The Heartwood Box: A Fairy Tale

by Lilia Ford

  Genevieve was left in a state of shock. She mechanically opened the package he’d left for her and let out a shrill giggle. The cursed scoundrel really had packed her a tongue sandwich. With a shriek of rage, she hurled it against the far wall.

  She’d reached her limit. An instinct of self-preservation warned her that she could not stay here—could not trust herself with Derek. She frantically attacked the cuffs, trying with her fingers and teeth to pull them off. Damian had simply buckled them on and off, but when she tried, she found there was some mechanism that made them lock.

  Likewise the chain proved stubbornly bolted deep into the ground. She would have searched for a knife to cut through the leather, but the chain didn’t stretch far enough to reach the shelves that held the weapons.

  She was well and truly trapped here.

  With that realization came exhaustion. She could either start screaming hysterically or go to sleep. She opted for sleep. She turned the lantern to its lowest flame and sat gingerly down on the edge of the cot, fumbling to untie her bootlaces. Apparently she was too much her mother’s daughter to get into a bed wearing shoes, which had been a high crime in their cottage. Heaven forbid she do it in this underground prison, chained to a cot, while impossibly aroused by her new brother-in-law’s spanking?

  Bizarre-sounding laughs gurgled up as she pulled off each boot and neatly placed it by the side of the cot. She’d have to ponder that one. Fortunately, before she went utterly mad, Genevieve curled up on the cot and allowed sleep to claim her.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Genevieve slept surprisingly well despite her recent turmoil. When she finally woke, she sensed that she had slept well past her usual time, though there was no way to tell in her underground prison.

  She was alone. Thank goodness the lantern was still flickering. She got up before her only light completely sputtered out. The shelf held a row of lanterns, along with twenty bottles of oil, enough to light her parents’ cottage for a year. Though it made her feel profligate, she lit three lanterns, which left the small space bright enough that she could have done fine lacework if she’d wished.

  She made use of the “hole,” trying to ignore the lingering burn on her buttocks. She poured the pine oil a bit too liberally afterwards. It didn’t surprise her that Derek would push for them to go outside whenever they had the chance since the primitive necessary would eventually begin to stink. Afterwards, she drank some water and forced down a few biscuits before her stomach rebelled.

  Thus began an endless day trapped alone in this sunless cave with no idea of how long she must stay. If she’d been the good girl her parents had tried to raise, she would have read or sketched, but Genevieve was in too great a tumult to do more than pace restlessly as far as her chain would allow until she felt lightheaded. She then curled up on her cot, only to begin the cycle again when that became intolerable.

  Now that there was nothing else to distract her, her thoughts divided pretty evenly between Damian and Derek. Every attempt to make sense of her quarrel with Damian made her head ache. She was stunned that he could get so angry that he would leave her without a single word. She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it. The very first time she’d fought back against his tyranny, he’d abandoned her.

  She ranted out loud that she was better off without him if this was how he would treat her. Clearly he wanted to lock her away in that prison of a house, leaving her to wait for those moments when he could spare her some time.

  But then she would remember everything that had passed before the quarrel: lying in his arms in the bath, his wicked games, their morning in the garden where he regaled her with tales of Roderick the cook. She’d been happy. When she thought of the beautiful room he’d prepared so thoughtfully, she desperately wanted to reconcile matters with him. Surely it must be possible!

  Then an evil voice sneered that she was a fool to be surprised that he would leave her. Had she really thought she could win his love? Why on earth would her marriage be happy when all she’d done for the past four years was make everyone around her miserable?

  A week ago, such thoughts would have precipitated one of her attacks where she would lie in a darkened room, curled on her bed, gripped by despair. But today rage at one Derek Black was enough to drive her from her cot.

  She crossed and recrossed the floor of the cave as she contemplated her endless grievances against him: the spanking, the sandwiches, the ride on Nightshade, making her “go” outside in front of him! Just the sensation of the cuff on her wrist made her shudder with rage.

  She yearned to slap his face again! She barely ate, relishing the hunger pangs, knowing her skipping meals would anger him past all endurance.

  When hunger and emotional exhaustion finally caused her to sink into a kind of half-sleep, she was assailed by strange images of Derek standing before the great desk in the study, flicking that wicked crop of Damian’s, thinking to take her to task for some misdeed while she spat at him, relishing his explosion….

  She slept long and hard and would have slept longer, but some instinct managed to penetrate the thick blanket of slumber to warn her she wasn’t alone.

  She jerked her eyes open to see Derek, silently removing each weapon and carefully cleaning it before putting it away. Even from the cot, she caught an aroma of sulfur and knew he was fresh from the battlefield.

  His weapons stowed, he began to undress. He removed his jacket and then gingerly removed his shirt, revealing a long bloody gash, which stretched from his chest half way around his back.

  “You’re wounded!” she said, jumping up, only to be held in check by the chain. “Let me help you, Derek.”

  Unfortunately, she’d not counted on the effects of hunger combined with standing too quickly. She swayed dizzily and might have fallen but for his arm gripping hers.

  “You’re dizzy! When did you last eat?” Derek demanded furiously. When she didn’t answer right away, he shook her. “Answer me now, Genevieve!”

