Chapter 3

I discreetly let out a long breath as I closed my eyes and counted to ten.

He might not choose me. He might not choose me.

There were five of us, lined up along the central carpet leading to the golden thrones at the end of the grand hall, framed by arched, gilded windows.

I glanced at the other four girls on the carpet with me. Two were much younger than me, and very pretty. The next woman was a lot older and absolutely beautiful. The last was my age and covered from head to foot in blue battle-paint and furs, any exposed skin mottled with white scars. She caught my eye, bared her teeth, then spat on the beautifully woven golden carpet beneath our feet.

My lips almost twitched into a defiant smile, but I caught myself in time. There was a loud crack, and her face contorted with pain. The thrall-master behind her snapped his whip.

“One day, I’ll make you scream,” he hissed.

She kept her lips clamped closed as one of the younger girls whimpered and looked nervously at her own thrall-master. The hulking man behind her gave her a leery grin but didn’t move.

All five of us were thralls. Human slaves to the fae of the Gold Court. And all five of us had something one of the most powerful, and therefore wealthy, Lords of the Court wanted. I scanned the wrists of the other girls, my stomach sinking at the confirmation of what I already knew.

None of them were rune-marked. Which meant none of them were as valuable as I was.

The fae of Yggdrasil could only wield their loathsome magic with the help of vald-staffs. I looked down bitterly at the angular symbol burning bright gold on the inside of my wrist. The pattern was repeated larger between my shoulder blades. It marked me clearly to the fae as a gold-giver . A rare human who could craft magic staffs for the fae of the Gold Court.

A courtier swept past us with her escort, her fine embroidered dress and long braided blonde hair marking her as fae.

“Did you hear about the latest raids on the outer villages, my Lady?” the escort asked quietly. “Many human clans were dealt death.”

The female’s lips turned up, the tiny gold beads in her hair catching the light as she shook her head. “The stories of the Shadow Court’s might are wildly exaggerated,” she said. “They are but simple barbarians. Anyway, a few human clans are no great loss.” She raised her chin, gave me an appraising look, and moved past me to join the rest of the shallow, whispering crowd of courtiers who had turned up to line the halls and watch the Lord choose his new bound concubine.

I kept my snarl back, barely. In some ways, I hoped the vile fae female was right. I had grown up being told the horror stories of how the Shadow Court’s telepathic powers were used to torture their slaves mentally, how they were brainwashed into killing their own loved ones, then forced to live in pitch-black dungeons filled with the decaying bodies of those they had murdered. Their specialty was fear and madness, and they were utterly remorseless.

I sent a brief prayer to Freya that any humans killed in the Shadow Court raids were spared such a trial and had been blessed with swift deaths.

A loud bang, signaling the doors to the hall being thrown open, interrupted my prayer.

Lord Orm strode along the carpet, casting his ice blue eyes over each of us. His grandeur was undeniable. He had skin almost as pale as bone, high cheekbones, and perfect, pointed ears. His clothes were much finer than that of the attending courtiers. Where they wore corsets and skirts, or fine leather warrior garb, he wore robes of white. Golden lace trimmed all the fabric, making him shimmer as he walked.

His thin, pale lips turned up in a delighted sneer when he saw the warrior woman.

“A human on her knees is a fine sight indeed.” His high-pitched voice rang through the room, and the simpering courtiers chuckled.

The warrior woman glared up at him, fury in her eyes. “I did not fight for Odin to be your fucking plaything,” she spat.

Something dark flashed in Lord Orm’s eyes. He tightened his grip on the staff in his hand, and a knot of helpless, guilty anger swished through my whole body. I recognized the staff. It had been the result of six months of my work.

“Playthings are for children,” he said, voice low. “I am a fully grown male, which you would find out on entering my bedchamber.” He gave her a sickening smile. “I think you may find that fighting your whole life will have prepared you well for what I have in store for my future concubine. I require a woman who is…robust.”

Blessed Odin, I would do just about anything to avoid a binding to this male, but the warrior woman deserved this fate no more than I did.

Of the five courts of Yggdrasil , most would have believed that the Gold Court was the preferable place to live. It was the most powerful, the richest, the most beautiful.

But in reality, the Gold Court was fueled by nothing but greed. The principles instilled by the ancient god Odin had completely died out, knowledge no longer valuable compared with wealth and magic.

It was through the gold that their staffs gave them magic, and the lengths to which they would go to acquire it had turned them into monsters.

Beautiful, glittering, sadistic monsters.

Lord Orm was known to be one of the most twisted gold-fae. It was common knowledge in the palace that two of his previous concubines had died at his hand. Details of how had never surfaced, though the rumors were rife, and all of them made me feel sick.

“Strip. All of you.” Lord Orm whirled around as he barked the command. Grinding my teeth, I reached to untie the leather band around my middle.

I was permitted to work in trousers and leather, whereas most female thralls in the Gold Court were forced to dress in skimpy shifts and thin skirts. My brown leather corset dropped to the floor around my feet when the ties came loose, and I moved my hands reluctantly to the belt at my waist. It was covered in small pouches that held the tools of my trade. Other than the gold I had to set into the staffs, of course. That was kept safe in the workshop, under fae guard.

