21. Chapter 21

Chapter twenty-one

T he Resistance has an enormous, military grade underground bunker. I don’t know why I’m so surprised. I always knew my little cell was just that, little. Insignificant. Disposable. And anything higher up was kept on a strict need to know basis. And I didn’t need to know.

Imagine if Mabon had realised who I was? He could have tortured me, and I probably would have told him everything. I’m not some ultra brave, government trained agent. I’m just an angry bloke that used to meet his friends in the pub every Wednesday night and talk shit about how we were going to take down the fey.

I was an idiot. I still am an idiot. My time with the fey has not changed me that much.

But I’m an idiot who is playing with the big boys now. As every stomp of combat boots along this concrete corridor seems to be telling me.

Mabon is so surrounded by black-clad militants, I can barely see him, even though he is being marched along just ahead of me.

I can just about make out his voice, wittering away about something, but the echoing stomp of this many boots is drowning the words out. I don’t think his guards are replying to him.

Suddenly, his entourage turns sharply left and bundles him into a room. My entourage keeps us going down the hallway at a fast clip. I twist my head to see Mabon.

He stands in the middle of the bare room, cuffed hands before him.

“Are you going to tie me up and torture me? I’ve never been abducted before. I don’t know what to expect, so please excuse me if I break any etiquette.”

Then he is out of view and I can no longer hear him. My guards keep marching along and along. How big is this place? How far am I going to be from Mabon?

I’m turned sharply right and deposited in a small room that looks an awful lot like a cell. One neatly made bed with a scratchy looking blanket. One small closet with no doors. But at least it looks like there is a toilet and a shower around the other side of a thin partition wall.

The door to the hallway slams shut behind me and I flinch. I’m not going to try the handle to see if it is locked. I don’t want to know. Ignorance is bliss.

Silence settles over me. Nothing but the hum of the fluorescent light. It almost makes me shiver. It feels harsh after all the noise and chaos that was around me mere moments ago.

I’m alone. Truly alone. And it is a lot to take in. In the palace, there were always servants lurking about. This is the first time I’ve had actual solitude in a very long time.

Though, there are probably cameras. My gaze darts around the ceiling and wall, and sure enough, there are several. It’s fine. It’s an underground bunker, there are probably cameras everywhere.

My attention falls to the closet. I thought it was empty, but a closer inspection reveals some very precisely folded clothes.

Jeans. A tee shirt. A plain black hoodie. Crisp white socks. Brand new boxer briefs. And a pair of cheap unbranded trainers. It all appears to be in my size, which is nothing short of miraculous.

I look down at my bare chest and absurdly tight leather trousers and wince. They all saw me dressed like this, and now my skin is itching. They would all have seen my purple glittery collar as well.

Nausea rolls through me. I stagger into the bathroom area and over to the mirror above the sink. Amethyst jewels sparkle at me. My fingers fumble at my neck. It feels and looks like a simple buckle. I undo it and it falls to the floor with a thud.

I stare at it and chuckle dryly. Is that it? It seemed so powerful and insurmountable. I thought I’d be wearing it for the rest of my life. For all that it symbolises, it’s just a piece of leather.

Gingerly, I pick it up and toss it into the bin. It’s gone. Just like that chapter of my life. Over and done with.

I hurry over to the shower. There is a thin, rough towel hanging forlornly on a rail and a lone bottle of budget brand shampoo inside the shower cubicle. That’s good enough for me.

I quickly strip and squeeze myself into the cubicle. My elbows are going to bash the glass every time I move, but it’s fine. I am not going to allow myself to grieve for the luxury of the palace. It would be absurd to miss the place where I was kept a prisoner.

A short while later, I’m showered, dried and dressed and sitting on the bunk. The fabric of the clothes is rubbing against my skin. Everywhere. All over me. Surely clothes didn’t always feel like this and I was simply used to it before? It’s so uncomfortable. And my movements are restricted. Nevermind the fact it’s going to be super easy to get overheated and sweaty.

I jump a mile as the door flings open. I have one second to recognise Amanda and then she flings herself at me. I put my arms around her and hug her back. Her red curls tickle my nose.

She pulls away and stares at me with watery eyes. Her brows furrow.

“You look good, Blake,” she says. “Really good.”

She pokes my face. I laugh and swat her hand away. “Thanks. Where are the rest of the gang?”

