16. Tired Little Lamb
16
TIRED LITTLE LAMB
" U p!"
A blanket was tugged away from her, and Luella started, eyes popping open as memories rushed back to her.
Dungeons, blood, death, fire?—
Warm hands gripping hers through cold iron…
Az .
The King.
Luella’s hands shook as she grabbed the corner of the blanket, attempting to wrap herself back up in protection.
But it was roughly pulled away from her, and the canopy around the bed was pulled back, revealing the opulence of her cage.
Her head was still throbbing, but it was less than the pounding of earlier. Two maids stood by the foot of her bed; one was holding the blanket in her grip, hand on her hip as she angrily waved for Luella to rise.
"You’ve rested long enough," the maid said, her voice rough and curt. With a firm hand, she pulled the blanket off of the bed.
"Wait… stop," Luella weakly protested, sitting up against the headboard.
The maid could not have been older than Luella herself, but she spoke like she was seasoned; though, not in a good way. She had a shock of red hair, and her brow was drawn low over her strong features. Eyes, green with slit pupils and slanted at the corners. The other maid was shorter, with a frame more lithe, but still taller than Luella. Her hair was cut in a bob around her chin, a mousy brown shade. She had glittering, bronze scales delicately inlaid into the skin of her cheekbones, her green eyes heavy with perpetual sorrow. From a distance, the scales looked like a fine cosmetic powder and not the telltale mark of a serpent shifter that it actually was.
The red-haired maid wrapped a rather strong hand around Luella’s wrist, and she jerked back, scared, but the maid merely rolled her green eyes before pulling Luella out of the bed. She wobbled, feeling her heart pound from the sudden movement of standing up too quickly and the unfamiliar faces around her. She didn’t even have time to gather her wits before she was steered into the bathing chamber.
Fear and confusion robbed Luella of speech, and she stumbled, shoulders quaking.
Would they hurt her? What did they want?
But as the maids went about preparing a bath—the shorter gathered a towel, while the taller, red-haired maid filled the pool with sweet-smelling salts and lined up a small collection of bottles beside it—stark fear left her, replaced by quiet apprehension.
"Did… Did the King send you here?" Luella managed. The red-haired maid shot Luella a look, not deigning to answer, so Luella met the saddened, green eyes of the other female, her short, brown hair swishing around her cheeks as she lowered her chin, not looking Luella in the eye.
Luella bit her lip, gasping slightly when the taller of the pair reached for her elbow, tugging her to stand by the pool of water. The female’s red hair was like fire, and her jaw was strong, lips cut downward with a sharp scowl.
"Don’t speak, heirus, or I’ll burn you to ash where you stand," the red-haired maid hissed, thick tendrils of smoke wafting from her nostrils as she huffed. "We’re to prepare you." Her harsh tone brooked no argument, and Luella cast her eyes to the tub of water.
Prepare me for what? She wanted to ask, but she knew she would find no help from the females.
A warm hand touched against her wrist, and the memory of Az’s hands gripping hers made her throat close up.
A litany of thoughts swirled through her mind like the shifting water of the tub. A tempest of feeling, threatening to drown her.
And in the midst of those thoughts, faint images of Tharen, his broad back to her as she watched his muscle arms move. Bubbles in a cauldron, thick liquid, and sweet smells. Warmth against her thighs and fingers on her lips. The memories filtered in slowly, but there were still a few gaps.
Luella remembered Tharen, the sickness that had made her limbs heavy, her tongue thick; remembered the mage giving her a potion, but not much else after that.
"Strip." The red-haired female tugged at the sleeve of Luella’s too-big, borrowed shirt, and she was far too consumed by the demon in her mind to protest.
They quickly disrobed her; Luella was used to baring her body to her personal maids at home, but these two were foreign to her, and she felt herself become shy under their forceful and harsh treatments.
Harsh green eyes cut to her. "Step in," the maid curtly ordered. The one with the scales on her cheeks had yet to speak, merely directing Luella with a wave of a hand or terse gesture as she shadowed the red-haired maid.
The servants here were far more different than the ones at Solis. They didn’t scurry and tiptoe around her like they were scared of her. They didn’t treat her with quiet reverence or give her hesitant touches that bordered on fear as they brushed through her hair and applied scented oils to her freshly bathed skin.