I glanced either side of me as I slowly undid my belt, trying to stop my revulsion showing on my face.

Both the younger girls had already shed their thin garments, clearly used to being asked to disrobe. The older woman had her chin held high, and clear scars of childbirth showed on her stomach. The warrior woman had regained her footing, but her thrall-master was leering over her, pulling her fur-covered garb from her body as she hissed and clawed at him.

“You are making me weary,” Lord Orm muttered. “Some spirit in a female is preferable, but I fear I erred in asking you to take part in today’s ceremony.” He came to stop before her, and my fingers stilled on the waist of my trousers.

“She will do as you command, my Lord,” grunted her thrall-master.

Lord Orm cocked his beautiful head. “I’m not sure that she will. Ever.”

She moved quickly, making to stamp on his foot, close as he was to her.

His fae speed was no match for her fierce spirit. He side-stepped so fast he was almost a blur. The gold entwined throughout his staff glowed briefly before he bought it crashing into the side of her head.

His fae strength was as instantly apparent as his speed had been.

The woman’s body dropped to the floor, lifeless. I turned my head quickly to stop myself staring at the gaping hole in the side of her skull. Fear crawled icily through my veins, my breakfast threatening to rise up my throat.

Lord Orm sighed, tilting his pale head. “Odin’s raven, I didn’t mean to hit her that hard,” he muttered. “No matter, she was unsuitable. I shall reimburse you for your lost thrall. Please see my purse-keeper on your way out.”

Still unwilling to look, I heard the thrall-master, now void of his thrall, grunt. “Thank you, my Lord.” Heavy footsteps thumped through the room as he left the hall.

“And then there were four,” sang the Lord. “Why are you still dressed?” He moved into my line of vision, and I couldn’t help meeting his eyes. I stilled the tremble in my fingers and resumed removing my trousers.

I moved my gaze to his staff, trying to focus on it, to calm my fear. Held in the end of the metal shaft was a gently glinting orb, the size of an eye. Around it was a ring, also made from gold, and flowing from the ring were twenty golden leaves. I had crafted every one painstakingly, and individually. No two staffs could be the same, and the stronger the design, the stronger the staff.

This staff has just caused the death of a woman. It’s hardly going to calm you down, Reyna.

The tinge of red against the gleaming gold made the tremble threaten to return as I crouched, sliding my trousers down my legs.

“Too slow.” Lord Orm lifted his staff as I straightened. A beam of bright light shone from the top, moving over my body like a torch. Everywhere the light touched, the moss-green fabric of my shirt burned away. The garment fell in tattered ribbons around my feet, leaving me standing in nothing but my cotton knickers.

In all my years as a thrall, my whole damned life in fact, I had never felt so vulnerable. I’d been made to strip many times. I had been beaten and thrashed many times. But I was too precious to be soiled. My status as a rune-marked had provided me a degree of safety. At least, it had kept me in control of my own body. The energy required to use my craft was massive, so my mind and body must be alert and ready for work, always. Nothing was more valuable to the Gold Court fae than their staffs, and therefore the rune-marked who could forge them.

Now though, my thrall-master had no say. Lord Orm was not a male to be told no.

Slowly, he reached out a hand and placed it on my shoulder. My skin crawled at his touch, but I let him turn me around. He paused when my back was to him, and I felt him press a cool finger to the rune on my spine.

“A gold-giver ,” he murmured. “Useful, to have a bound female that, in addition to servicing my needs, could also keep my staff in pristine condition.”

I sucked in air, trying to keep calm.

He won’t hurt me. Not here, not today. I’m worth too much to him.

“I could even rent you out to my friends. But who ever saw a human with hair this color?” He turned me back to face him and lifted a handful of my hair to wave it in front of my eyes.

Lord Orm’s lips pulled back in distaste as he dropped the clump of hair. “That would have to change.” A flash of defiance almost showed on my face, and I felt my lips part in protest.

For two decades, my hair had caused me nothing but grief. It made me different, made me stand out. It had made me a target, even within the enslaved human community. But my treatment by those around me had made me stronger than the other humans. It had forced me to stand up for myself, to constantly be one step ahead. My hair had become my armor.

“You have something to say on the matter, little gold-giver ?” Lord Orm’s words were a whisper, almost seductive. Gooseflesh rose on my arms when the gold in his staff glowed.

An image swam through my head, hazy but impossible to dispel.

It was of me, tied to a bed covered in milk-white sheets, with four golden posts at each corner. I was face down, naked, the rune on my back criss-crossed with red welts from the whip.

“Nothing, my Lord,” I forced myself to say as his vision sapped my strength. My voice was small and weak. I hated it. Despised it. Despised myself for submitting.

Lord Orm stared at me a long moment as I tried to force the image out of my head.

“This one!” he announced with a flourish, lifting his staff and casting it toward me.

He hadn’t even looked at the others.

Blood pounded in my ears, and black dots flickered across my vision as the magical one of me on the bed faded.

The hope that had burned behind my fear fled as reality punched me in the gut.

I would become the cruel fae’s bound concubine.

Which meant the life of servitude I had lived so far would look like a fucking paradise.