14

"There, there." The Vohrainian healer strokes my forehead with her soft palm. "Poor dove. Sweet thing. You'll be alright soon." She wipes my mouth and sets aside the bowl I just vomited into.

"I'll be alright because I'm back in close proximity to the King," I say faintly. "That's what you mean, isn't it?"

"Well, yes."

"He poisoned me. You know that, don't you?"

She nods sympathetically, hitching her embroidered shawl more closely around her shoulders. "Healers can't purge poison, lovey."

"I know." I draw in a deep breath and release it as a long sigh. I'm in yet another room—an even plainer one this time, intended for the servants of palace guests. It's a sign of the King's disapproval with my escape attempt, but I'm fortunate he didn't throw me in a cell. At least this bed is comfortable, though I would trade it for Kyreagan's nest in a heartbeat .

"Thank you for your help," I tell her. "Do you know how long the poison lasts? What if I get pregnant? Would it affect the baby? Who made the poison for the King?"

She darts an anxious glance at the bedroom door. "Your stomach should settle now. I'll have the kitchen make you some good chicken broth. Try to drink it all when it arrives, and then get some sleep. The King has quite the evening planned for you tomorrow."

After rinsing the vomit bowl in the bathing room, she hurries away. I don't blame her for being too nervous to answer my questions. Rahzien must be a terrible man to serve.

He wasn't lying about his access to magical poisons, or the link between us. And it follows, then, that he must have been telling the truth about the poisoning of the dragon clan.

Surely they'll find a way to survive. They have Thelise with them on Ouroskelle—maybe she can counteract the magical poison. Kyreagan won't die. Can't die.

Parma brings me the broth. She's sporting a large bruise on one cheekbone. "One of the guards," she whispers when I ask her about it. "I didn't bow to him."

"Fuck these bastards," I hiss under my breath.

"They say you tried to escape." She looks at me tentatively, biting her lip.

"I did. But I've been poisoned, and the farther I get from the King, the sicker I become. I nearly died tonight. Could you check on Callim and Ondette for me? Make sure they're alright, that no one saw them helping me."

She nods and picks up the soup tray. "Try to sleep, my lady."

"Not much chance of that."

But I do sleep, against my will and my worries. My body demands rest, and punishes me with nightmares in which I sprout wings and try to fly back to Kyreagan, only to be endlessly buffeted by a storm until I crash into the ocean and drown in the deep.

Morning crawls between the curtains, a drab gray light from an overcast sky. Parma assists me with a bath and dresses me in a silky white gown that splits in the front, just below my breasts, and flows open when I walk, revealing my body. The cups of the bodice are covered with crystalline gems and edged with lace, drawing attention to my cleavage. It's like the gown a bride might wear on her wedding night, and the undershorts I'm given to wear beneath it are equally silky and lacy, cupping my hips and thighs like a soft, sinister promise.

Parma helps me into the white lace stockings, ribbon garters, and high-heeled shoes I'm supposed to wear with the ensemble. She arranges my hair in loose golden waves, then adds a few silver bracelets.

"Just as the King commanded," she says quietly, as she tints my lashes, cheeks, and lips with cosmetics.

I submit to all of it. I don't want to make trouble for Parma, and I need to pick my battles with the King. I haven't seen him since the Vohrainian guards found me in the alley and brought me back to the palace, but I'm sure he'll have plenty to say about my attempted escape when we meet again.

"What about Callim and Ondette?" I whisper to Parma.

She shakes her head. "I couldn't find them last night. It was late… ‘most everyone was in bed, Your Highness."

"Thank you for trying."

Knuckles rap sharply on the half-open door of the bedroom and a guard leans in. "The King demands your presence in the rear courtyard, Conquered Consort."

"‘Conquered Consort' is such a mouthful," I say coolly, rising from the chair. "I'll take a ‘Your Highness' instead. Or a ‘Your Majesty.' Rolls off the tongue, don't you think?"

"You'll be less mouthy once you see what's waiting for you in the courtyard, bitch," he replies. "Move your ass. "

Lifting my chin, I stalk past him with the haughtiest expression I can muster, one that would have pleased my mother immensely. But when we reach the rear courtyard, a tremor runs through my body, and all my strength drains out of me.

Callim and Ondette kneel beside the fish pond. The King stands before them, facing away from me. He's naked to the waist, his broad, muscular back thickly dotted with freckles. He's holding Ondette by the chin, speaking to her in low tones. Her teeth are bravely clenched, but there's terror in her eyes. Callim's head hangs low, despair in the slump of his shoulders, his defiance extinguished.

At the sound of my footsteps and the guard's, the King turns around. "Ah, Spider, here you are." His eyes widen as he takes in my outfit, and for a second he doesn't speak.

