Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Tuscany
The journey to the Lower-tower is shorter than the last, yet I sit lost in thought.
I think about the men at the Dam and the way they spoke of me. Not like marble, but like a woman.
They sexualised me.
Do I want that? No, I don’t think I do, but still, it felt… nice being desired. I shouldn’t feel warmth in my belly or heart flutters over strange men talking about—my honey.
No, no, you shouldn’t.
I definitely shouldn’t allow my misguided mind to dwell on what Kong said, as if there’s something subliminal to discover. ‘It’s me you’ll need to contend with should you humour their conversation or gaze.’
That was merely his warning to uphold my vows, to remain marble.
He isn’t without sexuality… I know this. I felt his thick, throbbing male parts at my back years ago when he thought I was someone else—someone desirable.
Someone like Brook?
I recall this first-light conversation with her and Ana, and I pick at each thing Brook said about Kong. Unravel it. Try to find meaning. Try to find lies.
Instead, sadness finds me along with an ache in my chest and lower… and deeper. I understand that women have tensions to relieve just as men do, but I’ve never been able to achieve anything close to satisfaction.
Lost in inappropriate thoughts, I stroke Eagle Rome, my gaze suddenly climbing the steep entrance to the Lower-Tower—a gold-crusted gate already opening for us.
“Woah,” Brook murmurs.
The Redwind follows us into the Lower-tower, not quite the deadly gale it was on the way up here but still whipping around us.
I lean into the periscope to get a better view.
We drive down a one-way passage with steep walls rising on either side, punctured with hundreds of small windows.
It is as if the entrance cuts through a high-density residential building.
Common faces peer through, squeezing together to watch our tank chew along the polished street as we make the long stretch up to Lord Bled’s Hall.
Just breathe.
Another gate at the end opens, and we move into the heart of the Lower-tower, where the finest citizens reside. Most of whom are Xin De lords, ladies, and management, or the Common who serve them.
Here, in the centre, the Redwind is little more than a heavy breeze.
Immediately overwhelmed by the sight of a tube-shaped glass train that shimmers as it moves, I can’t help but squeeze Eagle Rome.
I lift my chin.
Part my lips.
Breathe.
Where there aren’t glass walls and structures, there are manicured gardens, overflowing with florals and what appear to be herbs. I was told the entire centre of the Lower-tower is a greenhouse, but experiencing it is quite different.
Glass street canopies reflecting red and gold jewels, adorned with drapes, are filled with citizens smoking. Why are they not at their Purpose? I can’t smell the essence, but can see a warm, smoky haze gathering inside each goblet-like canopy.
I rarely attend gatherings or festivals. The Estate hosts a festival every time Sire returns from a Campaign, and I have attended exactly one—my Rite.
Ahead, at the foot of porcelain steps leading up to the Hall, Lord Bled stands with his arms already open. Behind him, a person dressed in white poses on each level, offering platters, baskets, and flowers.
My nerves race in my throat.
With the help of Kong’s hand, I exit the tank and inhale courage, poise, strength, and exhale my anxieties.
“Tuscany of The Strait, The Cradle’s Queen and Mother,” a Guard announces behind me, and a cheer erupts.
The CR Guard circles me.
Lord Bled strides toward me, his arms wide, his all-black appearance striking and sleek. "My queen."
It’s odd being referred to as his queen, given we grew up together as equals in one Collective. I can’t help but smile.
Not a secret one.
He is a good man.
"Bled." I extend my small hand upward. Standing at over seven-foot tall, I have to crane my neck when we get close. I adore him, but I don't embrace anyone.
To my relief, he immediately takes my hand in both of his, adding affection with a light squeeze.
“You must be hungry,” he says. “And just look at you, my queen. The picture of perfection.”
If only.
Lord Bled is flamboyant yet radiates masculinity and power. He is my brother’s favourite. His skin is a rich brown, and his hair is black as jet and close-cropped, accentuating his strong jawline.
“I have everything you might desire.” He clicks his fingers, and two Common girls appear at his side with silvery trays—one with sparkling liquor in flutes and the other with brownies sprinkled with nuts and dates.
