Two days later she was strong enough to sit up on her own. Four days, and she could walk to the picture window, allowing her to gaze out on the massive landscape. There was nothing like the mountains and valleys where she'd come from. The land had been flat, expressionless but familiar.
This was new.
Just like being waited on or being cooped up in this stuffy place. When she'd arrived, it seemed large. But once she paced the room a hundred times, it grew smaller until she couldn't stand it any longer.
Marianne was kind, it seemed. Big-boned, maternal, and gentle. But he seemed gentle too, and hadn't she learned quickly. She didn't trust anything that came from
him
.
Caitlin hadn't seen him since that last evening, nor seen anyone other than the woman that brought her meals and tended to her needs.
A bathroom was attached to the suite, a luxury only the council's building had. Everyone else used out houses on their property. They worked well enough, and the town was too small to have any sort of public plumbing.
When she could stand without feeling lightheaded, Caitlin took a long, hot shower. Stepping out, she toweled herself dry and returned to the suite, only to find a set of riding clothes laid out on the bed. Marianne must have been in, as the room still smelled like flowers.
Was this a request, she wondered, rubbing the fabric between her fingers, or expected? Caitlin could boycott and wear the nightgown she'd come in, or obey, giving him what he wanted. The latter wasn't going to happen, she upended the clothes to the ground.
Her life wasn't hers anymore, but she could certainly put up a fight. He hadn't bothered checking on her, why should she be grateful to him for ruining her life?
Marianne entered after a quick knock, "How is everything?"
"Fine," She avoided eye contact.
The servant saw the pile of clothes and bent over to pick them up, "Oh, dear. Are you sure you don't want to go riding? It's a beautiful day."
"Not interested," she answered curtly, wrapping her hair in a towel.
"You were a rider before arriving here, clear as the callouses on your hands. We have a filly in the stables if you change your mind," Marianne didn't press further, laid out the clothes in a drawer and departed after announcing tea-time in an hour.
The day prior, Marianne had tempted her with an afternoon stroll. Sure, Caitlin had to get out, but on her own terms. The walks and rides would be monitored.
She tried the door well after Marianne left: locked. It was always locked. And the windows, God knows she tried to smash through the plexiglass, but of course it didn't budge. None of her rumblings garnered any attention from the staff.
There was a servant bell, but she let it accumulate dust. She wouldn't give them gratification.
Between the gilded prison and an emotional cage of her own design, she was lonely.
More than lonely.
So, she prayed. She prayed as she did in church, on her knees. If no one on earth could help, she'd have to ask a Higher Power. With her eyes squeezed shut, she mumbled the Lord's Prayer under her breath...
and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil
...
At the conclusion, she felt deflated, sorry for herself, even.
If the Lord had heard, he didn't care.
*
"What is he like?" Caitlin asked Marianne as she changed the sheets.
The servant looked up, shocked, "Where is this coming from, young miss?"
Caitlin shrugged, "Bored, I guess." She lied, "Who is he? He must be important..." She indicated the well-furnished room.
"Well..." Marianne hesitated, "He is... important, that is. His father is the King."
"King?" She asked in disbelief, "There are no kings in a Democratic Republic..."
"Not of the human realm." Marianne corrected, "Of their own kind. You and I are the same, they are a different breed."
"Why do you work for him?" She wondered aloud.
"Sometimes, dear, you don't get a choice. But the pay is wonderful. Both my sons have a full ride through college, and I have more than enough to retire when I'm ready." She smiled to herself.
"But why can't I leave?"
"You, dear," Marianne sighed as she fitted the sheet, "are a wild card. If stories arose of the Prince in the human world, he'd be in danger. No one is supposed to know his whereabouts."
"What can I do to prove myself? I would never tell a soul. I just want to see my mom again, tell her I'm alright." Caitlin pleaded with the woman, she knew Marianne genuinely cared.
"Not on purpose, but it would happen. It's not possible, I'm sorry." She scooped up the dirty linen and slid from the room without another word, avoiding eye contact.
"Prince..." she sneered to herself, "Some
Prince
..." Caitlin drew the curtains open wide, watching the velvety purples of sunset. "Asshole."
*
As the twelfth day began, Caitlin realized she'd almost lost track of how long she'd been gone. She tore down the wall accents, the curtains, and the decorative art in a fit.
Behind one of the wall curtains, she found a door. There was no handle to grasp, and she couldn't push it open. She wondered the purpose of a handle-less door behind a curtain, only lewd imaginings came to mind.
Finally, she decided to ring the servant's bell.
She wasn't caving, she told herself, it wouldn't happen again.
After a short wait, Marianne entered, "Oh dear Lord, child! What have you done to the room?"
She was curled up on the bed, wrapped in a shawl, "What is a door without a handle doing in my room?" she glared. Marianne's face paled as she turned to inspect the woodwork.
Caitlin saw her opportunity, realizing, in the servant's haste, she'd left the bedroom door ajar. She dashed through as Marianne shouted at her to return.
She would certainly not return of her own volition.
Rushing down the stairs, she found a corridor with many doors, and a narrow staircase. It was not how she remembered, but she needed to go down. She knew that much.
Taking the steps two at a time, she burst through a wooden door at the bottom. Another long hallway greeted her, empty but well furnished.
It was surreal that she ran into nobody as she opened room after room, trying to find the exit. A large door sat near the end of the hallway, it had promise as it was bigger than the rest.
When she flung it open, three people turned to stare at her from a long table.
One of them was the Prince.
She froze as if a deer in headlights, unsure if time slowed, or if he quickened. He was in front of her instantly, a troubled scowl marred his features.
"You should not be here." He warned, blocking her view of the room.
Marianne's huffing caught up with them, "I-" she heaved, "I'm so sorry Master. The girl is quick." Leaning on her knees, she caught her breath.
Caitlin was trapped between two people she never wanted to see again. With a firm hand, he led her away from the room. She craned her head to see the ones he left behind. An older man, self-important with a cropped beard, and a woman of radiant beauty. Was it his wife?
She balked as he ushered her upstairs.
"Let me go," She petitioned, knowing it fell on deaf ears. "I will go insane if you do not release me." His hand clenched her forearm tighter as he led her up the stairs.
Wordlessly, he tossed her into the room and slammed the door.
Caitlin's heart sank.
She had cried on and off for twelve days and couldn't bring herself to cry again. Curling up in the comforter, she fell into a dreamless sleep.
*
When Caitlin woke, her room stood as if she'd never torn it apart. The decorations had been hung, the curtains righted on the walls. Even the secret door had been concealed again. Upon inspection, it was still there, mocking her.
A single, folded piece of parchment rested on her nightstand.
