Chapter 17 #2
Síocháin squeezed her hand once, then slipped out the servant's entrance. Briar took one last look at her reflection—the exposed skin, the dress that promised everything, the face painted to hide terror—and followed the servant into the hall.
She could do this. A private dinner, the special wine to calm her nerves, and a plan that would end with Malus unconscious and Eliam free. She just had to be convincing for a few hours.
The vial pressed against her hip with each step, a secret weight that would either save them or destroy them all.
The servant led her through corridors she didn't recognize, away from the private wing where she'd expected to dine. Briar's steps faltered as they turned down a wider hallway, one lined with torches and decorated with autumn leaves that rustled despite no breeze.
"Where are we going?" she asked, but the servant didn't answer, just kept walking with that blank-faced efficiency all of Malus's staff seemed to share.
The noise reached her before the doors did. Voices, dozens of them, the clink of glasses and murmur of conversation. Her heart began to pound.
No. This was wrong. This was supposed to be private.
The servant pushed open the great doors, and Briar's carefully constructed composure shattered.
The entire court was assembled. Long tables stretched the length of the hall, filled with fae lords and ladies in their finest attire.
Candles floated overhead, casting everything in warm golden light that made the scene look almost beautiful if you didn't notice the hungry eyes turning toward her.
At the head of the room, elevated on a dais, sat Malus in a throne-like chair, watching her with an expression of pure, delighted anticipation.
There was no private table. No bottle of wine with a nick on the label. No intimate setting where she could control the situation.
She'd been played.
"Ah, there she is." Malus's voice carried across the sudden silence. He gestured with one hand, a lazy beckoning. "Come, pet. I've been telling everyone how eager you were to join us tonight."
Every eye in the room fixed on her. She felt their gazes pressing against her exposed skin, the plunging neckline, the dress that suddenly felt like nothing at all.
Move, she told herself. You have to move.
Her legs carried her forward somehow, silk whispering against her thighs with each step. The vial pressed against her hip, useless now. There would be no private moment to drink it, no opportunity to let Malus feed while she was drugged. Everything she'd planned was worthless.
The walk to the dais felt endless. Fae whispered as she passed, their words just loud enough to catch.
"...the human pet..."
"...heard she begged him in the garden..."
"...wonder how long before he tires of her..."
Briar kept her chin up, kept her expression smooth. Malus wanted her broken and desperate. She wouldn't give him that. Not yet.
She reached the dais and stopped, unsure what to do. There was no chair for her, no place set at his table. Just Malus, lounging in his throne, watching her with those calculating eyes.
"You look disappointed," he said softly, pitched for her ears alone. "Were you expecting something more... intimate?"
"I was expecting dinner." She was proud of how steady her voice came out.
"And you'll have it." His smile widened. "But first, I thought we might address some concerns my court has raised. They worry, you see, that my new pet isn't quite as tame as I've claimed. That perhaps her earlier displays of affection were... performative."
Ice flooded her veins. "I don't understand."
"Don't you?" He reached out, fingers catching her wrist, and pulled her toward him. "You told me you were tired of fighting. That you'd chosen the winning side. I believed you." His grip tightened. "But belief and proof are different things, aren't they?"
"What do you want me to do?"
The question came out barely above a whisper. Malus's smile turned sharp, cruel, satisfied.
"Prove it." He tugged her forward, off-balance, and she tumbled into his lap. His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her there. "Show my court that you belong to me. Willingly."
The hall had gone utterly silent. She could feel hundreds of eyes on her, could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. Malus's hand splayed across her stomach, possessive and warm through the thin silk.
"I don't—" she started.
"You said you were done fighting." His lips brushed her ear, his voice dropping to something intimate and terrifying. "You said you wanted this. Were you lying to me, Briar?"
The threat hung unspoken. Eliam in the dungeons. What Malus could do to him with a single command.
"No," she whispered. "I wasn't lying."
"Then prove it."
His hand slid lower, fingers trailing across her hip, her thigh. She forced herself not to flinch, not to pull away. The dress's thin fabric hid nothing—she could feel the heat of his palm through the silk.
"Spread your legs."
