Black Blood
Chapter 9

I don’t want to believe that I am really expecting a child.

It makes me think back to the conversation I had with my father this morning.

My periods have always been irregular or absent; there is no clear indication. Nor have there been any other signs. I consider, and hope, the chance to be small. The very idea that I would bring a monster of Christiaan into the world almost makes me want to kill myself.

I doubt it would be smarter to keep my mouth shut, to go along with this thought. If I told her I wasn’t pregnant, she would start asking questions. If I told her I was pregnant, everyone in the castle would know before I did.

I wonder if the nausea was caused by the idea that I would be used as a plaything, or because I really am carrying the child of a monster. I hope with all my heart for the former.

I am confused, too tired to think and brainwashed by this place.

I wonder what I would do if I were actually pregnant, could I love Christiaan’s child? Would I despise it so much that I would poison myself just to keep Christiaan’s offspring from coming into the world? To be honest, I don’t know the answer right now.

I look in the mirror at my own pale face, back at Diana. Nora once taught me that a lie should be as close to the truth as possible, maybe what I’m about to say isn’t even a lie.

‘To be honest, I’m not sure yet.’ I hope that I have dealt with both options, telling people or asking questions. I feel the lady’s hand on my shoulder; I would rather swat it away.

‘That is always difficult at the beginning, it will become clear in time.’ Her encouraging words do not give me any peace, nor does her sweet gesture. I nod, not knowing what to say.

‘Just keep trying, that can never hurt.’ The wink that follows almost makes me hang over the toilet bowl again.

I wash and dry my hands in silence before continuing my way back to the dining hall.

The cheerful chatter enters my ears, the merriment that I don’t share.

The evening slowly passes me by as I drown myself in the endless amount of wine offered to me. After the umpteenth glass of wine, I no longer know if and what I have eaten, what is being said, and who is sitting across from me. In a haze, I observe the servants clearing the table and a celebration beginning.

All this time, I let myself be carried along like a helpless sheep to wherever Christiaan wants me.

The alcohol has influenced me so much that I hardly notice when Christiaan pulls me into the kitchen, dismisses the servants, and undresses me from below. I feel nothing, no pain or disgust. Completely withdrawn into myself, I let it happen without any thought.

This situation almost makes me long for more alcohol, for that numbness forever.

The feeling of my buttocks against the cold countertop, Christiaan’s movements, or the pulling of my hair never seem to end quickly enough.

‘Go to the bedroom and go to bed.’ Christiaan walks out of the kitchen, still fastening his belt, leaving me drunkenly behind.

I expect that he, as usual, will spend the night elsewhere and only return tomorrow afternoon. He does this often at parties and sometimes even when he feels like it. At first, it hurt me. Now, it’s a welcome excuse for a night alone.

Slowly, I slide down from the countertop, afraid of the pain that isn’t there.

I work my way out of the overcrowded dining hall filled with intoxicated wizards. I’ve long lost sight of my father. In any case, I no longer understand what’s being said or by whom.

Staggering across the floor, I make my way through the corridors.

Only when I pass by the doors, do I remember Nora’s letter. Like a bolt out of the blue, my haze disappears.

The hallways are empty, dark, and silent. There’s no sign of the servants, nor the guests of the party.

The closer my heels bring me to the third door, the more nervous I become. It can’t be a joke, or a premeditated plan. Nora must be behind that door or at least something from her hand, it can’t be otherwise.

I take a deep breath and stop in front of the third wooden door on my left-hand side, the storeroom.

My eyes scan the empty corridors to make sure there’s truly no one left. Silence wanders along the high walls, creating space to open the door. My hand glides over the cold doorknob and grasps the iron.

I exhale the excess air from my lungs through my nostrils. Slowly, I turn the doorknob, and a soft creak can be heard. The wooden door falls out of the latch, revealing an empty, dark room.