He has mentioned his appreciation for my body before, but this is the first time he has openly admired me. There's a hint of vulnerability in the admiration—a sliver of a crack in his stony gaze.

"Why am I here?" I speak as calmly as I can.

Rahzien clears his throat, his eyes still roving my body. "Surely you recognize these two servants? The ones who helped you leave the palace last night?"

I arch an eyebrow and shrug. "I've probably seen them around the palace before, but not recently."

"Leaving me and lying to me?" Rahzien frowns. "I thought we were past this kind of defiance, Spider. In fact, I'd planned to let you off easy at the dinner with the nobles tonight, allowing them nothing but a kiss or a squeeze—but perhaps I'll give one or two of them more liberties with your royal person."

I swallow and pinch my lips together.

"Tell me the truth, and I'll set boundaries for tonight," he says. "Keep lying, and forfeit my protection. Did these two servants help you escape? They have each sworn they never saw you. "

"They're right," I say tightly. "They didn't help me. I escaped alone. I used a secret passage, stole clothes, and sneaked into the refuse cart without being seen by anyone."

Rahzien gazes flatly at me, but I'm beginning to read him better, and I can see a jealous kind of sorrow at the edges of those hard gray eyes. "I'm disappointed, Spider. Because of these two egregious sins, the lying and the leaving, I must punish you severely. I don't want to, do you understand? But you're forcing my hand. Tonight, you will share your bed with a man of my choosing. One of the nobles of Elekstan."

Oh… shit.

"But you want me for yourself," I falter.

"Yes. But you've proven that you're not worthy of me yet, and tonight is all about proving to the nobles of Elekstan that I can be generous to those who swear allegiance to Vohrain. I intend to bind the nobles to my will, and there's no better way than by getting them all to compete for a forbidden prize, a shameful pleasure. Don't worry, Spider—if the winner comes inside you, you'll be given a tonic to prevent pregnancy."

"Enough," gasps Ondette. "I confess. I took the Princess to my room, and I gave her my clothes and shoes."

Callim speaks up, his voice trembling. "And I hid her in the refuse cart and transported her beyond the palace walls."

Rahzien closes his eyes and smiles. "Honesty. How beautiful." Then he spins around, seizes Callim's head in both hands, and snaps his neck.

Ondette screams, but the sound is cut short as Rahzien grips her skull as well. The crack of her spine reverberates in my bones.

I sink down onto the steps, silent, my eyes bone-dry and wide with a horror too deep for tears.

He killed them both. Right in front of me .

Killed them. A moment ago they were breathing, speaking, warm and living—and now they lie limp, tumbled onto the cobblestones, their eyes empty.

Rahzien lifts Ondette gently, like a man might lift his bride, and drops her into the fish pond. The immediate frenzy of fins and silvery bodies makes me sick. My mother stocked that pond, not with pretty, harmless goldfish, but with vicious razorfins. And they probably haven't been fed in weeks.

Rahzien's bare back flexes as he picks up Callim and flings him into the pond, too, with a splash of glittering drops.

Then the King comes to me, where I sit motionless, devastated. He drops to one knee and tips my face up to his.

There's no admiration, no humor, no mercy in his gaze now, only an endless void.

"I value honest communication between us," he says. "It's something my family never had. I want you to understand how important it is to me."

I stare at him, incapable of feeling anything but shock.

"Now you understand what will happen if you try to run," he says quietly, almost comfortingly. "Not only to you, but to others. Have mercy on them, Spider. Don't make me do this again. Come on, now—repeat your lessons. These words are meant to guide you. Accept them, believe them, and we won't have to experience such unpleasantness again."

Hoarsely I begin to whisper the phrases. "I did not save my people, nor can I save myself."

"That's right, Spider," he murmurs, kissing my forehead with rough, warm lips. "Good girl."

I don't cry. Not even when I'm taken back to my room and left there for hours.

My mind is dull, hopeless, and hollow. Not a note of music anywhere in my soul. Even if someone came and filled the room with my favorite things, I wouldn't have the heart to touch any of them. They would give me no joy at all. I physically can't do anything except sit on the bed and gaze into nothing.

When evening approaches and Parma comes to my room to freshen my hair and makeup, I don't speak to her, because I can't form words. Nothing I could say has any meaning.

She brushes my hair, and plucks the loose strands free from the spines of the brush afterward.

Rahzien himself comes to fetch me for the feast. He's carrying two objects of silver filigree.

"This one is a mask." He fits it over the lower half of my face and locks it in place with a tiny key. "You'll be able to open your jaws enough to speak a little, and your lips are left exposed in case anyone wants to kiss you, but no one can put their cock in your mouth unless I give them the key."

I stare into the mirror, at the silver cage that entraps me from chin to cheekbones. A triangle of silver fits over my nose, and small silver teeth surround my lips, angling inward.

