Ornaments of Grief

Christmas Day broke with a blinding glare of sun off the snow, but inside Blackwood, the curtains were drawn tight.

Elena found a dress laid out on the end of the massive four-poster bed in the guest wing. It was silver silk, backless, and terrifyingly expensive. It was the exact shade of the dress she had worn to her sixteenth birthday party—the night she had reported Julian to her father.

A note rested on the fabric: *Put it on. Dinner is at six.*

She dressed with trembling hands. The silk felt like ice against her skin. When she descended to the dining room, she found a table set for twenty, laden with silver platters, crystal goblets, and towering candelabras.

But there were only two chairs. One at the head, and one to its right.

Julian was already seated, swirling a glass of dark red wine. He watched her approach, his gaze dissecting her.

"Sit," he commanded.

She obeyed. The chair was heavy, the wood cold.

"Do you like the dress?" he asked conversationally, slicing into a rare steak. The red juice pooled on the white china.

"It's beautiful," Elena said, her voice hollow.

"It cost five thousand dollars," Julian said. "I remember you telling me once that five thousand dollars was 'pocket change.' You laughed at my boots because they had holes in them. Do you remember?"

"I was a child, Julian."

"You were sixteen. Old enough to know that lies destroy people." He stopped eating and looked at her. "Eat."

Elena looked at the food. Roast duck, truffle mashed potatoes, glazed carrots. Her stomach churned. "I'm not hungry."

"I didn't ask if you were hungry. I told you to eat." His voice dropped an octave, vibrating with command. "I bought you, Elena. That means I own your hunger. I own your breath. Eat."

She picked up her fork, her hand shaking. She took a bite of the potatoes. They tasted like dust.

"Tell me about that night," he said suddenly.

Elena dropped her fork. It clattered loudly against the china. "Please, don't."

"Tell me," he insisted, leaning forward. The candlelight danced in his eyes, making them look demonic. "Tell me how you went to your father. Tell me how you told him I stole the necklace. Tell me how you watched his men drag me to the barn."

"I..." Tears pricked her eyes. She fought them, biting the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper.

"Cry," Julian whispered, watching her struggle with a fascination that bordered on obsession. "Go ahead. Your tears used to move mountains. Now? They’re just... expensive pearls. And I’m a collector."

A single tear escaped, tracking hot down her cheek. Elena wiped it away furiously. "I did what I had to do."

"And so am I." Julian stood up, throwing his napkin on the table. "Enjoy your dinner, Princess. The staff has the night off. You’ll be doing the dishes."