I suppose that would have once earned him a smile from young Tuscany, Rome’s little sister.
Me.
I feel Kong’s warmth at my back and accept a small brownie. “Thank you.”
From within the crowd, I hear a girl gasp with excitement. “That’s Kong The Unbreakable!”
Another says, “He’s a war hero!”
I try to ignore the gushing, slightly startled by it. Do women throw themselves at him? I’ve never had to share him.
“Please, you must be tired.” Bled signals to someone behind his back.
“Now, I know you have your Army ladies, but these are my little dears.” Three pretty Common women line up in front of me.
“Dear One, Dear Two, and Dear Three. They are here to give you a tour and be at your side.” He turns to a sweet-looking blonde.
“Dear One, take the queen on a quick tour, and then help her settle into the queen’s royal wing.
” He taps her nose playfully, and she beams. He turns to a brunette.
“Dear Two, please see that her Army ladies are treated like lords. I know you have never met an Army lady before, but they are royal personnel. And Dear Three, well… Ah, I know. Visit the Modiste Girl, Islet, and have her gather dresses in the queen’s size for her birthday.
” He turns back to me. “Don’t worry, my queen.
I’ve had your wing redecorated for you.”
That wasn’t necessary is on my tongue, but in truth, it is a lovely gesture.
“Once you are settled,” he says, “I’ve invited a few people to celebrate your arrival."
My lungs squeeze. “A few?"
"Few hundred," he finishes.
Air rushes to my head.
"I promise you'll get lost in the crowd. No one will be focused on you.” He smiles, charming as ever. Both lips curve softly, at ease with his other features. It makes it hard not to return a soft smile of my own. “I'm too beautiful,” he adds. “They won’t be able to take their eyes off me.”
My lips part, breath shallow. "I'll consider it, Lord Bled."
Kong’s presence brews behind me. "The queen will not be attending any parties, Lord Bled. Sire has—"
“It's not a party,” Bled quips, waving his hand dismissively. “It's a celebration. And I've kept it very demure, but you and the Guards have a banquet tomorrow. A gift from me to you for protecting The Cradle and my monarchs. Not demure at all. Keep the innocent away from that one.”
What does that mean?
I peer to my right, up at Kong as he towers just behind me, expecting him to decline the salacious offer.
"That was unnecessary,” he says, voice tight, and I exhale in relief. “But appreciated. The men will be pleased.”
Appreciated?
The men will be pleased?
Or you will be pleased?
“Of course they will.” Bled clasps his hands together. “Please make yourselves at home. I will see you soon, my queen. Please, trust me.” He stares at me, and I see a young Bled in his amber eyes, the boy I grew up with. “I am on my best behaviour.”
We follow Dear One through Lord Bled’s Hall, and she calls back to us with delight, "Lord Bled's chambers are on the east side. You will see colours dictating your way. If you enter green decor, you’re in his wing.
Purple is, of course, the royal wing, yours.
" She strides onward, pointing, and Ana, Essen, and Brook trail me.
Kong remains only a few paces from my spine, his presence a tangle of warmth and regret and confusion.
“You are the queen and welcome to enjoy every inch,” Dear One offers, “but unlike The Estate, you will need a coat in the gardens and streets. In the Hall alone, you will find hundreds of rooms to play in. If you hear clucking, that's because we have chickens that roam free."
Brook shuffles close behind me. "What about the waste?" she says, and I’m thankful she lacks decorum for once, asking questions so I do not have to.
"The Chicken Shepherds clean up as they go. And we eat them. Not the Shepherds, the chickens. They aren't just pets." She laughs. "Well, except for Quack."
"Quack?” Brook laughs. “A duck?"
"No,” she says. “A chicken, but she doesn't know that, and we don’t have the heart to tell her.”
I find Dear One very entertaining, a slice of sunshine that matches her hair.
We enter a large dome with dozens of glass revolving doors that lead to sitting areas and dining rooms integrated with active greenery, long-reaching vines and herbs that seem to glimmer. They are all synthesised but will taste similar to organic produce.