Chapter Three
The moment our palms touch, a shock reverberates around the room, in rings of invisible intensity. It’s as if someone’s dropped a stone in a puddle of magic, rippling the environment around us.
Luthian releases my hand, and I wiggle my fingers. They buzz as though they’re crawling with insects, and it’s a long moment before the sensation passes.
“There. Our pact is sealed. Now, you remember what I asked of you?”
“All of my trust. I will do as you say. And I will drop every inhibition.” On the other side of a magically sealed agreement, it seems so much bigger. Just words before. Now…
He can do anything to me.
Luthian’s gaze holds mine. I don’t dare to breathe, wondering what he plans behind the starry depths of his eyes. His mouth twists into a cruel grin.
This is not the charming faery with whom I bargained. The Luthian before me, in total control of me, is predatory and terrifying. He feels the fabric of the robe with haughty disinterest, flicking it away from his fingers.
“Take that off.”
I hesitate only a breath before remembering my vow. What a waste, to make such a bargain, to give him my wishes as collateral, only to default immediately.
I agreed to let him mold me into a seductress fit for a prince. A king, really. Did I think that he would teach me from a book? That my inhibitions, which he so clearly mentioned in the terms, would not be tested?
The robe slips from my shoulders and to the floor, leaving me in the gown of sheerest silk. I don’t cover myself.
“You’re embarrassed,” Luthian says, never taking his eyes off mine as he traces a line from my collar bones to one tight nipple poking at the silk. My knees wobble at his touch and a breathy cry forces its way up my throat when he pinches that dusky peak, silk and all.
“This is new to me,” I explain softly. “I’ve never had someone pay such lustful attention to me before.”
“You’ll soon abandon your shyness. I hope you’ll enjoy most of our lessons,” he says, stroking delightful sensitivity into my flesh. “Some, you will not.”
His nails bite into the silk, into the skin beneath, and I gasp at the shock of razor-sharp pain before he releases me.
“To survive the Court of Pleasure and Torment, you must learn that the two cannot exist without each other. Without pain, one can never know true ecstasy. And I will give you pain, honey flower.” He falls to his knees and examines my breast, the blossom of blood on the silk. He covers it with his mouth and I’m weak, leaning forward to brace myself with my hands on his shoulders. The tiny crescent wounds throb beneath his tongue, while the surrounding flesh screams out in rapture.
All too quickly, he stops, standing and leaving me to sway on my feet, dangerously unsteady.
“No matter what I ask of you, remember what you stand to lose if you deny me.” Luthian’s tone is utterly cold. “Think of your sad little life as the sad little wife of that disgusting Cadwyn Thrace, and how you will spend every moment of every day wondering how things could have been different if you’d simply fulfilled your vow to me.”
I can’t stop my limbs trembling enough to wipe the tears from my lashes.
“Take off your nightgown.”
My fingers are stiff, but so is my resolve. I would sooner die than accept the life he described. The silk falls around my feet on a whisper.
“How do you feel?” he asks, walking around me to examine me from all sides.
“Exposed.”
“You’ll need to get used to it,” he warns. “There is no room for modesty at your future court, Your Majesty.”
The words run like a shiver up my spine. I can almost feel the weight of the crown upon my head. That imaginary crown is my suit of armor as I stand naked before the most dangerous creature I’ve ever known.
“That’s a lesson we can learn… now.” Luthian snaps his fingers and I’m momentarily blinded by a flash of white. Though I can’t see our surroundings change, I hear them, feel them: the shuffle of bodies, the murmur of excited conversation, the heavy feeling of warm, smoke-hazed air. And when the light clears, I stand on a stage, surrounded by luminescent crystals that offer me no shadow to conceal my nakedness.
There is an audience of faeries, seated in spindly chairs, watching me with bemused interest. They smoke pipes and peer through monocles and opera glasses at my defenseless body.
Luthian leans close to my ear. “Touch yourself for them.”
I lift my hand. I know what he means. I’m not so innocent that I can pretend I’ve never given myself relief on a restless night.
But I’m not quick enough to obey, so he takes my hand and guides it for me, stepping behind me to slide our joined fingers down my stomach, to the apex of my thighs. I’m already hot and slick there, already longing despite everything in me crying out that this is shocking. This is wrong.
Perhaps that’s why it’s so arousing.
He spreads the petals of my sex to expose the tingling stamin inside and runs his fingers along either side of its slippery hood. I moan and lean into his touch.
