Chapter 14

Chapter 14

I n the darkness, Mariah had no way of knowing what day it was, but she estimated at least three days had passed since Andrian’s strange visit.

And she hadn’t been fed once.

After what she’d believed to be the first day, her stomach had settled into its familiar pangs, the discomfort like an old friend. The few sips of tepid water she’d been given calmed her throat but sat heavy in the emptiness of her gut.

By the second day, Mariah was feeling weaker. Exhausted. She grew light-headed, and her thoughts floated idly through her mind. She couldn’t sleep; her stomach shriveled into a tight ball that panged angrily against the hollow walls of her abdomen.

The third day, she thought she might be on the verge of madness. The water had stopped, and her thirst added to her hunger. Everything was shrinking, shriveling, drying from the inside out. Her eyelids were heavy, her tongue was thick, and every bone and muscle in her body hurt.

Mariah had always thought starvation would feel like a wasting sickness. But really, it was consuming her, devouring her until she feared there would be nothing left.

She was so lost to her hunger and thirst that she didn’t notice the servant arrive. Not until Ellis’s soft snicker broke the monotonous silence. The guard smiled cruelly at her as the servant shuffled forward, bearing a tray, a glass of water, and a pitcher of wine.

When the scent hit her, all humanity left her.

The aroma was rich, warm, and savory as it wrapped around her, running devilish claws through her mind and down the empty walls of her stomach. Instinct consumed her: a drive for food, for water, for anything to abate the ravenous pain wracking her famished body. She lurched forward, off her cot, a feral growl rumbling low from the back of her throat.

She’d always been a bit of a caged, starved beast.

Now it was just far more literal.

Ellis unlocked her cell door with a sneer, waving the servant in. She bent down, placing the tray on the floor, and hastily retreated.

The moment the door closed, Mariah launched herself at the tray of food, nearly knocking the liquids over in her desperate haste.

“Pathetic,” Ellis muttered through the bars of her cell, then followed the servant and stalked a few paces down the hall. Mariah paid them no heed.

The meal was delectable. Roast mutton, mashed potatoes, a mound of vegetables sauteed in a sauce that was both salty and sweet. The water washed down her shoveling bites, and the wine burned her throat with welcomed pain.

“There are no gifts here. Do not fall for this. Stay the course, stay strong.”

Somewhere, in the part of her mind that had not yet succumbed to pure instinct, a goddess whispered to her.

But Mariah ignored the voice, in no mood to listen. Not when her stomach clenched around something other than itself, when her palette tasted of herbs and spices and her nose was filled with the scent of cooked lamb.

The plate was empty within minutes. Mariah had to force herself from licking the last of the sauces and scraps from the porcelain. The water was now empty, and the wine slowly seeped into her veins with molten contentedness. She sat back, reveling in the bloat to her stomach, resting a hand on her chest as she breathed deeply.

As she sat and breathed … the molten flow of her blood thickened into sludge.

Into something far more noxious.

Mariah’s eyes flew open just as her conscious mind processed the warning that had flitted through her moments ago.

There were no gifts here.

The binds wrapped around her like a sudden vise. Her limbs fell away from her control, her mind locked into a steel trap as surely as her magic was by the black and gold cuffs around her wrists. Realization spawned through her, rash and wild and angry, as the paralysis settled into her bones.

She’d been drugged.

Her mind was very much awake, but everything else was sealed away. Terror gripped her in its clutches as footsteps and voices echoed in the hall.

“She was starving. I’m sure she’s eaten it all by now. Shawth said it wouldn’t take more than a few minutes for it to take effect.”

The guards, Ellis and Konnor, appeared in the dim hallway, Konnor carrying his usual allume lamp. Ellis unlocked the door, standing in the frame. “Stand.”

The command tore through Mariah. Her mind screamed and kicked and fought and scratched, but it was no use. Her body was no longer hers to control. She felt her legs unfold, her arms pushing her up. Once she was standing, she turned to face her captors, hoping and praying to the goddesses who’d tried to stop this from happening that those men would see the rage boiling inside her irises, like a forest set ablaze.

The idle amusement on Ellis’s face told her that her prayers were ignored. Just as she’d ignored the warning.

She couldn’t say she blamed Zadione and her sister. They’d tried to help, and she ignored them. As she tended to do.

Ellis turned and snapped his fingers. Two servant girls, eyes wide and set into youthful faces no more than sixteen years old, melted out from the shadows.

“Take her upstairs, to where we showed you. Ensure she’s bathed and dressed. The lords expect her at dinner tonight.” Ellis faced Mariah. “Go with them and do whatever they tell you.”

Mariah obeyed, screaming in her mind the entire time, but she knew her face was slack and her eyes were empty.

