“You’ve made a spectacle of yourself,” Franco barked at me in the privacy of the carriage. “In front of the Demon King, no less! I thought we had an agreement, you and I. Do you have any idea what consequences your attitude could have on my family?” He jabbed a finger at his chest, emphasizing the possessive. 

There it was. “My family.” 

Not “our family,” because I had never been a part of it. His words nicked a tiny piece of my heart, leaving it grazed and tender. The man I had considered my father for seventeen years had never once regarded me as a daughter. Not truly. He never loved me unconditionally, like a parent should. 

There’s a difference between knowing something consciously and knowing it deep within your flesh. The emotional and physical abuse hadn’t been enough for me to understand the full force of his disregard for me. My death hadn’t been enough. I had to hear the revolting truth of his feelings from him. 

Franco must have recognized that he had struck a chord. He immediately softened, his voice like butter. “You understand, don’t you? King Hughes remarked on your lack of manners. It may seem like our status at court is secure, but he could decide to bestow his favors upon another family at any time.” 

I refused to let myself be broken by the sadness that threatened to wash over me. Not now. What gave him the right to treat me like a monster for seventeen years? How could my differences trigger such despise? I had been a child under his care. I didn’t deserve this. 

I lowered my gaze and concentrated on my boots to conceal the brazen ferocity that had lit up in my eyes. “I’m sorry, Father,” I managed to utter faintly, removing all traces of emotion from my voice. “It won’t happen again.” 

“I’m afraid your apology isn’t enough this time, Tatiana. I worry that being strict with you is the only way for you to respect our family going forward.” 

Unsure what he meant by that, I continued to adopt a submissive stance. It would all be over soon, I reminded myself. One more day. All I had to do was keep my head low for one more day, until the time was right to implement the final part of my plan. 

“You will remain in your bedroom until you are ready to change your attitude,” Franco continued. 

I jerked my head up, blindsided. Locked in my bedroom? 

Franco noticed my surprise. “I am sorry, Tatiana. I fear that punishment is how your kind learns.” His upper lip twitched in disgust as he referenced demons. 

“May I ask what you mean by ready to change my attitude?” I dared ask.

“The mere fact that you are asking that question tells me that your punishment might last longer than I had hoped,” he answered. 

All of a sudden, my entire world shrunk to the size of the oppressive carriage we were travelling in. My breath snagged as I attempted to organize the whirlwind of my thoughts. How can I be locked inside my bedroom? I pictured Gallen, expecting me at sundown, amongst the thickets of the Ceres grove. What if I don’t show up? What if someone notices him waiting? 

The guilt of my past actions still stalked me. King Luther had agreed to help me, but I had killed him in a past life. There was something else too, a feeling of my own fate and his being wrapped together, the inevitability of our future destinies a hazy certainty on the horizon. 

No. I had come this far, I wasn’t going to fail now. Surely I wasn’t sent back into the world to be killed again a week later by Franco discovering my escape plan. This was a small obstacle in a larger plan. If Franco wanted me to change my attitude, I was going to do just that. 

We both fell silent during the rest of our carriage ride, a welcome respite. I worried that I was swiftly depleting my capacity to pretend to smile at a man I loathed, and that he would soon see the growing disgust underneath the veneer of my lips. I wanted to claw my way out of the carriage. Even the thought of being locked in my bedroom seemed better than sharing the same rank air as this man for another instant. 

When we got out of the carriage, Franco grabbed my arm and made a point to escort me to my bedroom. I heard him lock the door on his way out. I cracked open a window and let in the fresh, evening air to clear my heavy head. A tear trailed down my cheek, hot and salty, and the reality of my situation sunk in. I had a day to find my way out of this mess. What gesture would be grand enough to show a change of attitude? 

There was a clank of metal at the door and without preamble Marielle appeared in the doorway, malice devouring her face. She tossed a bowl of hot gruel on the floor, followed by a loaf of bread which hit the ground hard. 

“Lovely,” I said, looking at the splattered gruel. 

“I knew justice would be served eventually,” she hissed triumphantly. “His Grace finally gave you the punishment that you deserve.” 

“Oh come on, Marielle,” I retorted. “Are you so deprived of inspiration that you think being locked away like a child is the worst punishment for someone like me? Ah, well. I suppose servants such as you don’t have too much time to let their imaginations run wild.”

“Shut up,” was all Marielle found to reply.

“Inventive. Your brain is softening a little more every day, I see.” 

Marielle let out a short, angry grunt. She pulled out my bedroom key, hanging from a chain around her neck. Then, without another word, she picked up the bread and gruel, and stormed away with them, locking the door behind her. 

“Come again tomorrow!” I shouted lightly. 

I meant it. While I didn’t know how I could change my attitude overnight, I had a pretty good grasp on how I would get that key. Who would have thought that Marielle would prove useful after all?