63: Behind the closed door

Behind the closed door

Anastasia let Dante inside her room before someone would catch them alone, which would only fuel them to spread another rumour on top of the one already floating around. Once he got inside, she closed the door to hear it click. Since the room didn't contain a table, they sat on the edge of the bed.  1

"Let me help," Anastasia offered when she saw him open the wooden box and pick up a bottle that contained a transparent gel. She said, "My hand isn't hurting that much—Ah!"

She winced, feeling pain shoot up from the back of her hand when Dante placed a single finger on top of it.

Dante held an unamused expression as he looked at her. He reprimanded her, 

"If you cannot take care of yourself, you are unfit to care for anyone else. This includes my sister." She heard the cork being unplugged from the bottle. "My hands are used to such activities and aren't frail. You didn't have to punch him." 

Dante would have done it himself. Like the others, he was taken by surprise by her action, but it was possibly the influence of the alcohol that had made her impulsive. Though her eyes were still slightly dilated, she wasn't as tipsy as before. He knew it because she had gone back to making a conscious effort not to address him by his name. 

"That… I didn't think. He spoke ill about Lady Lucretia," Anastasia whispered, her gaze falling back onto the transparent glass bottle. If she hadn't accepted Issac's invitation in the first place, the man wouldn't have uttered those awful things, even if they were true. She said, "I didn't know he would turn out to be someone like that…"

"How would you have known? You only just met him," Dante remarked before raising his hand and saying, "Your hand."

Anastasia brought her hand forward and felt him grip her fingers while he applied the gel to the back of her hand, mostly on her knuckles. It left a cool sensation that reminded her of the chilly night she had spent in the dungeon cell. 

"What is this?" She asked him. 

"It is a gel made from the prickly pear cactus, along with other ingredients. It will reduce the inflammation in your hand," Dante explained to her, and Anastasia's eyes moved from his long fingers to look at the black veins resembling a tattoo that spread over the back of his hands. She gasped softly when she felt the pain in her hand radiate up her arm, and her eyes met his. "People say a lot of things that aren't worth paying attention to. Speaking about others is a common habit among people."

Was he consoling her after pressing on her inflamed hand to gain her attention? Anastasia felt embarrassed. To think she had thought Issac to be a good man when he had warned her about men posing as wolves in sheep's clothing. 

Anastasia murmured, "I am foolish."

"You are," Dante agreed, and noticing her frown, he asked her, "Were you waiting for me to deny it?"

"Ah, no. I know what I did," Anastasia quickly replied. 

"It's done," Dante said, letting go of her fingers that he had been holding. "You will still feel the pain for some time, so try not to use this hand much until tomorrow."

"Thank you," Anastasia thanked him, watching him clean his hand and cork the bottle before placing it in the wooden box. She said, "Thank you for punching Issac back at the inn…"

'You little whore!' She could still feel her face burn at Issac's accusation. For a fleeting moment, she felt tears pricking her eyes. 

Dante noticed Anastasia stare at her sore hand. She wore a dull, white nightdress. While changing into it, she had missed a button and fastened it into a mismatched hole. Her hair was half-braided, as if that was what she was in the process of doing before he knocked on her door. 

"You don't have to beat yourself up over what happened. Was it preposterous for you to believe him? Yes. But you believed him because you think the world is as good as you while also hoping that he was a ticket to get you out of the palace and maybe back home," Dante stated, which had her quickly shift her gaze to look at him. "It is too obvious not to figure it out in about a second. Your mistake was jumping at the first offer that was presented to you."

Anastasia pursed her lips at his words. Her eyes briefly met his eyes, already directed her way. Unable to keep up with the intensity of his gaze, she turned to look at the wall in front of her. She said, 

"I am a maid. My options are as scarce as the rain that touches this ground… A plant grown in the forest, when forcibly taken away from its natural environment and replanted in the desert, doesn't survive because it doesn't belong there," Anastasia explained to him with her eyebrows furrowed. 

"I would like to disagree," Dante remarked, and it was her turn to look at him. "As impressed as I am that you considered another approach to leaving the palace without breaking the rules, it is a shame it didn't work out."

Anastasia smiled a little, partially at her own bad luck. She said, "Maybe this is how things are going to be… my sister didn't have any luck with men either. They praised her and lavished her with gifts, but they couldn't offer her love." Her words were softer than the warm flicker of candlelight that reached where they sat. She asked him, "How did you know he wasn't a good man? That wolf in sheep's clothing."

Dante leaned forward, his hands settling on the surface of the bed. He said, "Call it instinct after being surrounded by many people throughout my life. Good, bad, and worse." It was why he was inclined to believe that his brothers hadn't murdered their father. He turned to meet her unguarded gaze, her eyes displaying vulnerability as if she needed to be protected. His jaws clenched, and he stated, "He didn't know how to treat you well."