The girls who bathed and dressed her were gentle, and Mariah couldn’t deny it was nice to feel clean for the first time in weeks. Her hair was washed, skin scrubbed and shaved, her face brightened with powder, and her eyes lined with kohl.

Any feelings of thankfulness dissipated when she caught her first glimpse of what they planned to clothe her in.

Mariah had worn plenty of what others might deem to be scandalous articles of clothing in her life. She’d even worn no more than lingerie to her own Winter Solstice, her body on display for hundreds to see.

But that had always been on her own terms, and she’d worn those clothes as a tribute to her power. This … this was a mockery. A clear attempt to devalue her, debase her, to ensure she felt as worthless as they wanted her to believe she was.

One of the servant girls picked up the scrap of fabric, a flimsy, see-through thing layered with tulle and lined with feathers and lace. “Step forward, please,” she said meekly, keeping her eyes downcast.

With the drugs pumping through her, Mariah had no choice but to obey. The two girls slid the dress up her body, turning her to face the mirror in the corner.

When she saw her reflection, her mind crumpled. Collapsed inward like a dying star. With just a glance, she knew what this night had in store for her.

Mariah had lost so much weight in the passing weeks, but she knew she was still beautiful; just not in the way she’d always loved. Gone were her curves, the muscles that filled out her shoulders and arms and legs. Instead, she was all sharp angles, pale skin, and straight lines.

The barely there garment she wore just brushed the skin of her upper thighs, and with a pang in her chest she knew that mere weeks ago, she wouldn’t have fit in such a scrap of material. She wore no underwear, too aware of how bare she was under the light pink lace and tulle.

Everything about her appearance was an attack on who she was, on the power she’d tried to reclaim for women across the kingdom.

Tonight, dressed this way, she would belong to the men around her.

She no longer belonged to herself.

Mariah retreated further into the dark recesses of her mind as Ellis reappeared in the chamber doorway, perusing her form as a look that made Mariah shrink flickered across his face.

“You girls are dismissed. Mariah—you come with me.”

Mariah begged and pleaded for her feet to stay rooted to the ground, for the drugs pulsing through her system to dissipate and grant her back her autonomy.

Nothing worked. She turned, leaving the image of the empty, dark-haired doll clothed in blush-pink fabric in the mirror as she stepped after the guard and into the hall.

Her feet were bare, and she felt every touch of the cold stone on her soles. Mariah trailed behind Ellis, her body rigid and tight and not hers. The guard stopped, stepping to the side to watch as she continued padding forward.

Of course, she didn’t stop. No more than an automation, a statue given life.

He didn’t touch her until she’d drawn up beside him.

“Stop,” he commanded, his voice carrying a tinge of something that made her want to whimper if she could.

She halted.

Ellis circled her like a shark that dwelled in the Mirrored Sea, a finger pressed against his lips, eyes too hungry.

“I’ve waited many, many weeks for them to make you fair game to us,” he said, low and cruel. The finger against his lips reached out to her chest, pulling at the lace and tulle around her cleavage. “A bit thin for my taste, but …” His hand slid around her body, grasping her ass, pulling her flush against him. He smelled of sweat and alcohol and hatred, and the bulge of his erection had her stomach roiling with the beginnings of a gag.

She couldn’t react. Her face was frozen as her body revolted against the touch, the beast within clawing for a way out.

But that was the problem with beasts in chains. Those chains often held, and the beast stayed in its cage.

“I suppose I’ll look past it for a chance at some Goddess-blessed pussy.” His voice was as thick as blood in her hair.

“Sir Ellis!” a shrill, feminine voice echoed down the hallway. The guard released Mariah with a frustrated growl, stepping back and whirling to meet the newcomer.

“Lady Anniliese. How can I help you?”

If Mariah could feel anything other than lifelessness and disgust, she would’ve been swept away by burning rage at the sight of the pretty, dark-haired girl rounding the corner, clothed in an elegant gown of cobalt blue.

But that rage was doused when Anniliese halted in the hallway, visceral shock, surprise, and horror flowing across her features. A flush crept into her cheeks as she took in Mariah’s starved frame, the limp drapery of her hair, the obnoxious doll-pink dress.

“What …” Anniliese swallowed, looking back at Ellis. “What are you doing with our … guest?”

“That does not concern you, Lady Anniliese,” Ellis said gruffly. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Anniliese did not seem satisfied with Ellis’s response. Her brow twisted, gathering her skirts in her hands. “She is not supposed to leave her cell. Lord Shawth commanded it.”

“Lord Shawth demanded that she join the other lords for their cocktail hour this evening. I suggest you stand aside, Lady Anniliese. This does not concern you.”

Anniliese’s honey-brown stare lingered on Mariah. Beneath the heavy weight of the drug, Mariah struggled—she fought for something to reach her eyes, for her lips to twitch, for her brows to contract. Something to show the other girl this was evil, to beg her to help. Anything.