  “Yesterday… morning I think,” she said through her teeth, all worry over his wound evaporating like mist under a scorching sun.

  Derek clenched his hands, breathing in and out as if to keep control. “You disobey me at every turn. Genevieve, have you any idea…. What use is my staying away if the moment I return you begin baiting me?”

  “I am baiting you?” she choked incredulously.

  “From the day you met me! Did you think I would not react?”

  Genevieve let out a loud wail as she picked up her boots and threw them at him and then threw herself, pounding him with her fists.

  Derek caught her hands and cuffed them together behind her back. He sat on the cot and pulled her over his lap, flipping up her dress. He delivered five sharp slaps and then forced her to her knees, tightening the chain until she couldn’t move at all from her spot.

  “Now you will stay! If you provoke me further, Genevieve, I will give you a real spanking, and this time I won’t go easy on you!”

  Her rear end burning brutally, Genevieve sobbed silently. It shouldn’t be possible for another person to make her this angry. Even during the worst moments over the last four years, she’d never actually had an argument. Her parents were as far from irascible as human beings could be. The closest either of them got to anger was a mild querulousness, her mother when someone tracked mud in the house, her father when he misplaced his pipe. Watching Derek’s awkward attempts to bandage the gaping claw mark on his back, she shuddered from helpless rage.

  When Derek finished his treatment, he went behind the alcove. She could hear sounds of splashing. The crying had left her desperately thirsty as well as dizzy from hunger, but she would rather expire than ask Derek for anything.

  He emerged his hair damp, all traces of blood gone. The washing seemed to have calmed him slightly. Genevieve tried not to stare, but he’d not put on a shirt, and she found herself riveted by the sight of his broad shoulders and the sharply defined muscles of his arms and chest.

&nb
sp; He caught her staring and snarled, “You’re about to collapse.”

  He pulled out more packages from the saddlebags and unwrapped a sandwich, using a knife to cut it into small pieces. He knelt in front of her and held a piece to her lips. Of course it was tongue.

  It was all too much.

  “Please Derek,” she sobbed pathetically. “Please, can I have something else?”

  He held her chin forcing her to meet his gaze. He nodded very deliberately, conveying that she’d chosen the right approach.

  “I’ll give you something else if you promise to answer my questions—truthfully.”

  She nodded, past caring what she was agreeing to. He put the sandwich aside and went to the shelves and spent some time opening the tins and jars there. He returned with a plate piled high with stewed fruit, biscuits, nuts, and strips of dried beef. “Every bite, Genevieve. Don’t test me again.”

  Too hungry to fight, Genevieve obediently ate every bite he fed her, gratefully drinking down the glass of water he offered. He was utterly intent, watching everything, but communicating almost nothing.

  When she finished, he stroked her cheek almost… tenderly. It was the first kind gesture she’d had from him. She feared she was dangerously close to hysteria.

  He didn’t take his eyes off of her as he quickly devoured that cursed sandwich. Once he’d eaten, he cleaned up the remains of their meal and then sat down on the cot, making no move to free her. “Tell me why Damian chained you to the bed,” he said softly.

  Of course he would ask that! But she’d given her word to answer his questions. “He showed me around the prison that is my new home and informed me that I was not permitted to leave the house unless one of you is with me. When I protested, he tied me to the bed.”

  “You vowed at Titania’s Altar to obey him.”

  “So I am to have no freedom whatsoever?”

  “You will have as much as he chooses to grant you and no more. Be thankful Damian is so lenient with you.”

  “Lenient!”

  “If you were my wife, you’d never leave the house but on Titania’s feast day,” he growled.

  “You’re not serious!” she protested.

  He came closer until he was kneeling in front of her. That savage, hungry expression was back. “I am completely serious. If you were mine, then you belong in my house. I prefer you to remain—that is all you need to know.”

  “That’s absurd,” she said breathlessly. How could such outrageous words cast such a spell?

  “Genevieve, so help me, if you were mine, you would know every second of every day that my will is yours. I would not tolerate any hesitation, any arguments from you. If you disobeyed me, I would tie you down and spank you until we both were sure the disobedience would never be repeated. If you were difficult over your eating, you would take your meals on your knees, blindfolded, with your hands bound behind your back.”

  “I would leave you—I’d never let anyone treat me like that.”

  “You say that, Genevieve, but it’s not true. You can’t hide from me. I know my words excite you—just like I know those cuffs you’re wearing came from your heartwood box.”

  “What are you talking about?” she demanded, becoming alarmed.

  “They are Fae-made—the workmanship is unmistakable. They could only have come from your box. Did you try to remove them despite being forbidden? Answer!”

  “Yes,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Wise of you not to lie. They have been specially charmed so the wearer cannot remove them. If you know the trick, it takes but a second to lock or unlock them, but if you don’t, they are virtually unbreakable. They also make it obvious when someone has tried to tamper with them. You can wear them comfortably for days, with no risk of chafing, and at any time, the rings can be locked together if you misbehave. They are the perfect restraint, and they appeared in your heartwood box. Have you guessed why?”

  “No!”

