all the loving care she showed her other children, despite everything I put her through.  

My mother was a strong woman. She had her first child when she was just thirteen years old, still a child herself. Her family abandoned her for it and she was kicked to the streets, she lived off people’s pity and the kindness of strangers until she met my father who was only a year older than her.

I’m told they fell in love almost immediately and she had her second child shortly after, then a third, fourth, fifth, and so on. This makes it easy to see why she is so close with my older siblings. She was more of a best friend to them than an actual mother. It’s also easy to understand why my older siblings tend to hate me more so than my younger ones, or the ones closer to my age.

My eyes sting a bit just thinking about it and I feel my cheeks getting wet. I hate crying, especially over this, because once I start it’s almost impossible to stop. Some pains are just like that I guess.

I bring my hand to my face so I can dry my tears only to flinch away as my hands make contact. My eyes soon find the source of my pain and I sigh in exasperation. Little drops of blood slip from small cuts along my fingers and plop into the water, turning it a slightly pinkish color at random intervals.

It is then that I notice the cloth I had been washing had slipped from my fingers during my thoughts and I had been rubbing my knuckles against the washboard. Embarrassingly this is not the first time something like this has happened to me, at least this time I can count myself lucky. Last time it had happened I was cooking and ended up sticking my whole arm in a vat of boiling water.

In my defense it was right after a harsh break up with a girl I had been seeing for awhile and nothing even close had happened since. Until now.

It’s at these times I really wish I could call for someone, but for a mute It's not really possible, so with an over exaggerated sigh I rise from the ground and stride towards the door.

The Head Miss finds me as soon as my foot leaves the doorway, as if drawn there by some magical force. Knowing her, she probably had the door spelled to alert her if I tried to leave. I can't really blame her though, if I could do magic I probably wouldn't use it for the most noble causes either, at least in her case she is using it to do her job even if it is in some overbearing manner. 

I quickly adopt a casual laid back posture and send her a look which I mean to read, Well, hello there. Fancy seeing you here. To which she completely ignores.

“And just what do you think you're doing?” She scolds while pointing her nefarious spoon in my direction. “Get back to work.”

Would love to. I hopefully communicate back with a slightly sarcastic glance in her direction. I’m afraid I can't though. With this I lift both my hands where she can see them and give her a mockingly sad look.

Her eyes go wide almost immediately and her voice is soft as she gasps. “Dillon! You idiot, what have you done to yourself!”

She steps forward quickly and grasps my hands in her own. “Why did you hurt yourself this time? Was it another girl…” She trails off at the look on my face and suddenly she is sweeping me into a hug. “Oh honey, I’m sorry.” She says in an even softer voice. “Come on lets get you bandaged up.”

She leads me down the hall and ushers me into a small room near the stairs. Without me really noticing she sits me down on a small couch in the corner of her room and begins pilfering through messy drawers and stacks of paper until she finds a small box.

Apparently satisfied, she comes to sit beside me and once again takes my hands in hers. “I know it must be so hard for you right now. I can’t even dream of understanding where you are coming from.” She tells me as she bandages my hands.

I give her a look at that, knowing full well that she misses my mother just as much as I do. She waves me off at my look and continues her ministrations.

“I loved your mother too, I am not denying that.” She tells me calmly as she rubs some type of healing salve into my wounds. “She was a dear friend to me, but the bond between a mother and her child is something else entirely.”

I know it is, but don’t sell your feelings short just because you think mine are stronger. I tell her with a look and she sighs.

“You don’t sell yours short either.” She tells me softly as she finishes off my hands. She lets them fall from her grasp and for a long while we sit in a comfortable silence, unbroken by anything but our breathing.

“I know it's going to be difficult for a little while.” She says at last and I glance over at her with a sad look on my face. “Especially for you, but don’t forget there are people here who care about you, alright?” She asks and I nod in agreement.

I promise. I tell her with my eyes and she nods to let me know she has understood.

“Best be getting back to work then. I believe you have a sleeping prince to wake.” She finally tells me in a sassy voice which makes me smile a bit.

Do I have to? I ask her beseechingly and when this just earns me a stern look I change tactics. You expect me to do laundry like this? I accompany the look with a gesture at my hands and a small knowing smile. 

She laughs a little at this before rolling her eyes. “You can have the week off, but I expect you to come back next week to finish your punishment.”

I groan at this and send her another look, this one clearly displaying my dismay.

“I know you think having to look after that spoiled prince-ling is punishment enough, but you know what? That's just too bad. When you make the rules you can decide what you want to do, but until then, I’m in charge and I say to get to work.” I roll my eyes at her again before strolling towards the door, she can be so pushy sometimes.

I am just turning the handle when her voice rings out again. “Dillon.” She says seriously all of a sudden. “I usually don’t like to fight other people’s battles, but I care about you and that's why I have to tell you, if anyone tries to hurt you over the next few weeks, you come tell me okay? I don’t care who they are or how much stronger than me they are, you come tell me and I’ll put them in their place. No matter who it is.”

The way she enunciates that last part makes me think she has someone specific in mind and I force myself to shake the thought loose before leaving the room.

It’s not that I don’t know who she means when she says those words to me, I know very well who she has in mind, I just refuse to put it into words. I refuse to think about what happened last year. I refuse, but that still doesn’t keep the memories at bay.