No, not at all.
These servants treated her like filth. They swept into the room with scathing glares and angry stomps—like they were upset at even having to share air with her—before roughly grabbing her and directing her like she was a mere doll.
Their entire demeanor was virulent. And Luella shrunk under the intensity of it.
She felt herself cower back, shoulders shrinking and eyes lowering as she once more donned the persona of an obedient heirus, pliantly bending to the wills of all those around her as she made herself smaller, all to let others become larger. To let them stretch their arms and inhabit the space she freed with resentment.
Luella followed their instructions easily. All while feeling a strange spark of anger ignite within her. She tamped it down.
Fury would be of no help to her now. She was far past vengeance.
They bathed her quickly, like they wanted to get it over with as fast as possible.
Her hair was tugged, soaps massaged into her scalp. She tried not to remember how Bastian had gently carded his elegant fingers throughout her hair, so different from the gruff way these maids treated her. Her skin was scrubbed red and raw with some abrasive cloth and charcoal soap. And they vigorously applied oils to almost every bit of her exposed skin above the water. Luella didn’t have time to revel in the freshness of the soap that helped reveal the dirtied feeling that clung to her or the water between her toes that washed away all the purities and horrors she had faced. She didn’t have time to luxuriate in any of it.
Luella gasped a breath as the silent maid poured a bucket of ice water over her head, washing away all the soap from her body. Shaking at the stark chill, her skin tingled at the difference of the water on her upper body where it was raised out of the bath, compared to the warmth of the water below. The dichotomy was tantalizing, but she didn’t stop shivering, even when she was ordered to stand from the bath, wet hair dripping rivulets of water on her bare breasts, down the expanse of her stomach and over her hips, between her thighs. She tucked an arm over her chest and crossed her legs, trying to conceal herself. The maids didn’t seem to be bothered by her nudity. It was part of their job, after all.
Green eyes raked over her with disgust, and she shrank back.
Luella couldn’t help but feel like an exhibit of some kind. Put on display for the two shifters to gawk at.
They didn’t even bother to offer her a towel or robe to cover herself with, merely shoved her into a chair in front of the vanity she had seen earlier, her bare backside against the cool seat, before they combed through her hair and rubbed oils over the rest of her body, in the places they couldn’t get while she was seated in the bath. The movements were rough as they massaged against her upper legs and over her stomach. Thankfully, they skipped the junction of her thighs, hands ghosting along as they jumped from her hips to her thighs.
Luella was grateful.
She crossed her legs once more and watched in the mirror as the red-haired maid opened a vial of some kind, the top adorned with a little bulb, and attached was a small, gilded nozzle, which the maid pumped as the spray misted over Luella. It smelled sweet, faintly of ripened fruit with notes of vanilla.
Her golden hair was still damp. The coolness of the room did nothing to aid in drying it. The ends were frizzed slightly, but the top was still wet, and a strand stuck to her cheek. The maid with the scales along her cheekbones suddenly waved a dainty hand, small, flickering flames of dragon fire sparking to life in her palm. She lifted the hairbrush atop the vanity and waved the flame below the bristles, heating it, then brushed through Luella’s hair, tugging and pulling as it snagged on a few damp knots. The heat dried her hair quickly and tamed the usually frizzy curls into something silken and soft.
Perfectly styled and sleek, Luella’s golden hair fell in waves over her bare shoulders. The sides were slightly shorter than the rest, framing her face and accentuating her soft cheekbones. The maid twirled one of the strands around the brush, bouncing the end of the curl in her hand to make sure it was set before setting the brush down and lifting a pot of rouge.
She painted Luella’s lips, brushing a small bit of red tint along her cupid’s bow, accentuating the dip.
"Not too much," the other maid said from where she was crouched, wiping up a bit of water from the floor. "The King wanted her to keep her natural beauty. You know the fae," she scoffed. "They never do need much to keep themselves perfect and pretty." She stood, walking over to tug on a loose curl that fell against Luella’s shoulder, her lips etched into a scowl. "Makes me ill to think that all this beauty is wasted on such a naive, heirus bitch."
Luella met her green eyes, heart pounding at the fury held within the female’s stare, and her shoulders shrank inward as the maid set the curl back down, fingers skimming along Luella’s collarbone. The other did not respond, merely continued painting Luella’s face; she had moved to Luella’s cheeks, blotting a soft pink onto her already flushed skin.