She doubted Anniliese would do anything, even if she knew, but Mariah had to try. If for no other reason than to extend a plea between two women.

And for a moment, she thought it had worked. Anniliese opened her mouth, brow still twisted.

“Don’t do something stupid, girl. Your father can only protect you for so long.” Anniliese blanched, her blush leaking from her face, as Ellis grinned. “Now, excuse us. Lord Shawth doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” With a rough-handed grip, Ellis dragged Mariah forward.

Mariah latched onto the terrified pity in Anniliese’s honey-brown eyes, if for no other reason than to remind her that at least one person in this castle hadn’t yet lost their humanity.

Rounding a corner, Ellis released Mariah’s arm. “Keep moving.”

And she did.

They approached a familiar set of doors at the end of the hallway, and everything in Mariah screamed to fight back, to run away, to not cross that threshold.

It was useless, of course.

Ellis pushed open the doors, and a cacophony of drunkenness and boredom greeted Mariah.

A deadly combination for a woman without her power.

“Ah, there she is!” A familiar, slimy voice rose above the rest.

The room quieted, many faces and eyes swinging to her. To soak her in, to take everything she didn’t want to give, to reduce her to nothing more than ashes and dust.

Mariah withdrew fully inside herself, hiding amongst the ruins of her soul and the scraps of her magic that she could just barely touch, just barely reach if she stretched her fingers past that black and gold wall. The silver and gold brushed against her, no more than a whisper, not enough to act but enough to lend the strength of the goddesses they’d once belonged to.

We are here. You are not alone. You can withstand this.

You will not break.

Mariah was not so sure, but she let herself sink into those thoughts.

Shawth rose from his seat, glass of wine nearly overflowing. His eyes held a dark merriment as they swept down her ridiculous clothing and the body it did nothing to hide.

“Our little whore queen, come to join us for drinks.” Chuckles echoed off the walls. Shawth sipped his wine, the red staining his lips like blood. “And finally dressed appropriately. Maybe she’ll be able to offer a real service to her kingdom tonight.”

Somewhere, deep inside the hiding place in her soul, Mariah felt a small swell of nauseousness. She clenched tighter to the wall where her magic was held captive, dropping further into numbing darkness.

Shawth set his wine glass down on the table before stepping out from his chair.

“Come here,” he said, voice low.

Mariah’s feet moved. One slow, barefoot step after the other. She walked around the table of lords, their hands grazing her exposed skin just as their eyes ripped her apart. They were a pack of wolves, and she was nothing more than a fawn, wounded and helpless as they barked and yipped and bit. Soon, she stood before Shawth, his face wearing that same hungry look she’d quickly come to know as something to be feared.

She wasn’t familiar with fear. At least, she hadn’t been before this place, when a family who meant more to her than her own happiness had sheltered and nurtured her.

Now, it was an old companion, holding her close against the true evilness of her world.

Shawth reached out his hand. Touched her cheek, ran it down her neck. Cupped her breast, the meaty flesh of his palm stinging.

“You are much better like this,” he muttered, still grinning. “So … compliant.” He glanced at the watching lords. “Now, why don’t you be a good girl for us all and kneel .” His command was louder, echoing around the hall.

As Mariah dropped to the floor, the captive part of her sobbed.

She knew this command was intentional. That, somehow, they knew Andrian had said words so very similar not long ago in the shadowy stacks of the palace library. Perhaps he’d been forced to share those details with them himself.

His image, lost and broken and confused as he stood in her cell's doorway, flashed through her mind.

She didn’t know what to believe when it came to him. Confusion and warring instincts joined her fear, settling beside her in the hollow crevices of her soul.

“Well done, Lord Shawth!” boomed a boisterous voice. A voice that thought it commanded attention, believed itself powerful, but was just empty and full of malicious, useless feelings of inferiority.

The voice of the Lord of Andburgh, the Crossroad City. Mariah’s home before a letter from the queen started her life anew.

Her mind fled to her family, still residing in Andburgh. What could Donnet’s presence here mean for them?

Two pairs of boots filled her vision. Heavy hands gripped her hair.

“Stand up, pretty girl.”

She stood. Lord Donnet stared at her with too much possession.

“How did you do it, Lord Shawth? Her compliance is truly remarkable.”

Shawth grinned. “We got her starving, then laced some uxosil in her food. I always knew she was more animal than woman; she didn’t even think twice about it. Who knew it would be so easy to fell a queen? ” More laughter echoed as he sneered the word.

“I’d heard rumors about the drug but had no idea it would be so potent.” Shawth’s grin faltered slightly, brow twisting in contemplation. “Unfortunately, I think it will only work to break her spirit. We can’t force her to abdicate like this; she must do that willingly. That queen magic is stubborn and too tightly bound to her—only she can coax it out. But I imagine we can try to spark a … change of heart from her, don’t you think?”