The command was quiet but absolute. When she hesitated, his other hand gripped her chin, forcing her to look at the assembled court. All those faces, watching, waiting.
"They need to see," he murmured against her neck. "They need to know you're mine. Unless you'd rather I visit the dungeons tonight instead?"
Briar's eyes burned, but she didn't cry. She couldn't cry. Instead, she let her thighs part, just slightly.
"Wider."
She obeyed.
Malus made a sound of approval. His hands found her knees, lifting them, draping her legs over the arms of his chair so she was spread open and displayed. The position pulled her dress up her thighs, exposing far too much. Cool air hit her skin and she had to bite back a sound of humiliation.
"There," he said, satisfaction dripping from every syllable. "Isn't that better?"
His hand returned to her thigh, tracing lazy patterns on her inner skin. Each touch made her want to scream, to fight, to run. Instead, she stayed perfectly still, her body rigid in his lap.
"You're tense." His fingers walked higher, brushing the edge of her smallclothes. "That won't do. You're supposed to be enjoying this."
She couldn't speak. Could barely breathe.
"Look at them," he commanded. "Look at my court while I touch you."
She raised her eyes. The fae watched with expressions ranging from hungry interest to barely concealed disgust. Some leaned forward in their seats. Others whispered behind raised hands. All of them saw her like this, spread and helpless and pretending she wanted it.
Malus's free hand slid up her stomach, over her ribs, until he cupped her breast through the thin silk. He squeezed, testing the weight of her, his thumb finding her nipple and circling until it hardened despite her will.
"The dress was a good choice," he mused, pinching lightly. "So thin. They can see everything."
He was right. She could feel her nipples pressing against the fabric, could see fae eyes dropping to watch his hand knead and shape her. He tugged at the strap on one shoulder, pulling it down until her breast spilled free, bare and exposed to the entire court.
"Lovely," he said, rolling the nipple between his fingers. "Don't you think she's lovely?"
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the hall.
His other hand slipped beneath the fabric of her smallclothes.
The touch was electric, unwanted, and her body jerked in response. He laughed softly, the sound vibrating against her back.
"So responsive," he purred. "And we've barely begun."
He explored her slowly, deliberately, one hand between her legs while the other continued its assault on her breasts, switching from one to the other, pulling the second strap down until she was bare from the waist up.
His fingers mapped every fold and curve while the court watched.
She felt her face burning, felt shame crawling up her throat, but she didn't fight.
Couldn't fight. Every time she started to close her legs, his hand abandoned her breast to grip her thigh in warning, keeping her spread wide.
His hand left her thigh and slid to her hip, fingers toying with the bunched silk of her dress. He traced along the seam, lazy and possessive, and Briar's heart stopped.
The vial. He was inches from the vial.
His fingers dipped beneath the fabric, exploring the curve of her hip, moving closer to that hidden pocket with every passing second. If he found it, if he felt that small glass shape against his fingers—
"Please." The word came out before she could stop it, desperate and breathy.
Malus stilled. His fingers paused their exploration, hovering dangerously close to the vial's hiding spot.
"Please what?" His voice was low, curious, delighted.
She shifted in his lap, arching her back, pressing herself more firmly against his chest. Her hand found his wrist and pulled, guiding his fingers away from her hip and back between her thighs.
"Touch me," she gasped. "I need—please, I need you to touch me."
The court murmured. Malus laughed, the sound rich with surprised pleasure.
"Well, well." His breath was hot against her ear. "Perhaps you aren't pretending after all."
His hand followed where she'd led it, fingers sliding back through her slick folds, and she nearly sobbed with relief even as fresh shame flooded through her. She'd just begged him to touch her. In front of everyone. And he believed it.
"So eager," he purred. "I knew you'd come around eventually."
Malus rewarded her with a stroke that made her hips jerk, his other hand returning to pinch her nipple hard enough to make her cry out.
He knew exactly what he was doing, exactly how to make her body respond even as her mind screamed.
His fingers circled, pressed, retreated, building sensation she didn't want to feel.
"See how she responds?" he announced to the watching court. He rolled her nipple again, pulling it taut. "And these pretty breasts—look how they flush when she's aroused."