  “The answer is: they were in your box because one of the deepest wishes of your heart is to be bound by your husband.”

  “It’s not true, you bastard!”

  “I’ve warned you, and yet you continue to provoke me. You clearly wish for me to discipline you. No doubt I would find something in your box to satisfy your need. I can think of many possibilities: a wooden paddle? A hairbrush? A leather strap? No? Perhaps a riding crop then?” He clearly noticed some reaction because he seized on it immediately. “You’ve fantasized about a riding crop? I can think of many things I could do with that—do you want me to tell you about them?”

  “No!” she cried out.

  “Shhh, easy, little one.” He came closer and kissed her forehead comfortingly. “Your box turned black—these desires are part of you. You need to stop fearing them—or feeling ashamed that you have them. You promised to answer truthfully. You are no liar, Genevieve, so don’t lie to me now. Do you want me to tell you what I would do with the crop?”

  His voice was so gentle, she couldn’t fight him. “Yes.”

  “Good girl. A riding crop does not work well for regular discipline—for that I would use a paddle. A crop is a very sensuous tool, as effective at giving pleasure as pain. Nothing works better for interrogation. If I wished to use a crop on you, I would have you standing naked in the middle of the room, your hands bound and stretched tightly above your head, your ankles cuffed to a bar to keep your legs apart.”

  He stood as he spoke, circling the room, watching her as if envisioning what his words described.

  “A crop is very visual, so I would leave your eyes uncovered. Then I could circle around you, using the crop to rub up and down your thighs, across your stomach and breasts, until you were even more aroused than you are right now, giving you occasional reminders of what I could do with the handle. I would ask you questions, and when I got a disrespectful or unsatisfactory answer, a slight flick against your breasts or your sex, or a harder strike against your back or thighs or buttocks, would ensure that you maintained a properly submissive attitude.”

  Genevieve shuddered. Everything about Derek had changed. All signs of harshness and ill temper had melted away. His eyes seemed to glow with raw desire. Even his voice had changed, becoming rich and seductive, his movements fluid and cat-like.

  “Are you aroused by what I just described, Genevieve? Answer me truthfully.”

  “Yes,” she gasped.

  “Good girl. I can continue—you just need to ask.”

  She swallowed, her voice suddenly gone. “Please.”

  “Please what?’

  “Please continue,” she said, mesmerized.

  He smiled, running his fingers through her hair. She squeezed her eyes closed, wondering if one could die of lust.

  “One morning I would open your box and find something very special indeed, and before I’d even unlocked the chains that bound you to our bed, I would dangle it before you. It would not appear much, just a small ball with leather straps that buckled, but even before you knew what it was for, you would see in my eyes that I was going to demand the most complete submission from you yet.

  “As soon as you’d eaten your breakfast, I would order you to kneel before me and hold open your mouth. I would place the ball in your mouth and then buckle the strap tightly around your head, making it impossible for you to speak. And then, Genevieve, I would send you about your usual activities. You would walk in the garden alone, read in your sitting room with no one to see or stop you, and yet you wouldn’t touch the gag, because I had forbidden it.

  “At various times during the day you would hear a bell ring warning you to kneel down and keep your eyes lowered. Someone you couldn’t see would come and tie a blindfold over your eyes and bind your hands behind you. Only then would the gag be removed so that an unknown hand could give you water or food. You would not be allowed to say a single word then or face three more days wearing the gag. When you’d had your water and food, the gag would be replaced, your hands released and the blindfo
ld removed. Again you would keep your eyes strictly before you, knowing that you would never learn who was the one who had just fed you.

  “Finally after an entire day wearing it, you would kneel before me in your nightdress, and I would remove it and put it back in your heartwood box, safe for the next time I chose that you wear it. And every second of that day, every time you yearned to speak but couldn’t, you would remember that it was my will that you remain silent, and even though you would sob and curse me for putting you through this, the very act of submitting to it would drive you mad with desire.”

  “You’re wrong….” Genevieve swallowed, trying to find her voice, as if just his words could take it away. “I would never desire something like that—I would never do it.”

  He looked at her with something like wonder. “That’s the thing, Genevieve, you wouldn’t resist—you couldn’t. The pleasure of submitting would be too intense, too intoxicating. You wouldn’t fight it at all.”

  Tears started falling liberally. She felt the lure of his words. She hated him for it, hated herself, but he spoke the truth. The idea of submitting to him like that caused a highly volatile mixture of helplessness, intense misery, and even more intense desire.

  “You do know why you’ve been baiting me, don’t you?” he said in that same seductive tone. “You wish me to punish you—more than wish, you need it.”

  Why wasn’t she yelling “no”? But the pull was indescribable.

  Gently stroking her hair, he said, “It’s all right, Genevieve. I know this is new to you. You don’t yet understand these feelings.”

  “No,” she choked. “You’re wrong.”

  “Am I?” He reached behind her, unlocked the chain, and released her hands. “Lie over the end of the cot, angel.”

  “Derek please….”

  “You have been extremely disobedient,” he said. “You will not stop baiting me until you have accepted punishment for it. When I am finished, you will kneel and apologize and then give your promise never to leave the house without someone to accompany you.”