After applying a soft smudge of kohl along her lashline, the female set her tools down, firmly nudging Luella to stand.
She was led to the wardrobe, and she watched the scales glitter on the cheeks of the shorter female as she gingerly plucked one of the dresses from within. The maids quickly dressed her, pulling a thin pair of silken panties up her legs to cover her. They left her chest free of coverings, and Luella felt exposed as they fastened the skirt around her hips and pulled the bodice up over her chest, tugging roughly on the laces of the corset before tying them off and tucking them out of sight.
Luella was quickly made to understand why she bore no brassiere when she saw the dress in its full glory.
A shimmering, silvery color. The bodice was intricately lined with webbing that crisscrossed and made maze-like patterns before dispersing into a simple skirt of blue ripples. It was shoulderless, held up by two thin straps that crossed over her arms. Long, fluttering pieces of fabric were attached to the upper arms to offer coverage, but with the barest of movements, it would flow to the side and create an illusion of what almost appeared to be wings. Two chains interlocked over the chest, connected by the straps over the arms.
It was… breathtaking.
Luella reached down and ran a shaking hand over the soft material of the bodice, fingers skimming over the slight bumps of the webbing inlaid into the corset. It perfectly supported her breasts and even pushed them up slightly; the chains fell across her chest and dipped as they rested over the swell there. The light, silver-blue color of the gown offset her skin, and one of the maids lifted a shimmering powder before brushing it over Luella’s chest, drawing attention to her collarbones with a faint glimmer that caught the light and made her skin look like it was glistening with sweat or droplets of water.
It was far more a revealing ensemble than anything Luella would have dared to wear in Solis. Her parents might have killed her if they saw her in such a thing. The fae paid attention to propriety, and as an heirus, Luella had to keep herself covered. Always doing the most to keep herself a secret, her skin made only for her future betrothed.
The red-haired maid spun Luella by her shoulders, being careful not to disrupt the gown. "All done." She brushed an invisible piece of dust from Luella’s shoulder, hardened eyes tracking over the dress clinging to her frame. "This will greatly please the King. Take care not to rumple the dress or sully yourself. The King would not be happy if you arrived for dinner in a less-than-perfect condition. Someone will be coming for you shortly." Her red hair fell over a broad shoulder as she gave a satisfactory nod and left, ushering the other maid out of the room with a crook of a finger.
The door quickly closed behind the females, and Luella heard the faint click of a lock after it shut.
She sighed, caged once more.
Luella eyed the bed, tempted to rest her weary bones and sleep. No matter that the maid had warned she was to be dining with the King tonight… Her fingers toyed with the fabric draped over her arms, contemplative.
She hadn’t realized, but the sick feeling whirring in her gut had been assuaged. Whether it could be attributed to the aromatic oils she had inhaled in the bathing chambers or the potion Tharen had forced her to take, she was unsure.
After what seemed like an hour of pacing and thinking and being tempted to fall into bed and try for a dreamless sleep, there was a knock on the door. It was less of an entreaty for entry and more of a swift demand to be let in, unable to be refused. A key grated against the handle as it was unlocked, and the doors were pushed open, bringing in a whirl of an inviting, familiar scent.
Bergamot—spiced and lush.
Her mouth watered.
Luella smelled him before she saw him.
Bastian stepped into the room, dressed impeccably, much better than he had been the last time she had seen him.
The vampire wore fitted black pants and a matching black shirt, a red cape thrown over his shoulders and held together with a clasp made of glittering rubies. The collar was high, accentuating the pale skin of his neck. It dipped sharply, showing off the unblemished skin of his chest. Golden accents were woven into the shoulders of his cape, swirling lines that almost resembled the ones on the bodice of her corset. His reddened eyes were lined with dark kohl, half-lidded and sensual.
Bedroom eyes, fit for the room they were in. The bed beckoned, and she was acutely aware of it, thankful for the rouge on her cheeks, concealing her natural blush at the path her thoughts had taken.
