I wake up this morning and immediately look for my new toy.

I go to her bedroom and she’s not there.

I ask Albert and he hasn’t seen her either.

I ask Mrs. Parker, the cook, in case Rosemary has visited the kitchen looking for something to eat, but I have no luck there either.

And then, from the second floor, I hear some leaves rustling, even though there’s no wind.

I take a few long strides toward the edge of the balcony. Between the gaps in the black-and-gold iron railing, I can see my mother’s rose bushes moving.

What is that? Some kind of a wild animal? Or could it be her?

My questions are answered when a head of honey-brown hair emerges from between the plants. She has been crouching.

Rosemary’s inspecting the rose bushes closely, as if she’s looking for something. She doesn’t think there’s another secret tunnel she can use to escape, does she?

As she walks slowly, her hand hangs straight down, like it’s holding something heavy.

What is that?

It looks like there are long blades attached to it.

A weapon?

I almost burst out laughing when I recognize the dangerous thing Rosemary is holding.

It’s a pair of garden shears, held by hands that are wearing gardening gloves.

She wasn’t looking for an escape tunnel when she was crouching down; she was gardening. And she doesn’t intend to use those garden shears as a weapon; she’s just fucking gardening.

She looks like such a delicate little flower, my Rosemary. And yet there's a strength to her that I didn't see in the beginning.

Just look at her right now.

The past few days must've been strange and terrifying for her.

First, her father didn't come home. Then, she found out he was to be arrested—or worse, over something that he did for her. Now, she's a prisoner in my palace, unable to leave for a whole month.

And what does she do?

She's gardening.

In a way, that’s more admirable than trying to escape.

It’s only one month and she can do whatever she wants, so she’s just going to enjoy herself while she’s here.

Many girls in her position would be terrified, but she’s more resilient than that. She just takes it in her stride and carries on.

I like that. It shows that she trusts me. She knows that I won’t let any harm befall her and that I’ll let her go when the time comes.

Even though she tried to defy me last night at the end of our meeting, I know in her heart she’s already my submissive.

She threw a tantrum, but she knows that things are going to happen the way I want them to. That’s why she has accepted her punishment and she’s making the best of her time here.

She may not like every decision I make, but she knows that what I say, goes. She trusts me. And she has already submitted to me in little ways. She looks delicious enough to eat, especially when she’s opening up for me, drawing closer to me with ragged breath.

My cock stirs in my pants just thinking about it.

It doesn’t help that she’s wearing a dress today. It’s blue and there are little flowers on it. When a breeze blows the light fabric, it clings to her body, giving me an idea of what she looks like underneath.

And when the sunlight hits just right, her dress appears almost transparent. I can just make out the outline of her tits and the flare of her hips.

It’s like even nature is tempting me to just take her right now. I have a feeling that, despite what she said last night, she wouldn’t have resisted if I’d spread those legs and fucked her.

But I have to be patient. The goal is not just to get my dick wet. I can do that with just about any girl in the kingdom.

What I want is her sweet submission. I’ve had a little taste of it, and it’s intoxicating. Now I want more. I want her to voluntarily give me full control of her body and mind.

And I can’t have that unless I wait until she’s ready.

She’s going to beg me. Just watch and see.

I tear my gaze off her and get back inside the palace. I go down the stairs, two at a time, and follow the hallway leading toward the garden. The greeneries are coming into view through the open doors.

“I see you’ve found her, Sir,” a voice startles me.

I look over my shoulder to see Albert. He’s walking in the same direction as me, carrying a tray with a pot of tea and some baked goods.

“I apologize. I didn’t know you were going to be present as well. I only have one cup with me,” he says.

“That’s for Rosemary?” I ask.

“Yes, Sir.”

We walk silently, side by side, through the doorway. My mother used to spend a lot of time in the garden, and the palace staff has continued to keep these doors open, even though there’s usually nobody in the garden anymore.

I squint when the sunlight hits my eyes. The flower-scented wind carries the faint laughter of a woman.

Rosemary?

She was here on her own. Who is she laughing with?

