Chapter Four – Altair
Chapter Four
Altair
I stand at the top of the staircase and watch the carriage approach from the distance, kicking up dust on the road that leads to the palace.
I fly faster than any horse-drawn carriage can travel, and I’ve had time to prepare for Tressa’s arrival.
The carriage stops at the base of the staircase, and I motion to a nearby servant to pay the driver. The door opens.
Tressa steps out in her blue velvet dress, and my chest tightens at the sight of her.
She stops with one hand still on the door and takes a deep breath.
Her shoulders rise and fall as she looks up at the massive building, her eyes scanning the towers and walls.
I notice she is shaking. I can see the pain on her face, the way her jaw clenches and her free hand curls into a fist. Just standing here is hurting her. I know exactly why.
My gaze shifts to the west wing. This is where Brandon died fourteen years ago. My best friend fell from that tower, his body plummeting down until it hit the cobblestones below to be crushed into pieces. Brandon was the person I loved more than anyone. More than my mother, more than myself.
Grief and guilt tighten inside my chest. I know exactly what Tressa is feeling, because I feel the same pain every single day. Every time I look at the west tower, every time I walk through its halls, I remember what happened and that I caused it.
The knowledge that I brought her back here, that I forced her to face this place again after all these years, makes me hate myself. But she hates me more, and I need her hatred like I need air. Her hatred is my punishment, my penance, exactly what I deserve.
Tressa takes another deep breath and starts climbing the stairs toward me.
I watch her approach and see the determination in her stride.
I force myself to school my features into cold indifference, pushing all emotion down until there is nothing left but the mask of the cruel wyvern lord.
My expression hardens, becomes imperious and dismissive, like my father taught me.
When she reaches the top step, I turn on my heel without a word and lead her inside through the massive front doors.
I walk her through the grand entrance hall with its soaring ceiling, up the main staircase with its ornate railings, and down corridors lined with tapestries and paintings. The palace is quiet around us, empty of servants who have learned to stay out of their lord’s way.
Tressa follows in silence, her footsteps echoing on the marble floors. We reach the south wing, and I stop at a door right next to my own chambers. I open it and step aside, gesturing for her to enter.
The space is an apartment rather than a simple room.
It contains a sitting room with elegant furniture and a fireplace, a separate bedroom visible through an open doorway, a bathroom with a claw-foot tub, and a huge walk-in closet that I filled with clothes for my future bride before I knew I would buy Tressa today.
“This is all yours,” I say. “Your chambers are right next to mine, in case I need you. And I will need you. All the time, day and night.”
Tressa frowns but steps inside. Her eyes take in the rich curtains, the plush carpets, and the fine furniture that is far too luxurious for a servant’s quarters. She looks confused and uncertain about what this means. I walk to the bedroom door and open it wider for her.
She steps inside and gasps.
On the bed lies an old, faded servant uniform.
I placed it there myself. I grin at her reaction and retrieve the uniform for her, picking it up.
The fabric has become worn over the years.
This is the old style, from when I was a child.
These days, the servants wear different, more modern uniforms, and I had to dig through storage to find this particular one.
It wasn’t difficult, because I knew exactly where to look.
I hold the uniform out to Tressa.
“This is what you’ll wear,” I tell her. “Take care of it, because it’s the only one you have.”
Tressa reaches for it with trembling hands. Her fingers shake as they close around the fabric. I notice her chin trembling as she fights back tears, refusing to let herself break in front of me. She brings the uniform to her nose and inhales deeply. A flash of disappointment crosses her face.
She looks up at me. Her eyes are filled with pure hatred that sends a pleasant ache through my chest. Watching her detest me is delightful, almost euphoric in the way it confirms everything I believe about myself.
“This is my mother’s uniform,” she says, her voice tight with suppressed emotion. “I recognize it.”
“Now it’s yours,” I confirm. “I thought it only made sense that you would carry her tradition and serve me and my family. Well, mostly me, since my parents have retreated to the north wing. Which, by the way, is not necessarily off limits, but there are other servants who’re assigned to that part of the palace, and I will need you here more. ”
I deliver this speech in a casual, matter-of-fact tone, as if I’m discussing something perfectly reasonable rather than forcing her into a role designed to humiliate and isolate her.
Tressa stares at me as if my words make no sense, as if I’m speaking a foreign language she can’t comprehend.
Then she hugs the uniform to her chest and holds it tight against her body.
“You’re a monster,” she says. Her voice drips with delicious poison that I want to drink until I drown in it. “You’re the worst I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen the dregs of humanity, believe me. You’re a stain on Alia Terra.”