She frowns. “They didn’t get security clearance.”

“Oh.”

That’s fine. I guess I’ll see them when I get out of here. I’m sure the Resistance are going to have a shit ton of questions for me first.

As soon as that thought crosses my mind, a neatly dressed guard appears in the doorway Amanda left open.

“Mr Robinson, it’s time for your debriefing with Mr Jones. If you would come this way, please.”

See? I knew it. A shit ton of questions. And I’m glad it’s happening now. I’d rather get it over with. So I nod and stand. Amanda takes my hand.

“I’m allowed to go with you for emotional support,” she says.

I squeeze her hand. That sounds nice. Really nice.

We are led through a maze of featureless hallways to a bland office. The man behind the desk stands and gestures at the two chairs set opposite him. He nods at the guard and the door shuts behind us. Amanda and I take our seats while still holding hands.

The man across the desk doesn’t look up from his notes. He is a middle-aged mousy man with glasses but something about him screams danger.

“What do the fey know?” he says softly, without looking at me.

“Nothing!” I protest.

He scribbles something on his paper. “Nobody expects you to have withstood torture.”

My spine stiffens. “I wasn’t tortured. I wasn’t asked anything. They didn’t know I was Resistance.”

More scribbling. A long, drawn out silence. Somewhere a clock ticks.

“Why were you taken?”

Prickly, itching heat spreads across my cheeks. “Mabon liked the way I looked. He claimed me as a pet.”

The silence is not as long this time. But he still isn’t looking at me. It is unnerving as hell, which is probably the point.

“To your understanding, what is a pet?”

I blink at the carefully worded question. I don’t know what I was expecting him to say, but it wasn’t this.

“A…a sex slave,” I stammer.

Amanda gasps and squeezes my hand tightly. I can’t look at her, so I stare down at my denim covered jeans instead.

“Were you sexually assaulted?”

His tone sounds like he is asking if it is raining outside. Casual. Only mildly curious. And I cannot tell if I hate it.

The silence drags, and I take a moment to realise that this time, I’m the one who has caused it. He asked me a question and I haven’t answered it.

“No?” I say, and it sounds like a question.

Maybe it is. It’s not as if I’ve had a chance to process everything that has happened. I don’t know how I feel about it.

“Were you coerced into having sex?”

I gulp. Amanda’s grip on my hand tightens even more. Was I? Is that what happened? I remember I had doubts at first. I don’t know the answer, but I can’t stand anymore silences.

“Possibly?” I blurt.

The pencil scratches across the paper. How on earth is the noise so loud? Is it a special type of noisy paper or something? He still doesn’t look up.

“Did you have sexual encounters with Prince Mabon?”

My cheeks are burning now. My knees are trembling. There is no wriggle room in this direct question. I cannot evade or deny.

“Yes,” I manage to force out of my tight throat.

Amanda is cutting off the circulation to my hand. The man’s pencil pauses. He looks up at me over the rim of his glasses.

“I’m sorry for what you have been through. We will arrange counselling for you.”

I bite back my laugh. There were many, many times in the palace that I thought about my future need for therapy. And here I am now with an official-type person agreeing with me.

“As for the physical effects, we are pretty certain fey cannot transmit or carry human diseases.”

“Thanks, that’s good to know,” I say, and I don’t think I sound too deranged.

He nods sharply and turns his attention back to his notes. I take a deep, shuddery breath and try to brace myself.

“Did you gain a comprehension of the layout of the palace? Have the fey altered it?”

My heart thuds. A strange shivery sensation washes over me. I thought he was going to ask for more details about the things I got up to with Mabon.

The pencil pauses. “We don’t need to know any details about your assault. That can be saved for your therapist.”

I open and close my mouth several times.

“It’s quite usual to feel conflicted about the word, ‘assault’. Confusion is a normal response.”

I stare at him.

“Shall we move on to our next topic of conversation?”

I nod helplessly.

I’m relieved. Hugely. I did not want to talk about intimate things. But my heart still feels heavy. I swear my soul is aching. It seems answering questions about the layout of the palace is still going to feel like betrayal.

It’s a horrible feeling. I hate it. I haven’t betrayed anyone. I’m not a traitor. Mabon is going to be fine. I’ve done the right thing.

So why doesn’t it feel like it?

Damn it. I really do need that therapist.