27. Make it Look Real

Make it Look Real

Luella

One of the white pearls rolls between my back teeth as I enter Ledo’s room. It’s a last resort, but I will use it if I have to. Ledo's room is… not empty.

A large four poster bed takes up the majority of the room, covered in white linen sheets and blankets. This country’s obsession with maiden blood is obvious, but I know Ledo chooses white for another reason entirely. His intention to paint the bed with his flagrum is not what gives me pause. No. I’m startled by the fact that kneeling beside the bed is a naked flora. She holds a small crop whip between her teeth, and her eyes are downcast.

I fight not to clench my jaw, for fear of crushing the pearl. The customary drink is at the small table off to the side of the room, along with two chairs. The wine will be uncut, the only time of day it’s appropriate to have full strength outside of a festival of the gods.

I gesture to the wine. “May I serve us, Praetor?”

“Call me husband,” Ledo says, stepping close to me. He grabs my chin, harsh. “And you will serve me.”

“Yes, husband,” I say. It tastes bittersweet and I wonder how many times I’ve used that word.

That curse.

I move to the table, my back to him, and quickly dump the white vial from my pocket into the entire bottle of wine. A singular glass isn't wise. It might look different than mine, we might switch glasses, or he could spill it and demand a fresh one.

These are all mistakes I’ve made over the years. Mistakes I paid for with whichever body I had at the time. Not mine.

Mia has perfected all of this with me, and I'm never not grateful for her concoctions, or her drops. All of the ways we make this work.

The flora isn’t supposed to be here, but I’ll deal with her after I deal with the true threat. I pour two glasses, keeping my portion small, as a lady should. I bring the glass to him and he clinks it against mine. “Drink,” he commands. So I do, draining my glass. He drains his. “Refill them.” I do that, too, returning with two full glasses. I drink again, as does he. The drink begins to make me tingle, but I know he will be even more affected. I’m feeling just the wine, but he’ll be feeling much more than that.

“Kneel,” he says, lowering his trousers. I do. He snaps for the flora, who comes to kneel beside me. “Show me what you’ve learned, wife.” The condescension in his voice would break me if I was truly his wife. If I thought he loved me. The last two clipses would have broken me. Would have made me afraid, malleable, and eager to do anything to avoid displeasing my new husband.

But I am not truly his wife, and I have never once had any illusions about who he is. These clipses have not broken me. They forged me, as every moment of my life has forged me. Not in fire, but in bruises. Black and blue and broken.

And stronger for it.

He fists my hair, impatient that I haven’t begun to pleasure him, but I jerk my head back, not hiding the disgust at his erection, at his presumption that it is anything but ordinary. His eyes narrow and I brace, knowing what’s coming.

It still hurts as he backhands me to the floor, then drags me back up by my hair. “Do you want to be punished?” The question almost makes me laugh, because I know he plans to find fault. Why else would the whip already be here? But angry men hit harder, so I don’t make a sound.

He puts a thumb in each corner of my mouth, spreading it wide and gripping the side of my face. I try to pull back. Why isn’t it working, yet?

Panic courses through me. I can pleasure a man just fine, but that doesn’t mean I want to. And once we start, the chance of him drinking more wine drops significantly. He won’t have another glass until he’s spent.

He thrusts forward but I try to draw back again, and he answers by removing one hand from my face, grabbing his mediocre cock, and slapping me with it.

“I didn’t want to have to punish you so early, Sky…” I think he’s given me a nickname for a moment, but then his fist slackens on my hair.

“Whaaa?” he slurs. I gaze up at him, giving the paralytic a few more moments to take hold. Something like panic crosses his features as he sways on his feet, until finally, he collapses in an undignified heap.

I feel my reddened cheek and turn to the flora beside me. She’s stiff, staring down at Ledo.

“He won’t be rising for quite awhile,” I tell her.

“What did you do to him?” She sounds more curious than afraid.

“Listen to me,” I say, avoiding her question. “You weren’t supposed to be here and I don’t want to hurt you.” I leave the rest unsaid, the part that she probably understands better than me. Want means so little in the face of survival.

Her eyes are hazel and her tight brown curls frame her round umber cheeks. I try to read the expression on her face, searching for a reason to let her go.

“You’re her.” She brings her hand to her mouth. “Tisiphone.”

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Flavia,” she says, looking down at Ledo. “What will you do to him?”

“What do you want me to do?”

She looks back to me, her voice softer than the words that escape her. “I want you to make him suffer.”

I smile, “I can do that.”

“But…”

“What?” I ask. Please don’t make me hurt you, I want to beg.

“I can say he dismissed me. That he just wanted you tonight….” She trails off. “But they won’t believe it.”

“Why not?”

“He’d never leave me unmarked. Even the floras would question me, Skylar. You have to whip me.”

The weight of her words settles over me. The truth of them, of Ledo. I swallow hard. Nod once, twice.

She hands me the crop and I do what I would do to myself if I needed to, as I have had to.

I make it look real.