Chapter 3 #3
Dancers entered the space, men and women alike, their skin oiled to a polished gleam.
Heat rose to my cheeks. They were entirely naked, adorned only with golden chains set with sparkling gems. They moved toward the center of the room, where a marble podium stood, and servants swiftly cleared the remaining furniture from it as the guests gathered closer, eager for the spectacle to begin.
The dancers pressed together in a seductive dance, their limbs entwined as they moved. Their movements were suggestive, their iron piercings were set in indecent places. I swallowed. This wasn’t something meant to be shared with a room full of strangers.
Even though I’d received countless indecent proposals since turning sixteen, I’d always imagined sharing my body with someone I loved—not beneath the hungry eyes of a crowd.
The women upon the podium leaned forward and began licking the male dancer’s body.
One of them went as far as licking the iron pierced through his cock.
Applause broke out around me as the guests watched hungrily.
The male dancer bent over one of the women and fucked her in earnest. Around the podium, guests pulled partners into alcoves and onto private balconies, stripping as they went.
Others pressed each other against the walls.
Sartelis seized a servant by the neck and leaned in to whisper in his ear. The man looked uncomfortable, yet followed him out all the same. Others dragged servants down onto their knees as they opened their robes, their heads thrown back in ecstasy as decorum dissolved entirely.
I placed my cup upon a table beside me and moved to find Elion, intending to tell him I wished to leave at once.
Then a cold sensation began at my ear, escalating until it turned freezing.
I turned toward the tingle along my spine and saw the Praetor entering the room.
He was dressed in full armor and didn’t seem disturbed by what was happening around him.
Before I could look away, he saw me. I froze.
Breaking his stare, I forced my way through the crowd, slapping away hands that grabbed at my dress, and fabric tore at the seams near my breasts at one particularly indecent attempt. Anger flared—where was Elion? Someone seized my waist and I whirled, my hand already raised to strike.
My arm halted mid-air as I found myself face to face with the Praetor. He caught my hand smoothly and lowered it to his lips. “My Lady, you outshine the room.”
Every instinct recoiled as his touch lingered a fraction too long, wrong in a way I couldn’t name.
He wore a pleasant smile, his warm hazel eyes inviting trust, and I was annoyed to find myself drawn to his handsomeness.
He wasn’t a man to be trifled with. Before I could answer, the Aedile’s voice rang out behind him.
“It is my honor to present our esteemed guest. He has left the splendor of the Ludaryn just for us.” He clapped twice, and the dancers left the room as the crowd ceased their indulgences. “My Lords and Ladies—Marcus Valaryn, Lanista of the Ludaryn and master of every Saber Warrior in Caelora.”
The doors beside him opened, and every eye turned toward them as the Lanista himself entered the room.
He appeared to be about Elion’s age. His dark hair, streaked with gray at the temples, was parted neatly down the middle and tucked behind his ears.
Lean and severe, he looked more like a legionnaire than a noble.
His clothing was strikingly plain for a golden-pierced, little more than a simple black tunic.
Only the gold ring through his ear betrayed his status.
Silence settled as the Praetor released my hand and moved to stand beside me.
“Watch, Miss Greenwillow. This will be your Lanista once you enter the Ludaryn. He is admired throughout Caelora and upholds the Imperator’s will without fail.”
Marcus clasped the Aedile’s hand and greeted those gathered around him. There—there was Elion beside him. Thank the goddess. He was searching the crowd.
The Lanista raised his hands high. “Thank you for the introduction, Tiberion. It is an honor for me to be here. Now, people of Caelora, allow me to present the finest Saber Warriors in all of Valystria.”
The air shifted, as if the room itself leaned forward.
A group of guards entered first. Behind them, the warriors followed in formation, their chests bare and gleaming with oil, their legs draped in fine armor, silver piercings visible in a variety of places.
They were heavily muscled, their bulk filling the room as they stood against the walls with their hands resting loosely at their sides.
I’d never seen men like them. Elion had always forbidden me from watching the spectacle in the Maw until I became a Bondward in full, afraid the violence would alter me too young.
My breath stalled. They were striking, beautiful in a severe and dangerous way, their faces hard with confidence.
Against my will I was drawn toward one of them.
He seemed different. He was taller, his skin bronze where the others were pale or darker.
His shoulders were broad, and a black saber was inked across his skin—its head resting on his chest, its body tapering over his shoulder, green eyes glinting.
It was a violent mark. Where the others stood rigid with learned obedience, this one was still in a different way, as though he were restraining himself—though from what, I didn’t know.
The Praetor cleared his throat beside me, and I flushed. He shifted, placing himself between me and the gleaming bodies beyond. “Ah. They do make quite the impression, don’t they? Is this the first time you have seen them like this?”
I could only nod, willing my racing heart to slow.