“You need to sew it together. I’ll instruct you.”

“I’m not a doctor or a nurse.”

“I don’t need either. I’ll tell you how to do it.”

He took the needle and thread, which it wasn’t, but I had no idea what the medical term was for it. For all I knew, it was needle and thread.

When he went to insert it into his flesh, I cried out. “Don’t you need to take anything?”

“I can handle it. I’m just getting you started.”

I winced as he pierced his flesh. He released a grunt and once he finished securing the first stitch, he waited for me.

“You’re not going to hurt me.”

I highly doubted that.

On my knees between his spread thighs, I worked slowly, trying not to hurt him, but each time I touched the skin, I wanted to vomit. I’d put on a pair of gloves to try to keep the wound clean. He should have called a doctor.

“It hurts, Aurora. Tell me how you got the scar.”

“You’re saying that to manipulate me.”

“Is it working?”

“I got the scar when I was six or seven. I’m not sure exactly what age. Isabella had been out playing in the yard. She liked to play outside. I think she had a thing for the guards watching her. I’m not sure. She was always around them.” I shrugged.

“Where were you?”

“In the library. My father has a giant room. He never reads them. Just seeks out the most expensive titles so no one else can have them. He stores them and I spent most of my childhood reading them.”

“If you weren’t playing, how did you get the scar?”

“Isabelle decided to start throwing stones at the house. I don’t know why. I think she was angry because she’d been told no. One of the stones went through my father’s window. He got me and Isabella into the same room and because he didn’t want to punish his precious daughter, he slammed me around the back of the head, hard. I fell and I hit the corner of a cupboard. That’s how I got the scar.” I remember the pain from the blow. He’d always hit me. My father believed in physical punishments. I’d been belted, slapped, even kicked during my time at home.

Slavik’s hands clenched.

“Is it hurting?”

“Did Isabella get you punished a lot?”

“Not always. She struggled to be … good. She had a wild side, and each time he hit me or took it out on me, she’d come and sit with me after, read. Marrying you is the first time she hasn’t come to console me.” I offered him a smile.

“Being married to me shouldn’t be a punishment,” he said.

“It’s not.” There was freedom with being with him. Not a whole lot but at least I didn’t have to worry about my sister’s punishments anymore.

“You’ll never get hit here,” he said.

“You don’t have to worry about it. You asked and I told you.”