Bastian’s eyes raked over Luella, taking in the dip of her waist and the slight flare of her hips, made more pronounced by the corset tightly constricting her and forcing her posture upright and prim, just as a princess should be. The red in his eyes grew darker as his attention settled on her chest, following the chain resting over the swell of her breasts and tracking over where the delicate chains linked to the fabric draped over her shoulders. And further down, they trailed. Following the lines of her bodice like he wanted to imprint the image into his brain, before floating over the way the breezy fabric of her skirt fluttered along her legs. Finally, coming to a stop where her bare toes peeked out from the hem of the silvery blue dress.
He scoffed. A light, teasing sound.
"The maids didn’t think to give you shoes?" Bastian’s voice was a low rumble in the room, and Luella swallowed from the sound of it. The vampire always sounded so sensual. She wondered if he even tried or if it was natural to him. Somehow, Luella was certain his sensuality was as part of him as her nativity was to her.
He would relish in her corruption.
Why didn’t that scare her?
Luella hurriedly shifted the hem of the dress to cover her feet. "N-no," she replied. Bastian smirked at her futile attempt to cover her toes.
She was wary of being in a room alone with him. The only time she had been truly alone with the vampire had been in her dreams, but she was unsure if he was capable of hurting her there. In this room, with her flesh as real as the dawning light of the sun, he could easily overpower her without a second thought, and she would be left to his mercy and every wicked whim.
"Well, no matter, then. So long as the King doesn’t look down." Bastian’s eyes dipped below her chin, where her bare collarbone beckoned, and his words halted. She took a deep, steadying breath, her chest swelling in invitation, flesh straining against the neckline of the gown. "Too far down, that is. And you’ll be just fine." He held out an elbow, waiting for her to take it.
She moved closer, nerves frayed and jittery, as she placed her hand onto the crook of his elbow, taking care to keep her distance otherwise.
"That won’t do," Bastian sighed, pulling her closer with a jerk of his arm. She fell into him, flush against him. The fabric over her arms fluttered to the side and allowed her bare skin to press against his clothed body. One of his hands gently came up to keep her own hand clasped to his arm, fingers ghosting over the expanse of her wrist before settling on her fingertips. He held her tightly. Like she may very well slip away if he dared to let go.
Bastian led her from the room, all the while, he kept her closely tucked into him. She tried not to breathe in that addicting scent, but it was hard. The rich notes of bergamot were even more pronounced from this close to him, and Luella had the impulse to keep breathing deeply. Her nose itched with the atavistic desire to press it into the folds of his shirt and allow the scent to coat her completely.
Bastian did not seem to share the struggle, and he kept quiet most of the way while she fought those urges that welled up within her like that of some foreign beast or feral shifter that was in tune with baser instincts.
Never before had she felt such an urge, but to suddenly feel it for more than one male…
They walked down a grand hall that was lined with strips of golden carpet laid atop white, pure marble. Little alcoves broke up the walls, leading to small sitting areas or window seats nestled between tall, marble pillars, overlooking the view outside the arched glass windows. Other hallways branched off occasionally, vast and seemingly endless as they stretched toward other wings of the castle.
It was huge. Grand and glorious.
One of the windows they passed was slightly open, causing the tapestry laid on one of the far walls to flutter in the breeze, bringing with it a scent of sea salt and chilled air. It was a peculiar combination. The sea salt was slightly warm and briny, reminding her of summertime, yet the brisk bite to the air was different than the one of her home—more unforgiving and cold from the higher altitude.
They trailed down the grand staircase, and at the bottom, Bastian steered her toward the right, opening up two double doors set at the end of the hallway, leading right to the inside of a grand dining hall.
Tapestries lined the walls, with windows encompassing every other space. It was a big and bright room filled with golden light from the dimming sun.
Suddenly, Luella wondered what day it was.
How long had it been since she was taken from the dungeons? How long had it been since she was taken from her home?
A wave of guilt washed over her as her mind drifted to Az. Since she had awoken, Luella had barely thought of him, so consumed with her survival. Her heart clenched, and she gripped Bastian’s arm tighter to stop herself from stumbling under the weight of sadness.
He was all alone down there, in the cold darkness of the dungeons. Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill over and give her inner turmoil away. She blinked furiously, watching her bare feet make their way over the cool marble of the floors, before coming to a stop in front of a high-backed chair. When she felt the threat of tears had abated, only then did she look up.
Luella was met with a sight that completely expelled any lingering traces of sadness from her mind.