Anastasia raised her eyebrows in quiet surprise. He had been at the riverbank for no more than two minutes, and he noticed it so quickly?

To change the subject, Dante said, "If Aiden becomes king, you can ask him to release you from the palace. To return you to your home. But until then, like it or not, you belong to the palace." He had come here to return the favour, but his thoughts had begun to stray. 

Anastasia turned happy at Dante's words and hoped that Aiden would be the king.

When she saw him straighten his back and stand up, she was quick on her feet to follow. Upon seeing him make his way towards the door, she picked up the wooden box with her good hand. 

Being ingrained in the role of a servant, a habit cultivated over the years, she quickly walked past the prince and reached for the doorknob to open it for him. But before her hand could grab it, he caught her wrist. 

"Prince Dante?" Anastasia asked, perplexed. 

She heard Dante sigh as if he was tired. When he turned to look at her, she noticed the earlier calmness in his eyes had been replaced with a flicker of glare. She could feel the grip of his hand becoming firmer on her wrist. 

"You have a hard time following orders, don't you?" Dante's voice was slightly hoarse as he took a step towards her, and Anastasia took a step back, her back pressing against the coldness of the wall. 

Anastasia hadn't meant to address him by his name, which had slipped from her lips. She went to apologise, saying, "I am—"

Dante cut her off with a serious gleam in his eyes as he asked, "Are you looking to be disciplined, Anastasia?" He moved her sore hand to the side and stepped closer to her. 

Anastasia felt a shiver run down her spine at Dante's question, something telling her that it wasn't the kind of discipline she was familiar with. It was as if someone had ignited a flame in his eyes, intensifying his usual piercing gaze, which was now firmly fixed on her. 

"No…" Anastasia replied breathily, feeling smaller in front of him. 

Dante clicked his tongue as if in disapproval. It was as if something had flipped, and this time, he wasn't going to let go of the errors this young woman had committed. His eyes travelled down to look at her delectable lips, through which she breathed softly. 

Anastasia said, "I don't know how to address you without using your name."

"It is fine. Call me the way you have been calling me until now." Dante's voice was too calm, and it caused goosebumps to rise on her skin. As he leaned closer, he supported one of his knees against the wall. But he wasn't done talking, "And for every time you are about to speak or do something you're not supposed to, I hope you remember this." 

Anastasia's eyes widened when she saw Dante raise his eyes to meet hers. She became worried, wondering if he was going to hit her. Instead, her heart hitched when his hand reached for the end of her braid and began unravelling it. 

What was he doing?! Anastasia turned alarmed. As he undid the braid one step at a time, he didn't look away from her. 

They were standing so close, with their faces in front of each other, that she felt his breath on her lips, lighting up every nerve ending in her body and causing blood to rush up her neck and face.

"Do you know which men are the most dangerous?" Dante asked her, his voice transforming into nothing less than velvet. "The ones who pose to be gentlemen while they bring your guard down, and when the moment is right, they unleash their claws, digging deep into your skin, seizing and ravaging you without mercy. Who do you think I am talking about?"

Anastasia couldn't look away from him, as if breaking eye contact with the predator would make it pounce on her. As his question sank into her mind, she softly gulped.

Though Anastasia didn't answer his question, her expression let him know she understood. Her little heart began to thud, and her lips trembled as she whispered, 

"You are the dangerous man." And as if still drunk, she muttered, "But you don't… not within the palace…" Did she understand it correctly?? She asked herself. With her thoughts racing, she started, "Prince Da—"

Dante, who was done unravelling her hair, caught hold of her chin, tipping it upward. He noticed her chest heaving as she breathed so delicately. He remarked, 

"I keep warning you, but you keep slipping up without paying attention. Defiance seems to course through your blood," Dante's eyes narrowed. She frustrated him like no one ever had before, and the leash of control that had been tied around him had come loose. 

When Dante leaned in closer, Anastasia started to drop down to sit on the floor, only for a gasp to escape her lips. When she had lowered her body, she felt Dante's knee between her legs, which he had earlier rested against the wall. Her face turned even redder, while her toes curled at the feeling she had never experienced before. 

"Don't run, little rabbit, unless you want to be chased," Dante advised her. 

There was something in the way the first prince looked at her, or was it the atmosphere around him? It made him seem different, almost ominous. 

"I won't!" Anastasia's reply was quick, and even though she said it only in the heat of the moment, one corner of Dante's lips curled up. Because they both knew it wasn't the truth. "Please don't turn me into a concubine or a courtesan!" she pleaded, with worry lacing her voice. 

"I don't intend to," Dante deadpanned. His lips twisted, as if the thought had turned his mood sour. 

Anastasia turned relieved at his words. When she felt his gaze return to her, she heard him say, 

"So where were we with the discipline?" 

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