Underestimate ❧

Merrick's fists clenched at his sides, so tightly his knuckles blanched bone-white. His jaw twitched as if grinding the very words between his teeth. "You saw her do this?" he demanded through clenched teeth. "With your own eyes?"

Lydia flinched again, shaking her head as a fresh wave of tears spilled onto the floor. "N-no, my lord—"

He stilled, blinking as if struck. "What?" he hissed, voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "You said she did. Now you claim you did not see. Which is it, Lydia?"

His voice rose to a roar, shaking the very walls. "WHICH IS IT?!"

Lydia collapsed into sobs, her body curling tighter in submission. "Please, my lord— I swear to you, I know that she did. But— but she—she asked me to leave. She said she felt— self-conscious. She bade me wait outside the chamber."

Merrick's breath hissed sharply through his teeth, but Lydia pressed on, desperate to explain.

"I obeyed, my lord," she wept, "but I did not stray far. I stood just beyond the door. I could— I could hear everything."

Merrick narrowed his glowing eyes, stepping closer once more.

"Everything?" he rasped.

Lydia nodded frantically, choking on her words. "I—I heard the puncture-—the sound of skin breaking— I smelled the blood in the air, my lord— I heard her drinking— the gulping—"

She bit her trembling lip hard, shaking her head as if the memory itself betrayed her loyalty.

Merrick tilted his head, his voice turning low, dangerous. "What— Finish it."

Lydia whimpered, shaking her head again, but the weight of his stare forced the words from her lips. "I heard— sobbing, my lord."

Merrick froze, his breath catching like a dagger in his chest.

"Sobbing?" he echoed, as if the word itself had robbed him of air.

Lydia's voice cracked, her body trembling violently. "Yes— yes, my lord. She— she cried."

The cold that washed over Merrick now was not born of rage but something far more dangerous—grief. The feed was by nature erotic, and incredibly arousing. Even when feeding from an enthralled slave, it simply couldn't be helped.

He turned away from her, dragging both hands over his face, dragging in a breath that felt like swallowing broken glass.

"She cried—" he whispered again, the words falling like ash from his tongue.

For a long, terrible moment, he said nothing. Lydia, sensing the storm had stilled, dared not move. She remained trembling on the floor as Merrick stood, staring at the door, as if trying to see through time itself.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke again—his voice brittle, raw.

"She had— a suspicious response when she first laid eyes on him," Merrick murmured. "I want you to describe it. Every detail. Every flicker of emotion. Every sound. Every breath. Leave nothing unsaid."

Lydia's breath hitched. She knew someone had spoken—Jacobo, perhaps. She swallowed hard, steeling herself, and obeyed.

With a shaky voice, she recounted it all. From Caralee's dazed, slack-jawed shock upon seeing Donovan— the trembling of her lips— the way her breath hitched in her throat, like she had been struck. How she had stared far too long. How her hands had trembled when she turned away, asking for solitude.

Lydia described how she had heard Caralee break down into quiet, heart-wrenching sobs before the feeding even began. How the air had thickened with the sound of her struggling to collect herself afterward. She told him how Caralee had requested Donovan be returned.

Lydia explained that she hadn't given the matter any level of urgency in her own mind because her demeanor had shifted so drastically after the next feeding. She spoke about how she had carried on afterward with Renauld as though she had begun to accept her new station.

Lydia paused, pressing her lips together tightly.

Merrick stepped closer again, sensing the shift. "There's more," he pressed, voice dark and urgent. "speak it."

Lydia swallowed the lump in her throat. "She— asked me about the dungeon, my lord. About visiting it.

Merrick closed his eyes, dragging a hand through his hair again, exhaling a long, shuddering breath. "Of course she did…" he whispered under his breath. She tried to find a way… but Jacobo intercepted her before she could enter."

Lydia, desperate to unburden herself fully, pressed on. She relayed word for word the conversation she had shared with Caralee after that encounter—her concerns, her fears, and the words that had betrayed her heart. That she had, despite it all, admitted that she loved Merrick. That Donovan no longer held the same claim over her. That she saw herself as belonging to Merrick.

She relayed Cara's desire to tell Donovan the truth in person, because she is kind, and cannot stomach simply leaving one that she had cared so deeply for, to ache and wonder why, never to receive the closure of knowing. If she did could she truly say that she had cared for him at all? She spoke of her lady's compassionate gentle heart, not wishing to see him used like a play thing, how much it burdened her heart to see such a pride filled and noble man brought out to kneel and present like a subservient dog.

Lydia also told the king about the diplomacy Cara was already in the habit of considering. Explaining that the fact that the human slave was the only son of his father's, and his only heir. Giving a noble man back his life, could prove useful in the future.

Merrick stood motionless, listening intently, each word sinking deeper than the last. And when Lydia finished, the chamber fell into an almost reverent silence.

He had misjudged her, underestimated her—again.

He had doubted her heart, her resolve, her loyalty. He had questioned her worth. And yet, time and again, she had shown him what a fool he was to underestimate her. Yet here he had done so again. He feared that she would still love the boy, that she might try to run away with him. He had intended to kill the slave but never could bring himself to do it. Too afraid that if she were to learn of it, it would harden her heart against him forever.

The fury that had once burned so bright in his chest dimmed, replaced by something heavier. Something achingly bittersweet.

He moved toward Lydia with slow, measured steps. Reaching down, he took her trembling hands in his own and gently helped her to her feet. She stood on shaky legs, tears still clinging to her lashes.

Without a word, Merrick leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to her brow. The act stole the breath from Lydia's lungs, her wide eyes filling with disbelief.

Merrick turned toward the door, pausing with one hand on the handle. His voice was quieter now, softer, yet filled with unmistakable sincerity.

"Thank you," he said without looking back.

Lydia swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "For what… my lord?"

He turned his head just slightly, a faint, almost sorrowful smile ghosting across his lips.

"For being a loyal and trustworthy attendant to my lady."

With that, he was gone—leaving Lydia standing alone, clutching her chest, as the shock of it all washed over her like a crashing tide.