Donnet’s expression turned curious. “So she is conscious?”

Shawth nodded. “Yes. Fully conscious and aware of us, but unable to move her body on her own or speak for herself. It will not last long, but …” Those hands reached back out. Drew her too close to him. Pressed his body against hers. “For now, it’s absolutely perfect.”

He released her, pushing her toward the table of lords with a slap to her ass. The material of her short dress fluttered, and she knew too much skin flashed.

“Now go. Be a good girl and show our lords a good night.”

Her world blurred.

Hands were on her skin. Lips were on her neck. Hot, putrid breath touched her mouth and nose. Her eyes were open, but she did not see any of it; she stayed curled and hidden and safe against her wall, with her magic, letting her body get swept away. Bodies could be healed and cleaned, but her soul, her spirit … that would always belong to her, and she wouldn’t let them have it.

“I could’ve had her before, back in Andburgh, you know,” Donnet’s loud voice boasted, filtering through her haze. “I knew which taverns she frequented. But I just didn’t think it appropriate to lower myself like that, you know?”

“And yet you lower yourself now?” The answering voice was softer, deadlier, and achingly familiar.

Donnet snorted. “Hardly. Plenty fine to touch, but I think all of us agree that fucking a girl like that will foul you forever.”

More laughter. But not from that voice.

“Well, I suppose I’m just as dirty as her.”

Mariah was aware of the pause in the conversation. How the hands on her thighs stopped circling, how the fingers in her hair withdrew. Donnet floundered.

“You know that’s not what I meant, my boy?—”

“We know, Lord Donnet.” Lord Laurent’s cool voice echoed around the room. “But perhaps you and my son both make a good point.” Laurent leveled his golden stare on Mariah.

“Go to my son,” he commanded.

Mariah rose, turned to the man with onyx hair and gemstone blue eyes, and walked. His gaze tracked her, and she could sense something off about him. That same unsettledness that was in him the other day, when he’d visited her in the cell.

Something familiar and awake flickered in his cobalt irises.

When she stood before him, he shifted in his seat, opening his thighs.

“Sit,” Andrian said without breaking her stare.

Mariah wasn’t sure at that moment if it was the drugs, or just him, that compelled her to obey. To settle her legs on either side of his, the pose so familiar and so painful she could hardly breathe.

The second their skin touched, however, something happened. That familiar charge, that lightning of power that had graced them only a few times before when they’d taken a step that would alter their lives. It whipped and curled around her, lancing across her skin and into the coiled ball where she’d curled herself. She knew he felt it, too: could feel his body go rigid, could see his pupils widen and dilate. Everything about him shifted, no longer hidden by a layer of confusion and shadow. He looked awake and alert, his eyes darting across her face, her body, and the room.

“Well, go on then, Andrian.” Shawth’s voice spliced the magnetic energy between them in two. “Looks like you’ve got our little guest all to yourself tonight.” The evil insinuation dripped off Shawth’s tongue like knives and venom.

Andrian’s eyes hardened, but he didn’t look away from Mariah’s face. Instead, he pulled her closer before he leaned forward and stood, her legs wrapped around his torso.

Mariah shivered, deep inside, at how familiar it all was. A distortion of what was once a moment they’d shared when they’d needed each other the most.

“I don’t fuck in public. I’ll take my prize in private if you don’t mind.” He dipped his head to Shawth and his father. “My Lords.”

With a tightening in his jaw, he strode toward the exit of the dining hall, Mariah still pressed tightly against his chest. The calls and whistles from lords who’d indulged in too much wine and unearned power chased them away.

Andrian’s steps were steady and even at first. But the further they grew from the hall, the closer they drew to the downward stairs and the cells beyond, the more they faltered. Mariah still didn’t have control of her body, but she tried to convey to him that he could put her down, that she could carry herself.

Nothing caught his attention.

Soon, they were outside her cell. He was pushing open the door and stepping inside. He deposited her on her cot made of stone, casting one last confused, broken glance at her, before walking back to the door of the cell.

Mariah only watched him, bewilderment and something else stirring in her belly.

Just before he walked from the cell, Andrian paused. Reached into a pocket. Withdrew a sharp, wicked looking paring knife clearly meant for slicing thick roasts of meat.

He tossed the knife at Mariah’s feet before pushing from the cell, locking the door, and disappearing down the hall.

Mariah stared after him for a moment before glancing down at the knife. The handle was gold, and the blade tempered steel. It was not meant for killing, but it was beautiful, nevertheless. She picked it up, her movements slow and jerking as she fought against the fading drugs still tearing through her system.

She tucked the blade under the mattress, wedging it between the cot and the wall, and was filled with foreign certainty.

Everything since the courtyard was a lie.

Her Andrian was still in there, just as trapped as she was.

And she had to get him out.