Only fear was left.
And the tiniest dose of anger.
King Vale sat before her at the head of the long table in a chair that looked almost similar to his throne but on a smaller scale. He sat with the posture of a ruler, regarding her with green eyes and hair that was shining gold. With a wave of his hand, the King gestured for her to sit. Bastian pulled out her chair, nudging her down with a hand on her shoulder before he took the seat to her left.
She was at the King’s right, and it was not lost on her that she was seated in a spot of high prestige. Tharen sat directly in front of her on the King’s left, with Graves to his right.
She jolted as she met Graves’s lapis lazuli eyes. The male’s face was uncovered this time, and it was only the second time she had seen him so. Wearing a black cape that draped over his shoulders, along with a black metal chest piece that fit over the top, he looked the part of a regal knight, instead of a shadow that worked in the dark of night. The scar that cut into his face gave him an edge, but not enough to be brutal, merely enough to add mystery, playing into that enigmatic air that followed him wherever he went. Luella shivered, taking note of the many pale scars that lined his tanned skin.
Graves evaluated her cooly, just as she knew him to do—a purveyor of her suffering, a harbinger of bad omens, and a voyeur of the most detached intent. He easily broke away from her stare, and she tried not to feel offended as she watched him rub a hand over the stubble on his jaw. Tharen raised a brow at her, cruel and sadistic, his cold eyes never leaving her face, even when she was the first to look away under the intensity of them. She knew she held his attention, could feel unfettered interest burning against the skin of her rouged cheeks.
"Welcome, Princess Luella," King Vale intoned. He waved a hand to the feast splayed on the table before them. "Eat. You must be hungry."
For the first time, Luella tore her attention from the males around her, resting it on the food laid on the top of the dining table.
Fruits and pastries decorated the platters of a tiered tower. Roasted duck and lamb, basted in brown juice marinade and covered with sprigs of herbs and sour lemon, the centerpiece of the table. A carving knife was already wedged into the baked side of the lamb, waiting to be sawed into the seared meat. Platters of garden vegetables and trays of nuts and cheeses littered the gilded runner down the center of the table, tiny forks stacked up by their sides to be used to spear into them.
Bastian ignored it all, lifting a golden pitcher and pouring red, thick liquid into a wine glass. He swirled it absentmindedly before lifting it to his nose and taking a small whiff, sipping it in a manner of poise.
Her face paled . Blood .
Bastian’s tongue darted out to lick the corner of his mouth, chasing after a droplet of crimson that stood starkly against his pale skin. A white fang dug into his bottom lip.
Graves poked at the assortment of cheeses, nibbling at the pointed chunks. And Tharen immediately went for the carving knife stuck into the side of the hunk of lamb. He viciously sawed at the slab of meat, plopping a piece on his plate with a half-smirk. He took a bite, uncouth, as he forwent his cutlery. From underneath the table, one of his booted feet jostled the legs of the chair she was sitting in, and she quickly moved her feet away.
"Want some, little lamb?" Tharen questioned, lifting a piece of the lamb meat in front of him in a menacing promise. A bit of brown glaze dripped from the side, pooling against the surface of the table. "Or are you too… tired from your time in the dungeons?" The mage smirked, toying with her. Luella remembered his warm fingers against her lips, the way he had forced her to drink the potion; she was scared to bring up his drugging of her—accidental or not—lest she invoke his fury.
Luella gulped, watching as he eagerly ate the lamb, sucking the marinade off the ends of his fingers and keeping firm eye contact with her.
The King sighed before reaching for the empty plate in front of her, using tongs to fill it with nuts, roasted vegetables, and a few wedges of cheese. He cut away some meat, placing it on the platter, before then sitting it back down in front of her. His own plate was still empty.
"Eat." King Vale rested his chin in his hands, watching her.
It wasn’t a polite request. But an order.
Even though it went against all the etiquette that had been drilled into her from an early age, Luella rested her chin in her hand, eyes drooping slightly as she lifted a fork resting on top of one of the napkins, waiting to be used, and twirled it in the roasted vegetables.
“Hm… not hungry,” she replied sleepily, stifling a yawn. The exhaustion from earlier was back in full force. She wasn’t sure if it was because she was sitting down or if her fear of the males around her was causing her to overexert herself.
