Chapter 17 #3
Humiliation burned through her. Her body was betraying her, responding to his touch even as revulsion churned in her stomach. She could feel arousal building despite everything, her hips twitching involuntarily toward his hand.
"That's it," he crooned. "Stop fighting. Let them see how good I make you feel."
His fingers found a rhythm, steady and relentless. She tried to stay quiet, tried to deny him the satisfaction, but small sounds kept escaping—gasps and whimpers she couldn't quite suppress. Each one made his smile grow wider.
"I've imagined this so many times." His breath was hot against her throat.
"How you'd sound when you finally stopped fighting.
How your face would look when you realized there was nothing left to hold onto.
" His fingers twisted and she cried out.
"Even better than I dreamed. Every fracture, every break—I want to remember all of it. "
He shifted beneath her, adjusting the angle of his hand, and the new position made her see stars. His hand left her breast, wrapping loosely around her throat. Not squeezing, just resting there, a reminder of how completely he controlled her.
"Look at them," he commanded. "Look at my court while I take you apart."
She forced her eyes open, forced herself to see the sea of faces watching her degradation. Some looked hungry. Others bored, as if this were just another evening's entertainment. A few wouldn't meet her eyes at all.
The pleasure was building now whether she wanted it or not, coiling tight in her belly, her thighs beginning to tremble.
"You're close," he observed. "I can feel it. All those muscles tightening, your pulse racing." He bit her earlobe, just hard enough to sting. "Come for me, Briar. Come for my court."
She didn't want to. Willed herself not to. But his fingers knew exactly where to press, exactly how to move, and her body didn't care about her dignity or her shame or the eyes watching her fall apart.
The orgasm hit her without warning, sharp and intense, ripping a cry from her throat that echoed through the silent hall.
Her back arched against Malus's chest, her legs trembling over the chair arms, completely unable to close or hide.
He kept stroking through it, drawing it out, making her writhe and gasp until she was shaking and oversensitive and nearly sobbing.
Only then did he stop.
"Good girl," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple that felt like mockery. "See? She's perfectly tame."
Laughter rippled through the court. Scattered applause.
Briar's vision blurred. She couldn't feel her legs. The vial pressed against her hip, completely forgotten and utterly useless.
Malus gripped her jaw and kissed her, deep and possessive, letting the court see his tongue sweep into her mouth. She tasted wine and underneath it, something darker, something wrong.
When he released her mouth, his lips trailed down to her throat.
"Every piece of you that falls away,” he said softly. “I'm going to collect. Keep. Rebuild you into something perfect."
Without warning his teeth sank into her neck.
The pain was sharp, immediate as Malus bit deep and drank greedily, his arm locked around her waist as she jerked in his grip.
The court watched that too.
He drank until her vision started to gray at the edges, until her struggles grew weak, until she hung limp in his arms. Only then did he pull back, licking the wound with a tongue that burned like frost.
"Mine," he announced, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall. "Body, blood, and soon enough, soul."
The court erupted in applause.
Briar couldn't move. Could barely think. Her neck throbbed, her thighs ached from their forced position, and somewhere deep in her chest, the warmth that connected her to Eliam flickered weakly, damaged by Malus's feeding.
He kept her there through the entire dinner, legs still spread over the chair arms, her body on display while the court ate and drank and pretended this was normal. Occasionally his hand would return between her thighs, stroking idly, reminding her and everyone else exactly what he'd claimed.
Briar stared at nothing, trying to retreat somewhere inside herself where this wasn't happening. The conversation around them had resumed, stilted at first but growing more natural as wine flowed and the court adjusted to the sight of their king's human pet splayed open before them.
She felt eyes on her. Not just passing glances but a steady, hungry gaze. A fae lord at one of the nearer tables, his golden hair swept back from a sharp-featured face, watched her with an intensity that made her skin crawl even more than it already did.
Malus noticed.
"Lord Liefand, isn't it?" His voice cut through the ambient noise, pleasant and curious. The hall quieted.
The lord startled, then recovered with a bow of his head. "Yes, Your Majesty."
"You seem to be enjoying the view." Malus's hand traced idle patterns on Briar's stomach as he spoke. "I can hardly blame you. She is exquisite, isn't she?"
