C8 Secrets of the West Wing

The heavy click of the lock finalized my reality…I stood alone in the middle of the room, staring at the thick wooden door.

My knees gave out. I hit the floorboards, the impact shooting pain up my shins. I wrapped my arms around my swollen belly and let the tears fall freely. The salt stung the fresh scratches on my cheeks. I pressed my face into the rough fibers of the rug and sobbed until my throat turned raw.

I just wanted a quiet house…I just wanted to read books, do my chores in peace, and live without people staring at the dark, raised skin on my face. Instead, one single night in the dirt, one moment of giving in to a stranger's touch, had resulted in this pregnancy and dragged me into an actual prison.

I mourned the simple life I lost. I cried until my eyes swelled shut and the cold air of the room numbed my bare legs.

The sharp, sudden stab in my lower abdomen woke me before the sun fully rose…

I rolled onto my side, clutching the stiff pink fabric of the uniform they had forced me to wear. My back ached with a deep, pulsing throb. My body felt incredibly heavy, a weight pulling me down into the mattress.

I pushed my weight up with my elbows, dragging my legs over the edge of the bed. My bare feet hit the cold floor. I forced myself to stand upright.

I had to survive this. I pushed the door open and navigated the long, silent hallways until I found the main kitchen.

A dozen women moved around the massive iron stoves. The heat from the fires hit my face immediately. The head maid, a tall woman with graying hair, spotted me and slammed a metal spoon against a counter.

"Look who decided to join the working class," she announced to the room.

The other women stopped their tasks and turned. Their eyes tracked the pink dress, lingered on the dark mark covering my left cheek, and then dropped to the swell of my stomach.

"We have a pregnant princess," a younger girl sneered from the sink, wiping her wet hands on her apron. "She thinks carrying a bastard gives her a pass to sleep in. Lazy."

"I didn't know the schedule," I said, my voice raspy from the crying. "Give me something to do."

The head maid walked over and shoved a heavy silver tray into my hands. The porcelain teapot clattered against the matching cup. "You take this to the King's private study. We don't want to look at your face down here anyway. Serve his tea and his breakfast. Get out of my kitchen."

I adjusted my grip on the tray. The metal handles dug into my palms. I looked directly at the head maid. "Why is everyone afraid of the West Wing?"

The kitchen went completely silent. The clinking of dishes and the scrubbing of pots stopped instantly. The young girl at the sink looked down at her shoes. The head maid stepped right up to me, her face inches from mine, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper.

"You keep your mouth shut about that wing," she warned. "The King's mother stayed in those rooms. A tragedy happened there, and we do not speak of it. Take the tea and go."

She turned her back to me and the other women immediately resumed their work, refusing to look in my direction. The conversation was over.

I carried the tray down the corridor, my arms shaking from the weight of the silver and the food. I reached the heavy oak doors of the study and nudged them open with my shoulder…

The room smelled exactly like the stranger from the woods.

Cigarettes and dark, heavy sweat filled the air. My pulse sped up instantly. I kept my chin tucked down, my eyes fixed firmly on the intricate patterns of the rug. Then I walked toward the massive wooden desk in the center of the room and felt the heat of his stare on my skin.

He watched every step I took.

My hands trembled. The familiarity of his presence messed with my head. I looked up through my eyelashes. I studied his broad shoulders underneath his dark shirt. I looked at his sharp jawline. Could it be him? Could the man who touched me in the dark be the King sitting in front of me?

"Stop dragging your feet."

His voice cut through the quiet room, harsh and completely annoyed.

"Place the tray down and stop shaking the porcelain."

I flinched. The tray hit the desk with a loud clatter. I stepped back quickly, folding my hands in front of my stomach.

The man in the woods had been rough, but he had desired me. He had touched me with heat. This man looked at me with total irritation…He was just a cruel King.

I dismissed the idea completely.

Brandon picked up the cup, took one sip, and set it back down. He leaned back in his leather chair and stared at me…scanning my hollow cheeks. He looked at the thin arms protruding from the short sleeves of the pink dress. He reached over and pressed a button on the side of his desk.

Less than a minute later, the head maid hurried into the room, bowing deeply. "You called, your majesty?"

"Look at her," Brandon said, pointing a finger directly at me. "She is entirely malnourished. She is ruining the aesthetic of my quarters. I will not have someone this sickly serving my meals. Feed her properly. Do you understand?"

"Yes, your majesty. Right away," the head maid said, bowing again.

I looked at his face. His voice held pure disdain, but the muscles around his eyes were tight. His jaw was clenched hard. He stared directly at my stomach for a fraction of a second, his brow furrowing, before he forced his eyes back to the documents on his desk.

"Leave," he ordered.

I left the study and walked back toward the kitchens. As I turned the corner of the hallway, a hand grabbed my shoulder and shoved me hard. My back hit the stone wall.

The same woman from earlier stood in front of me. Her brown eyes were wide with anger. She leaned in, her breath smelling of mint and coffee.

"Do not think you are special," she hissed, pointing a manicured finger at my face.

"You are a bastard-carrying bitch. You are a maid. Do not let this assignment to his quarters make you feel entitled to anything. You are dirt. You will always be dirt."

She stepped back, gave me one last look of total disgust, and walked away. Her heels clicked loudly on the stone floor until she disappeared down the corridor.

An hour later, the head maid shoved a stack of thick documents into my hands and ordered me back to the study. I walked the same path, my legs feeling heavier with every step as I pushed the oak doors open.

Brandon stood by the large window, his back to me, looking out at the grounds. I walked toward the desk to set the papers down.

Suddenly, a violent cramp seized my lower abdomen.

The pain was absolute and blinding…I dropped the papers. The thick sheets scattered across the floor. I gasped loudly, grabbing my stomach with both hands, bending double as the agony contracted my muscles. I couldn't breathe.

Brandon spun around. The harsh, annoyed lines on his face vanished entirely. His eyes went wide. He closed the distance between us in two massive strides.

He grabbed my shoulders. His large, warm hands held my body up before my knees could hit the ground. He pulled me flush against his chest. I felt his heart beating fast against his ribs. He looked down into my eyes, his face completely open, the cruelty entirely gone.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

His voice was breathless, completely terrified, and we stood inches apart.