The King set down his utensils, a slight clatter noise ringing out as they hit the corner of his plate before he leveled her with a stern look. “If you don’t eat, I’ll force the food down your throat.”
“Why do you care so much? Shouldn’t you want me starving and miserable?” Luella was too tired and overwhelmed to pay heed to the way his jaw ticked at her words.
What’s the worst he could do? Kill her? Death would be a mercy at this point. At least then, she would not fear.
“What the King means is that he wants you to keep your strength up,” Bastian interjected, placing a heavy hand on her thigh under the table. Breath caught in her chest at the feel. His palm burned through the folds of her gown; though, his skin was cold.
Tharen rolled his eyes, and she noticed Graves press the back of his hand to his mouth, an infinitesimal twitch to his scarred mouth.
Luella sighed, a slight pout forcing its way to her lips without her permission. She clenched the fork in her hand to stop herself from tacking on another remark. Az wasn’t here. He couldn’t protect her from the dungeons. She would have to fend for herself for now. So, it was back to being obedient and quiet.
She stabbed her fork into a wedge of roasted potato that the King had loaded onto her plate, glistening in a brown, tangy marinade and spiced with cloves and garlic. It melted in her mouth.
Maybe she was hungry.
She took another bite, clearing the plate of the vegetables and nuts. She ignored the meat, wrinkling her nose at it, and instead popped a wedge of crumbly cheese into her mouth, humming around the intense taste. The table was utterly silent, save her slight sounds of contentment and satisfaction as she ate. Just when she was contemplating reaching for one of the pastries on the tower, she looked up, meeting King Vale’s green, piercing eyes.
Luella swallowed around a piece of cheese, arrested by the way his fingers stroked his jaw, the many rings he wore glinting in the candlelight.
The King silently reached for an empty glass, filling it with a small pitcher of liquid, orange-colored and fizzy with bubbles. He slid it across the table to her, resting his chin on a palm and regarding her with something akin to amused interest. King Vale and Graves had a glass of wine, Tharen had a mug of foamy ale, and Bastian, his glass filled with thick blood. She was the only one at the table who had such a drink. Her hands clenched the edge of the table.
The King waited, and when Luella did not reach for the glass, he moved it closer with a finger, tapping against the side in warning. Her hand shook as she reached for the glass, lifting it to her lips for a small sip, praying it wasn’t poisoned. Honey and nectar exploded on her tongue. The bubbles fizzed against her tastebuds, tangy and slightly sour.
She licked her lips. "What is this?"
"Another little potion," Tharen said, without inflection. Luella set the glass down, and some sloshed over the lid from the movement. "I can feel the heat of your skin and the faint stutter of your heart when I reach out with my Body magic. You still aren’t fully healed from your sickness. That should take care of the last of it. Don’t worry." He smirked. "I paid extra attention to my measurements this time. You should only feel a… slight… drowsiness."
Luella did not want the potion to take effect while she was so vulnerable. She silently cursed the male, shooting him a look from under her lashes, all while desperately hoping it would not be as severe as last time. Though she couldn’t recall all of her memories after being taken from the dungeons, the way her limbs had felt heavy, and her inhibitions had lowered nagged at her. She couldn’t afford that here.
Bastian’s hand moved further up her thigh, gripping her skin through her dress. Luella shifted, and Graves looked down as though he could see through the table, right where Bastian’s hand was on her. Graves took a sip of his wine, tilting his head back to rest against the high back of the chair. The candlelight flickered on his face, and through the many windows, the light of the sun was nearly gone, leaving the purple of twilight in its wake. It made the aura of the dining room foreboding.
"Won’t you finish your plate, Princess?" King Vale steepled his fingers.
Luella eyed the meat on her platter, lip twitching with a scowl, and shook her head.
"What? Not good enough for you?" Tharen snorted, knocking back a large gulp of ale.
Graves let out a heavy sigh and leaned forward, plucking one of the pastries from the tower. It was flakey and buttery, covered in powdered sugar and apricot slices. He set it on a small dish before switching it out for the platter in front of her.
Graves cut into the meat on her stolen plate and took a bite. Luella couldn’t help but notice he was using the same fork she had put her mouth on. Something about that particular detail made her feel faint.
