A Caged Bird Doesn't Cry - Chapter 11
Chapter 11
Laticia, who had been curled up in sleep, awoke to a creeping chill. Dawn was breaking, painting the window in hues of blue. Blinking drowsily, she found Andrea gazing at her with quiet intensity—his cerulean eyes mirroring the twilight outside.
"Sleep more. It’s still early."
Resentment pooled in Laticia’s eyes. To her, Andrea’s concern was no different from a cat toying with a mouse.
"Why? Saving my strength for another round?"
The way she bristled like a hedgehog after playing the docile puppy had its own charm. Had any other woman dared this insolence, he’d have severed her head without hesitation. That he found it endearing was proof of his own madness.
"Since clever conversation seems beyond you, let’s talk. I have a question."
Laticia pressed her lips together. She had no desire to speak with Andrea, yet his next words pricked her ears despite herself.
"What will you do if you’re freed?"
"Just… live freely. Sing happily. Travel everywhere."
"In short, you have no plan."
Laticia’s temper flared, but she bit back her retort—because he was right. Andrea studied his fragile songbird, who’d never known life outside a cage. Even if released, could she fend for herself? Not that he had any intention of setting her loose, golden eagle or not.
"It’s not like I have nothing planned!"
Andrea’s pitying look only made her protest sound more pathetic.
"Ah, your precious ‘Theo,’ was it?"
"Theodore is a brilliant painter."
"Brilliant at getting hard while watching his woman get railed, sure."
Laticia flushed as if personally insulted. The way her puppy-docile face sharpened into a spitting kitten’s was almost entertaining. Andrea waited, amused, for her counter.
"That’s—that’s only because of you! You’re impossibly high above him, so—!"
"Oh my."
Andrea feigned shock, widening his eyes like a man witnessing miracles. The theatrics were deliberate.
"If my title excites him so, should Prince Linus visit, would he piss himself on the spot?"
For a heartbeat, Laticia mirrored his surprise before realizing she was being mocked.
"That’s—that’s not what I meant…!"
Her stammered defense died quickly. Arguing with the Duke was futile. In fact, defeating him at anything—ever—was impossible.
As Laticia wilted, Andrea washed his hands and changed clothes. She finally identified the metallic chill that had woken her: the stench of blood.
"Blood…"
"Not Theodore’s, so relax."
He mercifully omitted "yet." Andrea had no plans to spare Theodore. The lecherous gaze the man had raked over Laticia’s nakedness—too lurid to pass as artistic study—had sealed his fate. That he’d left the bastard’s eyes intact was patience enough.
The only reason he endured this restraint was Laticia. Or more precisely, her fragile heart. It explained why Paul, that meddling old sl*ve, had sabotaged Theodore’s visits without ever exposing his true nature.
Now I’m empathizing with a senile sl*ve. How far I’ve fallen.
His click of disgust echoed sharply in the silence, making Laticia flinch. Even with the blood scent gone, fear lingered in her eyes.
Resentment. Fear. Hatred. Sorrow.
All her emotions toward him were variations of the same theme. Normally, he’d dismiss them—yet tonight, they grated. Ironically, the blood he’d washed off was spilled for her sake. Not that executing trash was noteworthy, but this marked the first time he’d dirtied his hands outside war.
No regrets. Still, Laticia’s retreat—backing into the bed’s corner like a trapped rabbit—was irksome.
Andrea finished dressing and reclined. He’d meant to order her to sing, but changed his mind last second. Propping himself on an elbow, he fixed her with a stare.
"……"
Laticia froze under his gaze. Only her violet eyes flickered, fragile as blossoms piercing ice.
"Smile."
Suddenly, he wanted it—the pretty expression she bestowed freely on that worthless painter but never on him. Yet she remained petrified, staring as if he’d lost his mind.
Unfazed, Andrea reached out. She flinched but didn’t resist as he pressed a fingertip to the corner of her lips, tugging sideways. A lopsided half-smile formed. More like a sneer, but it sufficed.
"Cute."
After pinching her cheeks playfully, Andrea lay back and demanded a song. When none came, he yanked her close.
"Sing, or entertain me another way."
"That’s—!"
She struggled, but overpowering Andrea was impossible. In seconds, she was trapped against him. Submitting again so soon after showing herself like that in front of Theodore felt unthinkable. She shoved at his chest—unyielding as stone—until exhaustion won.
"One last chance. Sing."
A frantic nod loosened his grip slightly, though not enough to escape. Defeated, Laticia began a trembling lullaby.
Each rounded syllable tickled Andrea’s skin with warm breath. A faint smile touched his lips. The song continued long after his breathing steadied into sleep.
Certain he was in deep sleep, Laticia twisted carefully. But the arm around her didn’t budge. Any more movement might wake him—and restart the ordeal. She abandoned escape.
Alone in the indigo dark, her violet eyes glowed like the last morning star. She vowed to greet dawn awake. Sleeping in the Duke’s embrace was unacceptable. Yet when true daylight came, her stubborn eyelids had surrendered long ago.
Andrea was the one who awoke properly. Sunlight gilded his gaze as he studied the forehead pressed to his shoulder. His hand hovered, halfway to brushing back her disheveled hair—
"Theo…"
Andrea’s jaw clenched. His arm tightened around her. The rising fury defied containment—until Laticia murmured again, as if teaching him how to choke it down:
"Theo…"
In one motion, Andrea rose. Time to inspect the insect’s handiwork.
***
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