I’ve remembered a dream where we were together

      Horses were her passion. White, black, brown — I saw how her eyes sparkled when she looked at these animals, gracefully strolling across the pasture. Grand, with strong, long legs and sloping sides, they brought Yvon to childish delight. Every morning, as soon as the sun, lazily stretching, touched the peaks of the firs with its first rays, hurried steps echoed in the corridor. Neither wind, nor rain, nor snow could interfere with a horse ride — the only ritual so firmly rooted in Yvon’s routine. Between her departure and breakfast, several hours passed during which the estate seemed to be deserted. I was wandering around the estate in search of something to do — from the quiet library, where I was straying between the shelves in search of a suitable book, to the veranda and back. Like a ghost, I was roving through the corridors until, finally, I found myself a suitable occupation. In Yvon’s absence, I managed to answer a few letters and solve minor problems regarding the house and the adjacent fields. After I no longer needed a teacher, the only obligatory activities for me were books and music. I liked playing the piano, but I did not dare to disturb the silence of the estate before breakfast, while the owner was sleeping. So, finding nothing better, I was reading.       The door leading to the veranda opened silently, letting in a gust of frosty air. I stepped into the winter morning — the gray sky carefully sprinkled the earth with whitish petals of snow. I crossed the veranda and sat down on the only chair, solitary towering in the center. Strewn with snow, it froze in anticipation of the person who was coming here every morning — me. With the same devotion with which Yvon galloped across the plain, I was sitting with an opened book and read, casting glances into the distance when my eyes grew tired of the jumping letters. The wind ruffled my hair. I was turning page after page, while a miniature figure of a girl on a horse flashed beyond.       Although the location of the estate made it an easy target for the wind, the bad weather was more than compensated for by the view. To the north, at the foot of a steep, rock-strewn hill, the dark blue sea was — most of the windows of the estate were directed towards it. The veranda faced south — after a gentle slope, in the valley lay fields framed by a pine forest. It was there, between the snowdrifts, that a black mustang frolicked, confidently led by Yvon.       The clink of forks was the only sound in the dining room. I was sitting with my back straight and cut toast. The fried eggs looked at me from the plate with yellow, leaking eyes. Steam rose from the cup of scalding hot coffee, curling into snowy rings and flying upward to crash doomedly against the ceiling. I popped a piece of perfectly baked bread into my mouth and glanced sideways at the empty seat opposite. Yvon was very late. Duke Ortiz, sitting at the head of the table, was clearly in a bad mood — he was frowning, glancing out the window at the snow raging outside, and was gloomier than a cloud.       Finally, the door swung open. Disheveled, with bright pink cheeks and in an untidy dress, she flew into the dining room and plopped down on the chair next to me. The smell of fir trees and snow that had settled on her during the walk and mixed with her own. I took a deep breath — in the stuffy air of the dining room, this fresh, restless aroma made my head spin.       “The weather is simply wonderful today!” Yvon chirped, quickly buttering her toast, “Apollo and I had a wonderful time!” she continued with her mouth full, contrary to all the rules of etiquette, “m-m-m, God, how delicious the coffee smells…”       The Duke brought his hands down on the table with a crash. I flinched, and Yvon, still chewing, turned her surprised gaze to the father. The Duke stood up, his eyes flashing.       “Yvon Ortiz,” he muttered through his teeth, “what are you doing?”       I swallowed and looked at Yvon. Despite the fact that she was the only daughter, family quarrels happened almost daily. Yvon, whose face had suddenly assumed an expression of complete indifference, also stood up, weightlessly placing her hand on the back of my chair.       “What are you talking about, father?” she asked defiantly. The Duke crossed the room and stood opposite his daughter. The tension in the air was almost physically pressing on my shoulders.       “I’m talking about your outrageous behavior,” the Duke clarified coldly. “You were half an hour late for breakfast, showed up in an indecent state and completely forgot about your manners! And this is far from the first time. It is not proper for a young lady to mess around with horses, but I made an exception and this is what happened. I forbid you to approach the stables until you understand “what I’m talking about.”       Yvon flushed. She proudly raised sharp chin and clenched the fists.       “You can’t forbid me from seeing horses!” she was indignant, “you… you… can’t!” in a fit of rage, Yvon accidentally touched the plate and it crashed onto the cold floor, shattering into many crunchy pieces. For a second, there was silence. And then Yvon, to the sound of her father’s scream, snatched the plate from under my nose and deliberately, with all her might, smashed it on the floor. She shook her head, turned around lightning fast, and wanted to run out of the dining room, when the Duke grabbed her by the arm and turned around.       The Duke raised his hand to strike, but froze — unexpectedly even for myself, I appeared between them just in time. Waiting the slap intended for Yvon, I closed the eyes, but the blow did not follow. Then, swallowing, I opened my eyes — the man standing near was ready to tear and throw. His dark gray eyes behind the rectangular glasses devoured me. The Duke hissed and lowered his hand.       “I will accept any punishment that was intended for Yvon. But I beg you, be merciful, and forgive her,” I asked quietly but firmly.       The Duke clenched his teeth. Silence hung, broken only by the howling of the snowstorm outside the window and the snow beating against the window.       “To my office. Quickly.” the Duke hissed, and passed by, brushing me with the shoulder. I glanced at Yvon — she clenched her fists, and tears appeared in her eyes, soaked with anger, — and left the dining room following the furious Duke.       The Duke’s office was very different from mine — almost twice as big, it was hung with expensive paintings. Huge windows, right behind the Duke, looked out onto the valley. In the middle of the room stood a tea table and two sofas; to the right and left of the door were shelves with papers. When I entered, the Duke was sitting at a massive mahogany table, massaging his temples. His glasses lay on the table, gleaming dangerously in the firelight. I approached the table silently — the soft, patterned carpet greedily ate up my every step. The Duke sighed and opened his eyes, as if sensing my presence. I was again overcome with cold — tall, with straight, chiseled features, he measured me with a glance. Not a single muscle on his tired face twitched — only his dark eyebrows slightly swayed upward. The Duke ran his hand through his black, graying hair, adjusting a strand that had fallen out of the general hairstyle. He always looked the same — indifferent, dressed in the latest fashion with his hair combed back, with a barely noticeable stamp of age on his pale face. The ideal northern duke. He took out a cigarette, squeezed it in his thin, long fingers and slowly lit. The Duke was no longer angry — from the uncontrollable rage, only an icy, paralyzing anger remained.       “I took you into my house as a boy, tied you in betrothal to my only daughter, raised you,” — he muttered, not even looking at me, “why, tell me? Your family had no money, no power. You didn’t even have a name…” he sighed thoughtfully, “I took you because of your sick father. He was decent, no, he was the most decent of all I knew! I was sure that you would grow up the same, so I gave you everything that was missing to be worthy in the future, the Grand Duke of Ortiz. My wife died before giving me an heir, so I made you one! I pulled you out of the dirt, where you were doomed to return, after your father passed. And what do I get in return?”       The Duke stood up, walked around the table and stood right in front of me. Only now did he look at me — despite the fact that I was half a head taller, I felt insignificant standing next to this man. He was powerful and had it all. At his only will could knock the already shaky ground out from under my feet.       “You will receive ten lashes,” he exhaled smoke in my face. The acrid smell ate at my nose, but I stoically remained silent and did not take my eyes off the dark eyes opposite, “you are nothing more than a duke’s dog. Do not forget your place and serve your master faithfully, and he will repay your devotion with his leniency.”       “I faithfully serve the one to whom I am destined,” I breathed out, “that is why I am here — to protect my master and answer for his sins. This is my duty. A duty imposed on me from the first day in this house. And I will carry this burden with pride and gratitude.”       A sarcastic grin spread across the duke’s face.       “Since you are such a good boy” he turned away, shook the ashes into the ashtray and turned back to me. Now, his face expressed nothing but soft thoughtfulness, “fifteen lashes,” he patted me on the shoulder, “continue to protect this child as faithfully, so that after my death, she will not forget your selflessness.”       I gritted my teeth and bowed politely. I wanted to grab the Duke by the throat and watch him suffer in his death throes.       “As you say, sir.”       