She didn’t thank him, even though a small bit of something similar to gratefulness welled up within her. But she stamped it down and buried it far under the piles of her anger. How could she feel grateful to such a male for something so simple as giving her food?
She had been robbed of so many rights that the barest of privileges made her grateful.
Quietly, she ate what Graves had given her, the apricot topping and soft mousse filling of the pastry turning to ash in her mouth as she remembered all the ones who would never have such luxuries again.
The King reached for dessert, as well, but he went for a bowl of fresh cream and berries topped with edible rose petals. Tharen snorted a laugh and reached for one of the strawberry tarts on the top tier of the tower of food. Unsurprisingly, Graves opted out of dessert, and Bastian kept sipping at his glass of blood.
"You will not be returning to the dungeons," King Vale suddenly said, and his words were final as they resounded throughout the room, leaving no space for argument.
"W-why?" Luella asked, placing her fork down, pastry half-eaten. She didn’t have the stomach to finish it. Her lids drooped again, and she took a deep breath to calm herself—she could not risk falling unconscious here.
"I knew fae were a weaker species but did not realize how much so until you fell ill from your stint in the dungeons. Not even a fortnight, and you were at death’s door. Tharen told me any longer, and you would have been beyond saving, even with the best of potions. I do intend for you to live, Princess, even if that means it will be in a gilded cage instead of one made of iron. But do not forget, it will still be a cage. Even if you have a soft bed to fall into at night and warm food to fill your belly. I can take it all away in an instant. Don’t force my hand."
Bastian gulped down the last of his blood, setting the glass down on the table. He didn’t meet her eyes, and he cut a glare to the King.
There it was again. That tension between them.
The vampire’s thumb stroked over her thigh, and Luella wished the barrier of her gown was gone so she could feel his skin against hers.
"What about the demon?" she blurted.
"Demon?" King Vale raised a brow. Something unrecognizable flashed over his face before he locked the emotion down.
"Azgorath," she stumbled over his name. "In the cell that was next to m-mine." Luella shrunk under the weight of four sets of eyes against her, and she shrank back into her chair.
The King huffed a laugh. "What about him?"
She had asked, might as well follow through with it now. She had to save him.
"Why is Az in the dungeons?"
Tharen chuckled under his breath and gave a quick shake of his head, muttering, "Az." A white braid fell over his shoulder, and he flicked it back, tapping a finger against the table as he stared her down.
"He disobeyed me." King Vale steepled his fingers and sat back. "You won’t disobey me, will you?" His voice was a quiet caress, almost as tangible as the feel of Bastian’s fingers against her thigh. Like his very breath was sentient and reached out to her to curl around her and draw her nearer to him.
She gulped under the intensity of his words before stuttering an unintelligible sound.
The King laughed; it was soft, yet mocking and cold. "You better not. You see what happens when you disobey. Learn from his mistake. It would do well for you to please me, Princess. Nod if you understand."
Luella obeyed with a short nod, head lowering as she trained her attention on her lap. She clenched her hands together, gathering the folds of her gown in between her fingers. Bastian reached his pinky out to brush against hers. She quickly jerked her hand back at the cold feel of his skin, looking over at him.
The vampire didn’t let on what his hand was attempting under the safe cover of the table, he merely poured another glass of blood.
Luella tried not to feel like he was ignoring her because she had evaded his touch.
Suddenly, the double doors of the dining room opened, and a soldier covered in armor entered the room. He bore a staff in his hand, and etched onto the breastplate of his armor was the crest of Serpentis.
He quickly strode into the room, standing behind King Vale’s chair.
"I’m sorry, my King, we have just received word from the outermost villages on the eastern side of the kingdom. There has been a siege."
King Vale stood quickly, and Bastian followed suit, chair squeaking as he pushed back from the table. The vampire’s hand left her thigh, and she shuddered at the cool weight of his touch leaving her.
"Prima," King Vale jerked his head to Tharen. "To the war room. Graves, take the Princess back to her cage for the night." The King headed toward the doors, and Tharen followed after him, casting Luella one glance over his shoulder with those icy eyes as he answered the call of his ruler. "And Graves," King Vale called. "Don’t forget the lock."
The door slammed shut behind Tharen and the King, leaving her alone with the enigmatic shadow that was Graves.
The male stood slowly like he had all the time in the world.
