In Times of Crisis, My Boyfriend Doesn't Save Me

“She'll definitely come,” someone said with a leering tone. “That shameless, clingy woman couldn't refuse me if she tried. If any of you are interested, I can make arrangements for a little 'entertainment' later.”

The room buzzed with malicious anticipation and I heard the rustling of fabric and the clinking of glasses as the patrons shifted in their seats, eager to partake in whatever sordid spectacle was about to unfold.

“Are you certain about that, Will?” another voice questioned, laced with skepticism. “Even though she’s getting on in years, I must admit, Eleanor is quite beautiful. Her voice is renowned cross the land; she’s famous for it.”

A harsh, cynical laugh followed. “Think I’d risk myself having a woman like her around me? Besides, the only one I have eyes for now is Her Highness. I don’t waste time on old flames.” The derisive laughter echoed through the room, cutting through my heart like a blade.

I pressed my lips together, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. How could he speak of me with such callous disregard? The disdain in his voice, the utter contempt—it was unbearable. I could taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth as I bit my lip too hard, trying to steady myself. The pain from the wound I had sustained a few days ago, when I had taken an arrow meant for him, flared up with a vengeance. The injury had never fully healed and the pain was now a constant, throbbing reminder of my sacrifice.

The weight of my situation bore down on me and I felt a cold wave of despair wash over me. Seven years. Even a dog would show gratitude to its master after such a long time, yet William had cast me aside without a second thought, abandoning me for the princess. He was even willing to force me into another man’s bed, as though I were a mere object to be used and discarded.

I wanted nothing more than to leave this wretched place, but my legs felt rooted to the spot, heavy with despair. Gathering every ounce of strength I could muster, I stepped into the room, heart pounding, only to be greeted by a sight that twisted my stomach. Beatrice, dressed in men’s attire, reclined comfortably in William's arms, her laughter ringing through the air like a mocking echo. Her new status as the King's recently discovered daughter—and his obvious favorite—had transformed her into something untouchable, smug and cruel. She cast her eyes on me, scanning me from head to toe and her delicate features twisted into an expression of pure disdain.

Her voice dripped with venom as she sneered, “Oh, isn’t this a sight? Pathetic, aren’t you, Eleanor? Running around trying to fulfill the whims of men who no longer want you. Maybe it’s time for you to crawl into a brothel.”

Her words hit me like a lash across the skin, sharp and intended to wound. A pang of pain shot through my chest, but I refused to let it show. I straightened my back, holding my head high and met her gaze with steely resolve. “Yes,” I said, my voice steady, “but wouldn’t it be even more shameful to cling to a man who isn’t your husband, Princess?”

Her smug expression vanished in an instant, replaced by cold fury. She rose from William’s lap, her fists clenched at her sides, glaring at me with fire in her eyes. “How dare you, Eleanor!” she hissed through gritted teeth.

Without a moment’s hesitation, William stood and strode toward me, his face hard with anger. Before I could react, his hand cracked across my face, the force of the blow knocking me to the ground. I collapsed with a gasp, my cheek throbbing and the coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. I raised a trembling hand to my face, trying to stifle the pain.

William towered over me, his voice low and dangerous. “If you ever upset Beatrice again, I’ll tear you apart, limb by limb. And you’ll never see me again.”

There it was—the same threat, the same manipulation. He knew exactly how to keep me in line, how to bend me to his will. The cruel irony of it all nearly made me laugh. Instead, I forced a weak smile, though the movement sent fresh waves of pain shooting through my face.

I must have looked utterly pitiful, because Beatrice and her entourage erupted into laughter, their jeers echoing in my ears like a chorus of vultures circling a wounded animal. Swallowing my pride, I lowered my eyes and tugged at the hem of William’s coat, my voice hoarse and trembling as I whispered, “I was wrong. Please don’t leave me, okay?”

The sound of my voice, so broken and filled with desperation, only seemed to delight them further. I sounded pathetic—almost begging. The once-proud woman I had been, known for my wit and talent, was reduced to nothing more than a crumpled, pleading figure at William’s feet.

William’s friends sneered at me, their mockery slicing through the air like knives. “Look at her,” one of them said with a chuckle. “The once-famous Eleanor, now nothing more than a pitiful beggar.”

Beatrice's laughter echoed in the room, loud and unrestrained, her eyes brimming with tears of amusement. She reveled in my humiliation, her cruel nature fully on display. “How about this?” she said between fits of laughter. “Apologize to me—on your knees—and do it three times. If you do, I’ll ask William to spend more time with you.”

I stood frozen for a moment, stunned by the audacity of her request. Surely, William would stop this. He knew me—knew that I had my own sense of pride. I had never knelt before anyone, not even the King himself, unless forced. It was something William used to admire about me, my strength and dignity. He had once promised me that when he rose to a high-ranking position, he would convince the King to exempt me from such formalities. I had believed him, clung to that promise as a sign of the respect and love he supposedly held for me.

But instead, he spoke the single word that shattered any hope I had left. “Kneel.”

I stared at him, disbelief etched across my face. His voice had been cold, devoid of any emotion, as though he were speaking to a stranger. Slowly, I looked up at him, searching for any trace of the man I had once loved, the man who had promised to protect me. His eyes, once so warm, were now empty, filled with a cruel indifference that sent chills down my spine.

“If you don’t kneel,” William continued, his tone harsh and final, “then don’t ever come to see me again.”