Liefand's eyes darted between Malus and Briar, uncertainty flickering across his features. "She is, Your Majesty. You are... most fortunate."
"I am." Malus tilted his head, a smile playing at his lips. "Would you like a closer look?"
The hall went utterly silent.
Liefand froze. Briar felt Malus's chest rise and fall against her back, calm and steady. His hand continued its lazy movements on her skin.
"I..." Liefand swallowed. "Your Majesty, I wouldn't presume—"
"It's not presumption if I'm offering." Malus's voice was warm, inviting. "Come. See what all the fuss is about."
A trap. This was a trap. Briar wanted to scream it, to warn the fool, but her voice wouldn't work. She watched in mute horror as Liefand rose from his seat, as he approached the dais with hesitant steps, as greed slowly overtook caution in his expression.
"That's it," Malus encouraged. "Don't be shy."
Liefand climbed the dais steps. Up close, Briar could see the hunger in his eyes, the way they roamed over her exposed breasts, her spread thighs. Revulsion churned in her stomach.
"Go on," Malus said softly. "Touch her."
Liefand's hand extended, trembling with what might have been fear or anticipation or both. His fingers hovered over her knee, then made contact—cold, unwelcome, making her flinch.
Malus moved.
One moment he was relaxed beneath her, the next his hand had shot out and closed around Liefand's throat. The lord made a choked sound of surprise, his hand jerking away from Briar's skin.
"Did you really think," Malus said, his voice still conversational, almost friendly, "that I was offering?"
Liefand's hands scrabbled at Malus's grip, his face reddening. "Your Majesty—I—you said—"
"I said touch her. I wanted to see if you would." Malus's smile didn't waver. "You did."
"Please—"
"Look at her." The friendliness began to bleed away, something colder seeping through. "Look at what you thought you could have."
Liefand's terrified eyes met Briar's. She couldn't look away, couldn't move, couldn't do anything but watch as Malus's expression shifted from pleasant to something terrible.
"She belongs to me," Malus said, and now there was anger beneath the calm, building like a storm. "Every inch of her. Every sound she makes. Every drop of blood in her veins. Mine."
His grip tightened on Liefand's throat. The lord's struggles grew weaker.
"And you thought you could touch her? You thought I would share?"
"Forgive me," Liefand gasped. "Please, Your Majesty, I beg—"
"Watch," Malus commanded Briar, his voice sharp. "Watch what happens to those who touch what's mine."
She couldn't have looked away if she'd wanted to. Malus released Liefand's throat, and for one brief moment hope flickered across the lord's face.
Then Malus placed his palm over Liefand's eyes.
The screaming started immediately. Liefand's hands flew to his face, clawing at Malus's wrist, but Malus held firm. Briar could smell it—decay, rot, the sickly-sweet stench of something dying. She could see the skin around Malus's fingers turning gray, darkening, withering.
"This is what happens," Malus announced to the silent hall, his voice rising over Liefand's shrieks. "To anyone who thinks they can take from me. To anyone who believes my generosity is weakness."
He released Liefand, and the lord crumpled to the dais floor, hands pressed to his face, sounds coming from his throat that didn't sound like language anymore. Dark fluid seeped between his fingers—not blood, something thicker, fouler.
"Let this serve as a reminder." Malus's voice had gone cold, hard, furious.
"She is mine. If any of you so much as look at her too long, you will envy Lord Liefand.
Because I was merciful tonight. I left him his tongue so he can tell others what happens when you covet what belongs to the Autumn King. "
The hall was deathly silent except for Liefand's broken sobbing.
Malus settled back in his throne, his hand returning to Briar's thigh, his touch gentle once more. "Now," he said pleasantly, as if nothing had happened, "where were we?"
Briar couldn't stop shaking. On the floor beside the dais, Liefand continued to weep, his ruined eyes hidden behind trembling hands. Guards eventually dragged him away, leaving only a smear of dark fluid on the stones.
The court resumed eating. Conversation picked up again, forcibly cheerful, studiously avoiding any mention of what had just occurred.
And Briar understood, with horrible clarity, exactly what would happen to Síocháin if Malus ever discovered her betrayal. What would happen to anyone who tried to help her. What would happen to Eliam if she failed.
The vial pressed against her hip, a tiny weight that suddenly felt impossibly heavy.
She had to succeed. There was no other option.