38. Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Eight

The room went quiet as all heads turned to face me.

The musicians stumbled over their notes, quickly recovering as the High Priest stood.

“There she is,” he drawled, swiping a glass of wine off a nearby tray as he sauntered over to me.

The nobles of his court slipped into deep bows as Dukovich passed by. He walked through the crowd with bored indifference, his eyes picking apart my body with a predatory gaze.

“You look ravishing, Hyacinth. Just ravishing. I had to show you off to my court—show them the prize I have brought The Silliands and its people. It would be selfish of me to keep you all to myself, wouldn’t you agree?”

I kept my chin up and shoulders back as his eyes roamed me. I would not let him intimidate me.

I will not let him intimidate me.

“Oh, how I would just love to taste you,” he said slowly, reaching for my hair.

I snatched my head away before his fingers could intertwine with my curls. The chuckle that left his lips made the hair on the back of my neck stand as he gestured his head, signaling his guards over.

My spine stiffened as they approached us.

A chilling smile spread across his face and before I had time to move away a golden collar clasped around my neck.

My hands shot to my throat, clawing at the thick band. I gasped, pulling at the collar; my fingers desperately searching for a way to break it from my neck.

“You see—in this court—people take what they want. And I have taken you, so you belong to me now, Hyacinth.” He smirked and added, “Be a good girl, and I’ll be gentle.”

I spat at him.

The room gasped at my blatant disrespect to their leader.

“I belong to no one. You will not lay a hand on me. Not now . . . not ever.”

“We shall see about that,” the High Priest mused, wiping my spit from his cheek as he waved a hand in front of me.

A chain appeared in his palm, slithering like a snake in the air as it attached itself to my collar with a quiet clank. He gave the golden chain a hard tug and I stumbled forward.

“Come, sit with me. Join the festivities.”

I wrapped my fingers around the chain, yanking it as hard as I could.

The collar tightened around my neck.

Dukovich turned his head slowly back to me as the corner of his lips curled upward.

“The harder you resist, the tighter the collar will be. If you wish to breathe, you will comply.” He pulled me forward again and I resisted.

I would not make this easy for him.

If he wanted to suffocate me here, in front of his entire court, I would let him.

I dug my heels into the ground, refusing to move any further. The collar constricted around my neck, slowly closing off my airway.

“You still choose to defy me,” Dukovich stated, amusement licking each word. “You truly are one of a kind.” He gave the chain another tug, forcing me to stumble forward again.

“I will never be yours,” I growled, my voice wavering from the lack of air. “You can torture me, you can push me to the edge of death, and still I will not bend for you.”

He chuckled and pulled me closer, pressing his body tight against mine, his hand trailing down my spine in a forced caress.

“I do love a challenge,” he whispered into my ear.

I glared at him with as much defiance as I could muster.

But inside . . . inside I was screaming.

He dragged me toward his lavish throne at the front of the room and pushed me down roughly onto the golden carved arm. Before I could regain my composure, he was sitting next to me, leaning back into the chair with a hand placed possessively on my knee.

He motioned his hands toward the room and the banquet continued as if nothing had happened. The immaculately dressed guests were seemingly unfazed by our little display and went about their conversations and dances without giving us a second thought.

Every minute spent in this room felt like an eternity.

Every time he touched me, every time he whispered into my ear, rage sprang to life inside of me like a fire devouring every inch of my organs.

I sat motionless, gritting my teeth as his hand slowly moved up my thigh.

I hardly noticed the soiree going on around me. The time that passed with each song from the ensemble blurred together as my mind raced; solely focused on the man sitting next to me.

The hand that had moved from my knee to my thigh felt like a branding iron against my skin, scorching and searing every inch it traveled.

And the manacle around my neck . . . the weight of it seemed to grow heavier with each passing second, anchoring me in place as if I was nothing more than a possession to be displayed.

Suddenly, Dukovich stood, pulling me from my thoughts and back into the obstreperous room. He tugged on the chain, forcing me to my feet. “I’ve had enough for the night.” His tone was bored, unamused by the revelry surrounding us as he took a step toward the marble entrance.

I complied, desperate to get out of this room—desperate to get back to my chambers. My head buzzed from the lack of air as the crowd parted to let us through. Two armed guards pushed open the heavy doors and I let my eyes quickly study them.

A sword was strapped to each of their backs, with belts of knives strapped to their chests. From the loops of their belt, Uthrens hung.

I recoiled as the memory of the pain they inflicted shot like phantom pains across my body. A gold insignia was embroidered into the chest of their black leathers and it crinkled as they bowed before their leader.

The doors shut at our backs with a loud thud.

The quiet clicking of the High Priest’s boots against marble as we walked the corridor was the only sound now, but it rang in my ears louder than any of the music had.

My heart began to beat faster.

My head started to swim from the lack of oxygen.

We were alone.

I was alone with him.

I did not want to be alone with him.

I gasped, trying to breathe—trying to calm myself. But the panic was already crashing down on me.

I staggered to the wall, clutching the tapestry between my fingers as I struggled to stay standing.

Darkness was closing in on me.

My eyes blurred as my throat pushed against the metal necklace, begging for air. Dukovich scooped me into his arms, and I tried to resist him—resist his touch—but the weight of the panic was swallowing me.

Crushing my bones as I tried to claw out of it.

Within seconds he tethered me to my chambers, laying me on my bed as I scrambled out of his arms. Scurrying to the corner and thrashing as I struggled to breathe, I pushed myself further into the wall as he approached me—eyes widening with every step he took.

Off.

I needed it off .

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t see.

“Stay.” I gasped. “Away.”

I pressed myself harder against the wall, willing myself to disappear into the stone against my back.

He knelt down next to me, and I clawed at him, my nails leaving gashes across his face.

He did not balk at my assault.

Dukovich grasped my wrists tight in one hand, pinning them in my lap as he pressed the palm of his other hand onto my collar and it broke open, landing into his open fingers with a loud clink .

He stood fast, taking a step back, watching as my hands grabbed my throat. Our eyes met as I took large breaths in, trying to breathe away the panic that now had its claws penetrating my chest.

For a fleeting moment, I could have sworn I saw pain in his gaze.

Then he was gone.

As if his absence was permission, my tears began to fall.