When my eyes adjust to the brightness, I see her holding out her gloved hand, while birds perch on branches close to her and squirrels gather at her feet.

That’s crazy.

My mother used to do that, too.

I remember trying to emulate her when I was little. But the critters wouldn’t come near me. Maybe they sensed the darkness inside me, even at my young age.

“Breakfast, Miss Wilson?” Albert asks, standing a few feet in front of me.

“Oh, thank you, Albert,” Rosemary says, without taking her eyes off the little blue bird balancing itself on the palm of her hand. “And please call me Rose.”

“Of course, Rose,” Albert says.

In the past, Albert has had some problems with addressing people a little too formally.

He’s an old-fashioned man who used to live in a world with rigid social hierarchies. We used to have valets, housemaids, nurses, grooms, and footmen in Ardglass Palace, but we’ve done away with a lot of positions. Other than Albert, now we only have a cook in the palace, as well as a bunch of cleaners.

It used to be difficult for Albert to speak casually with a palace guest, but he’s a lot better at that now.

The little blue bird flies away, finished with its meal. Rosemary dumps the rest of the seeds in her hand and rubs her palms together.

As squirrels and birds scramble to get a piece of the action, Rosemary turns her attention to Albert. He leads her to a hidden part of the garden, where a set of table and chairs is shielded by tall hedges, and I follow them.

Albert rests the tray on the table and pours some tea into a cup. As Rosemary bends down to take a cookie, she catches me in her line of vision.

Her gaze takes me by surprise. I don’t know why. I know she’s right there and I’m not wearing some kind of a magical invisible cloak.

But the last few seconds had felt like a dream. It was like I wasn’t really here, like I was just an outsider watching events happen, purely as a spectator.

“Don’t feed your food to the wild animals too,” I say, blurting out the first thing I can think of.

“Why? Is that a crime, too?” Rosemary asks, challenging me.

“It’s not,” I say as I step closer, my shoes landing on soft grass. I pull out a garden chair. “But you probably need some strength after spending all morning working on the garden.”

Surprise registers in her big brown eyes. She probably expected some kind of an abrasive comment from me.

Those expressive eyes tell me all I need to know about what’s on her mind. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then this girl has huge, floor-to-ceiling windows that let me peer inside and watch her, even when she’s naked in the shower.

Quietly, she pulls out a chair and takes a seat across the table from me.

“I found this dress in the wardrobe in my room. I don’t know who it belongs to, but it fits me and my clothes are dirty,” she says, obviously feeling guilty about it.

“You’re welcome to wear anything you find in there. The palace staff has deliberately prepared the wardrobe for you.”

“So this is… mine?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“Who did you think the clothes belong to?” I ask.

“I thought maybe a previous guest left them. My friend works at an inn and she says travelers forget to take stuff home all the time.”

I can’t help but laugh.

Does this look like an inn to her? We don’t keep the things guests leave behind; we either mail the items back to the owners, give them to charity, or throw them away.

But this little glimpse into her everyday life intrigues me. So she has a friend who works at an inn. I want to know more.

“Tell me, Rosemary, what do you do for fun?” I ask.

“I, uh, usually I’m too tired from my job to do much else. Mostly I just stay home and read a book.”

“What kind of books do you like to read?” I ask.

“All kinds. Anything I can get my hands on. I usually just read whatever new books the library has. We don’t often have much money left over for non-essential stuff.”

“And you spend your weekends reading those books, instead of, say, going to a club?” I ask, casually alluding to our first meeting at The Dungeon.

“Yes,” she says, seemingly unaware of my hidden meaning, “and I read them during breaks at work, too.”

“Do you need me to bring you a cup, Sir?” Albert asks.

“No, Albert. That’s fine. Leave us alone,” I say.

“Very well, Sir,” he says before walking away.

When I turn to look at Rosemary, her expression almost makes me laugh again.

She has frozen in place, holding a cookie in one hand, while staring at me with shock in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Everything is exactly the same as it was just a few seconds ago. There is absolutely no danger here.

So what is she worried about?