"Lift your foot, Spider. Now the other one." He slides the second contraption up my legs until it fits around my hips, over my undershorts. Rahzien latches the contraption shut, runs his finger beneath the top edge to make sure it's tight, and locks it with the same miniature key.

A triangle of silver filigree covers my pussy, while a thin band of silver runs between my legs and curves upward again between my ass cheeks, rejoining the belt at my lower back.

"This is a chastity belt. It works the same way as the mask, allowing limited access unless I gift someone the key," he says. " Ingenious, isn't it? I'm glad it fits. I wasn't sure it would. It was made for someone else."

Maybe he wants me to ask who wore it first. I couldn't care less.

When I don't respond, he peers into my eyes. Whatever he sees there must please him, because he smiles. "Come, Spider. Our guests are beginning to arrive. I'll dine with them, and you'll join us afterward. In the meantime, you and the other women will rehearse your entrance."

He takes my hand as we walk the hallways of my home. My white dress parts in the front, flowing open, revealing the silver prison around my hips. I cast one sidelong look at Rahzien, clad in a gleaming white suit with a white satin half-cloak pinned to one shoulder. The key glistens on a silver chain around his throat.

I can't bring myself to care about what will happen to me tonight. None of it matters.

"You're my pet," murmurs Rahzien.

"I'm your pet," I repeat tonelessly. "I do as I'm told. When I do as I'm told, I receive good things."

"Excellent." He pauses, gesturing to a door. "I'll continue on to the banquet hall. You'll enter here and practice with the other girls. Be good. Don't make me come and chastise you."

"Yes, Master."

"The guest who pledges loyalty to me in the most tangible way will receive the key to these." He gestures to the belt and the mask. "You will entertain that guest sweetly in your bed, without screams, struggles or tears. Do anything he asks of you. If I hear that you've been anything less than docile, Parma will join your friends in the razorfish pool. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Master," I whisper.

As he turns away, I reach for him impulsively and grab his sleeve. "Please… choose someone kind. "

He looks back at me, his face still as stone, his expression unreadable. Then he jerks his arm away and continues down the hall.

A servant in Vohrainian livery pulls open the door to the room he indicated. I recognize the servant, but I'm careful to avoid his gaze, to show no sign of friendliness or connection. I can't put anyone else in danger.

The room I step into is one I've visited many times, a space where the palace orchestra or visiting groups of musicians would prepare for a performance. I liked to slip in and watch them tune their instruments and practice warmups. Many times I thought about giving a piece of my music to the palace conductor and requesting that the orchestra perform it. But I knew the conductor would have to say yes, whether or not she thought the piece was truly good. She couldn't refuse a royal request. And I couldn't bear to have my music performed simply because of my title. It was too precious for that.

The familiar asynchronous sounds of instruments being tuned greets my ears, and I release a long breath, tension easing from my limbs. Some of the musicians are familiar, and they glance at me with expressions of surprise and alarm. "Princess," someone murmurs nearby, but none of them speak to me any further, probably because of the ten armed Vohrainian guards lining the walls of the room.

Beyond the musicians, in an open area, about twenty young women stand in three rows. They're practicing a series of dance moves under the guidance of a woman who looks familiar, though my weary mind can't place her immediately. I think she performed at court once or twice.

Every girl in the group is dressed like me, with a filmy gown that parts in the front, revealing their stomachs and lacy undershorts. They wear lace stockings, heels, and ribbon garters, too. But their outfits are all jewel-toned, rich red, vivid green, luxurious purple, royal blue. My white dress was designed to stand out among all those enticing colors. And I'm the only one wearing a chastity belt and a mask.

"Princess." The lead dancer turns and nods to me. "Please join us. You'll be in the center as we enter the ballroom. Don't worry, your moves are very simple."

She keeps her voice light and casual, but her hooded eyes barely conceal the heaviness of the emotion within. I can't tell if it's fear, sorrow, sympathy, anger, or all of those at once. I remember her now. Her name is Avrix, and she's a performer of fluid gender, sometimes appearing in her birth aspect as male, other times presenting as female. She likes her pronouns to match the gender she's manifesting at the moment. No matter how she chooses to appear on a given day, she's a magnificent dancer.

"Before we begin," she says, low, "I think you could use a hug." She looks at me, questioning, and my throat swells tight with tears as I nod.

Her arms fold around me, squeezing lightly, filling my nose with the scent of vanilla and sandalwood. Silk and hot skin and strength. I close my eyes and hitch a shaky breath, trying not to fracture. Trying not to cry.

"There." With a final firm squeeze, Avrix lets me go. "Let's do as the King commands. Make room for the Princess in the center, ladies. Hip, swish, step, belly swirl, arch the back, roll the shoulders, neck-whip, face . All together, one, two, three, and—"