A Caged Bird Doesn't Cry - Chapter 9 Part I
Chapter 9 Part I
While the meat and wine were being prepared, Theodore scraped together the last remnants of his patience to maintain a composed facade. The moment the servant finished setting the table and the sound of footsteps faded, he exploded.
"Goddamn that f*cking bitch!"
Laticia had been off her rocker ever since her time in the dungeon. Sniveling like a fool over a few apples, claiming no one had ever treated her as an equal before, or spouting embarrassing nonsense about how a handful of paintings had given her the world.
If not for that pretty face of hers—if he could've just f*cked the soul out of her once—he wouldn't have bothered with all this pointless effort. What really made Theodore go the extra mile was the old man, Paul, locked up beside her. Every time he tried to lay a hand on her, the geezer would cough like he was on death's door, begging Laticia to sing for him or read him a book because his eyes were too weak.
Theodore had played the kind caretaker, humoring the old man to lower his guard. The day that damned fossil finally kicked the bucket was the happiest day of his life. Only one obstacle remained: his father, Locardi. That stubborn old bastard kept hiding the key, spouting nonsense about how a maiden's value plummets once deflowered.
'But she’s mine anyway, right? So shouldn’t I get to do what I want with her?'
'You fool! You don’t understand anything! She’s bait for a much bigger catch!'
It was a gaping hole waiting to be filled. If someone was going to wear her out anyway, why not let him have a turn first? He’d been shamelessly scheming to steal the key from Locardi when, just days later, the old man whisked her away. And where did she end up? A f*cking ducal estate. Locardi had indeed gone after the big fish he’d always boasted about—only for that fish to swallow the bait whole and leave nothing behind.
"That ungrateful sl*t!"
The sight of Laticia lewdly sucking Duke Kalidnas’ co¢k, drool dripping obscenely, had nearly made him see red. That same wh*re who’d played innocent in front of him, batting her teary eyes—just thinking about it made his blood boil.
"Tch…"
Pacing the room, Theodore fixed a particular memory in his mind before shoving a hand down his pants, gripping himself roughly. With his other hand, he pressed the handkerchief Laticia had given him to his nose. It still carried a faint trace of grape scent.
"Lati, you f*cking bitch—suck it right—yeah, just like that… with the tip of your tongue… haah…"
It didn’t take long to reach his peak. Just imagining those violet eyes gazing up at him lewdly was enough to get him there.
"You really—trying to kill me, huh? Ah—ah! F*ck… ngh!"
Soon enough, he wiped the sticky mess off his hand with the handkerchief and grabbed his coat. Masturbation alone wasn’t enough. He needed to find a wh*re to finish the job.
He didn’t notice the man who had been watching—and listening—to every second of his indulgence from the shadows outside his window, now silently following him.
---
Laticia lay fast asleep, her long silver hair spread like a blanket over the bed. Andrea fastened the front of his robe and headed to the study, where Yuhar was already waiting, bowing in greeting. Three or four books lay on the desk—he’d apparently been browsing for something to read.
"You may take any of these if you wish."
"Thank you."
"So, the reaction?"
Yuhar scratched awkwardly behind his ear, a habit he displayed when delivering uncomfortable reports. Sensing this would take a while, Andrea leaned back in his chair.
"Tell me everything Theodore Vüther said. Don’t leave out a single word."
Yuhar scratched behind his ear again. Unfortunately, he lacked the talent for tactful embellishment. Not that it mattered—what use were polished lies in front of a superior like Andrea Kalidnas? Resigned, Yuhar opted for brutal honesty. Given his naturally straightforward personality, recounting events exactly as they happened wasn’t difficult. Except...
"Lati, you damn b*tch. Learn to suck properly!"
Repeating Theodore’s vulgar language was excruciating. Andrea’s expression remained unchanged, but Yuhar—who had known him since childhood—felt his hair stand on end.
"My apologies."
"Continue."
After leaving the ducal residence, Theodore had immediately purchased a prostitute. Through the thin earthen walls, the name "Lati" could be heard intermittently. The resourceful woman quickly caught on, calling herself "Lati" and matching Theodore’s rhythm.
The post-coital conversation, as Yuhar overheard, was far from pleasant. Theodore then headed to a tavern, where he met his usual crowd of lowlifes. Just the fact that he’d entered the ducal household earned him their envy.
"Did he mention the painting?"
"No. He said he hadn’t started yet but promised to return once he began."