An appreciative murmur passes through the audience.
He replaces his hand with mine and steps back. “Open your eyes, honey flower. Watch all of them watching you.”
Slowly, I lift my face to the audience. My eyes lock with those of a faery in a gown of glittering chains. She wets her lips and pushes the chains aside to reveal her breast and thumb one rosy nipple. My free hand drifts to my own breast. The faery beside her has his cock out; I’ve only ever seen one in paintings, and I can’t tear my gaze from the sight of it passing through his fist again and again. He’s unaware of my attention because his is focused entirely on my hand working between my legs.
“Do you like that?” Luthian asks, pointing to the faery’s long, stiff member.
“I’m not sure,” I confess.
“No, you’re not educated,” he corrects me. “You’re sure that you want all of that hard cock inside of you. Your cunt is crying at its emptiness right now.”
How did he know? How could he possibly have known that every time I stroked myself beneath the covers, I clenched and ached and longed to be filled?
“Put a finger inside,” he orders, and I comply with a groan of relief.
Someone in the audience groans, as well.
“If you like the feeling of your finger, why not the feeling of a cock?” Luthian asks. “I know you’re untouched. It’s not the prize humans make of it. We’ll deal with that, in time.”
We? I imagine him between my legs, crushing me down in a silken bed, holding my hands above my head as he drives into me again and again. His name is on my lips in my fantasy as I throw my head back, mouth open in a cry drowned to silence in a sea of pleasure.
“Keep your eyes open,” Luthian says. I’m so lost in my reverie, I didn’t realize I closed them.
Everyone in the audience is captivated by me now. They no longer speak amongst themselves, but their breathing is audible, as is the rustle of their clothing as they indulge themselves in their own self-pleasure.
I whimper. My toes curl and pop on the stage. My calves ache as if I’m physically climbing toward my peak, and I’m there, nearly there, fingers rubbing inside and out, picking up frantic speed, ready to break. I’m going to come. I’m going to come in front of everyone. They’re going to hear my moans, see me shake, watch me in my most vulnerable moment. I’m going to… I’m…
“Stop.”
The theater around us disappears. We’re in Luthian’s parlor again, and I am dressed in the fine robe and nightgown. Only the throbbing that screams through my denied body is proof that anything happened at all.
“That’s enough practice for tonight.” He waves a hand at me.
A cry sticks in my throat and emerges as an outraged croak.
“I know, I know. You were so close.” He feigns pity to mock me.
“I don’t understand.” I ache, still teetering on the very precipice of release. Why have I been denied?
He turns away and flicks a hand at the hearth, instantly dousing the silver flame there. “You’re not allowed to come tonight. Don’t try. Even should you give into temptation, you won’t be able to finish.”
My mouth drops open.
“I told you, torment, as well.” He shrugs elegantly. “Now, you’ve had a very difficult day, I presume, with your mother’s funeral and your stepfather’s lechery and your stunning performance a moment ago. You should sleep. Fortify yourself for the task ahead, honey flower.”
“I—” I begin to protest, still wanting to plead for relief from the agonizing need burning at my core. But I stop. “Why do you keep calling me that? Honey flower?”
His smile is almost tender. He touches my cheek, takes my chin in his hand to tip my face up. “After the blossom of the honey flower bush, of course.”
“That flower is poisonous.”
“Indeed, it is. But so beautiful, no butterfly, nor sprite, nor dragonfly, nor daisywing can resist its allure. They drink of its sweet nectar, but if they drink too deeply, the poison does its work.” He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. “That’s you, Cenere. They’ll taste you, and you’ll be sweet, but beneath that sweetness runs the poison of your desire for revenge. And that… that makes you irresistible.”
His words are a spell over me. He’s been cruel and cold, but gentle at turns. And I think perhaps what makes me irresistible to him, what makes me his honey flower, is that he and I are the same. Cruelty lies in wait beneath my gentle exterior, and I long to loose it upon my enemies.
I think he might kiss me; his lips are so close to mine. “From now on, you are my ward. You’ll call me Guardian or be punished. You’ll be grateful for all I provide to you. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He bites my bottom lip hard, and I cry out. “Try again.”
“Yes, Guardian.” I taste blood on my lip.
He whispers, “Sleep,” and passes a hand over my face.
Suddenly, it’s morning. I can tell from the weak white light peeking around the edges of the drapes. I am rested, in the softest bed I’ve ever touched, warm and safe in the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen.
I am alone, and I have no idea where I am.