"Come." Graves pulled Luella up with a gloved hand on her elbow, leading her back the same way she had come with Bastian—out the double doors, up the stairs, and down the hallway. Right to the door of her new home.
Her new cage. Gilded, as it may be.
Graves pulled a key from a hidden pocket in his shirt, not yet slotting it into the lock, just twirling it in a hand.
He suddenly pressed her close to the door, heat emanating from his body as he caged her in. From this close, Luella could see the faint dip at the top collar of his shirt, showcasing a small bit of tanned skin on his upper chest and over his collarbones. She hadn’t noticed before, but he wore a beautiful necklace. A silver chain, and from it, hung one small amulet. A purple stone, white swirling within it, like puffs of clouds trying to escape, and little specks of inky black dotted the exterior. It was held in a dainty weave of silver like the bars of a cage, keeping the beauty of the stone from shining freely.
She lifted a hand and brushed her fingertip against the cool stone, but Graves jerked back, a gloved hand pressed against the bare skin of her chest as he forced her to keep her distance. He looked at her with vexation, but it was combined with something else. Obsession or a compulsive need to dig inside her and figure out her secrets, while being frustrated by the allure.
Luella knew the feeling.
She felt hypnotized by him. Something deep in him calling to something deep in her. To that smell of sweet honey mingling with sharp cloves. She hated it but wanted to follow the thread and see where it led. Resented it but wanted to chase after it with abandon.
Her chest swelled as she took in a breath, and Graves’s hand rose from the motion. She was acutely aware of him against her flushed chest. Even though his hands were covered with gloves, it was like the barrier wasn’t even there. She felt his heat radiating through the fabric, burning her chest. Flushed with desire or the workings of the small sip of the potion that coursed through her veins.
She tilted her neck to look up at him. A hand skimmed over her side, and she remembered how he had attested to seeing her nude.
"Graves," Luella tasted his name on her lips, and the male froze, head canted. "When did you see me?" She didn’t elaborate. Didn’t even know why she was asking. The male was stingy with his words; why did Luella think he would even answer her?
"On a night when you thought you had everything…"
Her breath hitched, and as she stared up into his eyes, deep blue just like the lapis lazuli mined in the mountains of Medius, a few pieces of the puzzle clicked into place.
The faint caw of a raven echoed throughout her mind.
"You’re—" Luella couldn’t say it. The words burned her throat as she choked out, "You’re the raven."
Graves’s expression shuttered, once more becoming that closed-off mask she knew.
"Yes." His reply was cool.
Luella knew. This whole time, ever since Graves had shared seeing her nude, commenting on the birthmark on her thigh—a place no one had ever seen to her knowledge—she had known. She just hadn’t wanted to believe it. Graves had saved her on their journey to Serpentis, the raven perched upon the limb of a tree, a black feather floating in the darkness of the forest as he had appeared nearly out of thin air. The evidence had been there the whole time.
Even when she had first spotted the little bird on her windowsill, something about the creature had seemed off. Raven shifters weren’t uncommon, but she had never seen one before, of course. And the appearance of a raven, in Solis no less…
So naive. So trusting.
She wanted to ask more. Ask why , how … Rant. Rave. Curse his name.
But Luella did none of that. She was tired. Tired of the secrets and the lies. Deception had a way of wearing you down. Would she ever get used to being in the dark? As a fae of the kingdom of sunlight, it felt like she lived in the dark far more than in the light. Maybe that was why the moon always called to her. Even now, it tempted her as it shone from outside the thin windows in the otherwise darkened halls.
Luella gave a nod as she swallowed thickly. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears—she would not dare let them fall—and they clung to her lashes. Graves’s hand fell from her chest, dangling at his side like an afterthought as though he was waiting for something. For her to react. To do anything but stand in front of him like some boneless thing.
The male stepped back, and she drew a deep but shaky breath. Graves opened the door to her room and waited patiently for her to enter. She skirted around him, eyes never leaving his. Even when he fit the key into the lock and slowly closed the door. Even when it shut in her face. Even when she heard the faint click as it was locked.
Trapping her.
Luella rested her forehead on the wooden door, eyes closing and hands coming up to trace the lines in the wood like she was tracing imaginary veins.
Or following lines of a scar that marred the bewitching face she knew to be on the very other side of the closed door.