Yuhar was both curious and not about what project his superior had entrusted to Theodore. He vaguely suspected it involved the sl*ve called Canary—otherwise, why summon him just to investigate some no-name painter?
It was baffling. That Andrea Kalidnas would go to such lengths. He’d always assumed women were little more than sleeping aids to his superior. The phrasing was crude, but no better description came to mind.
"Good work."
Dismissed, Yuhar stepped outside. The towering trees in the garden were as impressive as ever, but today, a far more striking scene caught his attention: Laticia and Theodore standing face-to-face.
Instinctively, Yuhar glanced back. As expected, the Duke’s silhouette loomed at the bedroom window. Though distant, the expression Yuhar imagined sent a chill down his spine—especially when Laticia began shedding tears.
He briefly considered intervening but quickened his pace and walked past them instead. No sense inviting disaster. As he passed, a faint, pitiful whisper reached him:
"Theo..."
Laticia had rushed out the moment she spotted Theodore but now stood frozen, unable to speak. All she could manage was his name, repeated like a plea. The stench of strong liquor clung to Theodore with every breath, though the bitterness in the air wasn’t solely from alcohol.
Guessing his thoughts, Laticia bowed her head under the weight of guilt—yet couldn’t bring herself to leave. What else could she do but stand before him, drowning in remorse?
I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Is even this selfish?
For a fleeting moment, she wished she’d refused the Duke’s proposal. Suddenly, Theodore’s hand gripped her shoulder.
"Lati."
Last night’s prostitute had earned her pay. Venting his fury toward Laticia on the woman had helped Theodore regain his composure. As he’d always rationalized: someone would’ve broken her eventually—the Duke just got there first. Not that he felt grateful for the labor saved. If anything, it steeled his resolve not to "add ashes to a finished meal."
"It must’ve been hard. Did it hurt?"
At his unexpectedly tender words, Laticia’s head jerked up. Fat tears welled and fell without pause. It was almost fascinating how much liquid a human eye could hold—a pointless observation.
"It’s okay, Lati. Everything’s okay."
Theodore pulled her into a crushing embrace. Her delicate frame fit snugly against him. As he stroked her trembling, birdlike shoulders, his hand drifted upward to cup her chin. Now that he thought about it, they’d never kissed. He’d always wondered how those plush, fruit-like lips would taste.
"Lati."
Putting slight distance between them, Theodore bent down and tilted his head slowly—fully intending to devour her until she bled.
Laticia stood rigid as stone, breathing raggedly. The sweet scent of grapes preceded the brush of Theodore’s tongue. But frustratingly, contact never came.
"Sorry, Theo. I’m sorry."
At the last second, Laticia turned her face away. Frozen stiff, Theodore listened as she stammered out excuses.
"W-well... It's too bright out here, and we're outside... What if someone sees?"
Hypocrite. Then who was it who sucked the Duke's co¢k in broad daylight right in front of me?
Theodore barely suppressed the urge to voice the venomous thoughts swirling inside him. The fatigue from wandering all night also weighed heavily on his shoulders.
"You're right."
He conceded far too easily.
"I should get some rest."
"Yeah, you look tired. That’s a good idea."
Laticia quickly stepped aside. Her round eyes shimmered with unwavering trust, soft and luminous. Theodore never forced her when she hesitated. Even after such a shock, he kept his composure and prioritized her wounds over his own feelings. His consideration made Laticia feel as though every hardship she’d endured had been repaid in this moment.
"Rest well, Theo."
She stood motionless, watching Theodore’s exhausted back as he walked away after a brief wave. She wanted to kiss him—to eagerly share his breath, to press their lips together and melt into his warmth.
But the traces of the Duke from last night still lingered on her. The thought of kissing Theodore, of whispering love to him in this state, was worse than death. It would make her feel like she had become something else entirely, something so revolting she wouldn’t be able to bear herself. And above all, Theodore didn’t deserve that.
The unusually harsh sunlight today provided a convenient excuse. Laticia squinted up at the sky, the brilliance making her eyes sting. Standing in the heart of such radiant light only made her feel more lost.
When...?
Would the Duke ever let her go? Would that day even come? One thing was certain—she would have to humiliate herself in front of Theodore again.
Would that day come sooner or later? And which would be better? Unable to decide, Laticia stood frozen for a long moment before finally sinking down beneath the towering tree, curling into herself like a lost child.
She hugged her knees and buried her face, the pressure against her lower abdomen sending a dull ache through her. Between her legs, the remnants of last night’s intimacy seeped out thickly, soaking through her undergarments.
***
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