I walked quickly down the corridor, hoping to get to the office as quickly as possible. Each step echoed off the marble floor and high vaults and sent a burning pain through my back. My shirt rubbed against the marks left on my back by a skilled hand.       I threw open the door to the office — out of nowhere, Yvon appeared right in front of me.       “I knew you’d come here right away,” she smiled nervously in response to my surprised look, “I heard what Father told to do. You shouldn’t have taken responsibility for me. He would have been much more lenient with me.”       I shrugged. I knew perfectly well that if I hadn’t stood up for Yvon, most likely everything would have ended with a slap in the face and, at most, a couple of days without horseback riding. Yvon pulled me into the office and slammed the door, after which she turned to me, putting her hands on her hips.       “Take off your shirt and sit down,” she ordered. I stared at her in confusion, “I’ll treat your back.”       She nodded towards the basin of water, the rag and the bottle of whiskey. I hesitantly pulled off my jacket, hesitated a bit, but under Yvon’s determined gaze, I took off my shirt — maroon stripes appeared on the white, flowing fabric, as if a tiger had run its claws across the silk. Unable to think of anything better, I carefully dropped to my knees, placing the folded clothes in front of me. Without a shirt, the gloves looked comical, and I took them off, placing nearby. Yvon walked around me and froze, boring into my back with her gaze.       “This isn’t the first time?” she whispered quietly. I chuckled. We both knew the answer perfectly well. The dress rustled — Yvon sat down behind me and carefully, with trembling fingers, ran her hand over my scarred back. I exhaled through my teeth when Yvon carelessly touched a fresh cicatrice.       “Sorry. Does it hurt a lot?” Yvon asked sympathetically, removing her hand. Incredible. As if as if something had pounced on me from the darkness and slashed my back with hot claws in an attempt to reach my ribs.       “Tolerable,” I shrugged my shoulders vaguely. I heard the sound of running water behind me, and then felt cold and wetness.       “I’ll wipe the blood,” she explained, gently applying the soggy cloth to the wounds. I muttered something in agreement. We sat in silence for a while — Yvon concentrated, so as not to cause pain, wiping the scars. Goosebumps ran all over my body from the cold dampness, but my back no longer hurt so much. With a cloudy gaze, I looked around the office: black wood shelves filled with books, a small table in perfect order, a leather sofa… the modest decor of the room did not compare with the Duke’s office.              Outside the window the sea was raging. Navy blue waves were furiously rushing onto the rocky shore and helplessly crashing against the sharp rocks. I heard the rumble of their death throes and watched they swallowing the falling crystal snow in an attempt to become stronger.       Yon uncorked the bottle — liquid gurgled and the room filled with a tart smell of good whiskey. I took a deep breath — the aroma of wood and nuts broke through the veil of the sharp smell of alcohol.       “This is going to hurt. Ready?” Yvon asked uncertainly. I swallowed and nodded. She applied a whiskey-soaked cloth to one of the scars and a searing pain shot through my body. I jerked to the side. Yvon pulled away, waiting. I took a shuddering breath.       “Go on.”       “Fine.” She again began to gently wipe my back. The scars were burning — tears involuntarily streamed down my cheeks. My nails turned white from the tension with which I clutched my own knees. I sobbed from the growing pain.       “That’s it, I’m almost done.” — Yvon whispered and put the cloth aside. I quickly wiped the tears with the back of the palm, but they continued to flow. Yvon sighed and rested her forehead on my shoulder.       “I’m sorry, please forgive me.” She muttered frantically. Barely noticeably, so as not to touch my back, she hugged me with the arms, “it’s all because of me. You don’t deserve this. I…”       “Enough,” my voice sounded unnaturally hoarse, “it was my choice. Respect it.”       Yvon muttered something quietly for a long time. Her hair tickled my back and her hot forehead warmed the shoulder. I listened, with my head trown back and eyes closed. If I will make a mistake, I will be flung out like a naughty dog. I had no future. My fate was concentrated in the hands of a playful, fickle child. A toy that would end up in a landfill as soon as its owner got tired of it. I had nothing left except this girl, the snow outside the window and the piano chords. I put my hand over hers lying on my stomach. My lips twitched in a smile. At least now, while she hugs me like this, I am safe.       “He won’t dare again,” she kissed my shoulder, “do you hear? You are mine, and I will protect you. No one will dare to touch you. Either king or God. No one. I swear.”