I let her words wash over me and feel them seep into my bones, settling deep where they belong. A knot forms in my throat, but I swallow past it and force it down. When I speak, my voice is perfectly composed, showing nothing of the way her condemnation fills me with dark satisfaction.
“Is that what you believe?” I ask. “I must say, your honesty is refreshing. Do tell me more.”
Tressa chokes on her words, as if she’s ready to cry. Her voice cracks when she speaks, and I hear the pain underneath her anger.
“You’re a murderer,” she says. “Why did you bring me here? To torture me? Because let me tell you something: I will torture you right back, Altair.”
I step closer to her, closing the distance between us until I can smell the faint scent of her skin.
I reach out and touch her cheek with my fingers, brushing her skin in a reverent gesture.
She doesn’t pull back or flinch away, and I’m impressed by her courage.
She holds her ground and glares at me with those green eyes that remind me so much of Brandon.
She is so beautiful standing here in her blue velvet dress, with her round breasts on display, her tiny waist, and her generous hips that make me want to grab onto them and never let go.
My finger traces along her cheekbone and stops mere inches from the corner of her lips. She is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s filled with fire and hatred; her mouth is ready to insult me at every opportunity. This woman is going to bring me to my knees.
“Torture,” I say slowly, tasting the word. “It sounds like a promise, Tressa. I’m going to hold you to it.” I pause and let my voice shift into something colder and more formal. “But it’s Lord Aurellion to you, at least in front of the other servants. Do I make myself understood?”
Before I can pull my hand back – though I don’t particularly want to – Tressa turns her head and bites down on my finger.
Her teeth sink in hard enough to draw blood.
I wince at the pain that quickly turns to pleasure.
When she releases me, I see a drop of blood on her lips, red and bright against her skin.
She licks it, and I think I will melt right on the spot.
I want to fall at her feet and beg her to punish me, make me bleed, hurt me in any way she wants.
I barely hold myself back. Instead, I put my finger into my mouth and suck the blood before the wound closes on its own.
Wyverns heal quickly from small injuries.
I can already feel my skin knitting back together.
Tressa smirks at me with triumph and viciousness written across her beautiful face. I smirk back at her. I have found my match – the person who will destroy me – and I welcome it with open arms.
I pull out a cuff bracelet made of pure gold with an intricate design etched into the metal, and I grab Tressa’s wrist firmly. She tries to pull away, but I hold her steady and secure the cuff around her wrist, snapping it closed with a click.
“The cuff will burn hot when I summon you,” I explain. “Come quickly, or it will scorch your skin.”
Tressa yanks her wrist free from my grip and stares down at the gold cuff glinting on her arm.
“You want me in my mother’s old uniform, ready to come running when you call, but you put me in this ridiculous room,” she says. “I should be with the servants.”
“No, Tressa. You should be close to me at all times, so I can keep an eye on you. You ran from the palace once; you won’t run again.”
She sneers at me, her face twisting with contempt that makes my chest ache in the best possible way.
“I didn’t run,” she corrects me. “My parents couldn’t continue working for your parents after Brandon died.
Your father paid them off well and sent us all on our way.
It was a mutual agreement. I don’t know what they told you or what you understood.
You don’t own me, Altair. Your father himself dismissed my family. ”
“My father doesn’t think straight sometimes,” I say. “Wyverns are creatures of possession, and we own our servants. For life. That’s a lesson you’ll have to learn.”
Tressa looks at me with absolute conviction burning in her eyes.
“I hate you.”
I smile at her words. She doesn’t know they feel like a gift. I need to put distance between us now, because this is becoming too much. I walk around her toward the door, and shoot over my shoulder as I leave:
“Put on your uniform. I might need you soon.”
I exit her chambers and enter my own next door.
I stop in the middle of my sitting room and stand still for a moment, letting everything that just happened wash over me.
I look down at my finger, the one she bit so viciously, and admire the small dents her teeth left on my skin.
The marks are barely visible. I hold my hand to my chest and press it over my heart.
I didn’t know how much I needed this, until I saw her at the bride market this morning.
I didn’t lie to my father about wanting a bride, and I fully intended to buy a human wife today to spite him.
But when I saw Tressa standing on the auction block, with her wavy brown hair catching the sunlight, and her green eyes looking out at the crowd, I recognized her instantly.
Those green eyes, so much like Brandon’s, were like a punch to my stomach. The moment I saw her, everything changed. I had to buy her, had to have her, no matter the price.
She is mine, the way Brandon was mine before he died. Both of them belong to me in different ways, and now I have her back where she should have always been.
I walk to the bookshelf to my left and reach out to pull a particular book. The entire bookshelf moves, swinging outward like a door, and revealing a small, cramped room behind it. I step inside and close it back, sealing myself in darkness.