Chapter 9
NINE
Rorrick
The jagged sound of her breath is all I hear as our king sloppily feeds. She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t run. She’s transfixed, big innocent eyes watchin’ every drop of blood that splatters to the clean floor.
She is afraid though. It’s the human in her. She may be part dark fae, but she’ll never forget her first glance into our world. And this is it. We all gather round every night to watch this fucker eat.
It’s an embarrassment to the kingdom my father once ruled.
There was power here. There was peace among fae and our kind. Now, only bits of their magic reside in this hellhole. Yes, long before King Boris sunk a blade into my father’s heart, centuries before the Promises were ever a stain on our kind, there was beauty, and there was power in this kingdom.
And now... a gargling snort resounds through the room as he nearly chokes— unfortunately , he pulls through and continues his feeding.
There’s a line of pretty women in pure white gowns lingering in the shadows.
I can’t see them, but they’re there. They always are.
And even if this feeding is a disgusting sight, those women are simply happy it isn’t them in his lap right now.
They’ll wait happily in their long robes of white until it’s their turn to be stripped down and bled dry.
His head lifts, and without his meaty hands on the used-up Promise, the woman’s slender body tumbles down his lap and rolls to the floor in front of him. A puddle of slick blood pools out around her. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his chunky hand.
How someone as composed as Christian is even remotely related to this steaming dumpster fire of a man is asinine to me.
“Well, come up here, girl. Let’s get a look at what the Thorn King has promised me.” Beady eyes eat up the woman who sits in front of him. The veering line of her spine is exposed, and only a knot at the small of her back holds the dress against her curves.
A sudden, intense urge to keep his disgusting hands off of something so beautiful strikes me then. I look away when she slowly stands on assured feet. She doesn’t stumble now. She doesn’t pause. She’s entirely elegant even as she stands with dirty bare feet before the King of the Blood Kingdom.
How the hell is she so damn confident while looking at the swollen, bloody face of a man like King Boris? Not to mention the corpse on the floor that will be quickly thrown out into the Dark Lands and forgotten the moment the king exits this room.
Some say the King’s Promises don’t truly die. They curse him for his sins. Would it kill ‘em to curse him a little harder though? I wish they fuckin’ would.
Small hands grip the hem of her dress, and she delicately lifts the edges of the black material at the sides of her thighs as she does a strange and subtle bow.
I almost wince at it. She should be on the floor if she intends to show respect.
Her head should brush the stone of the ground he walks on.
Anything less is an insult.
“My king,” she says in a breathy voice.
She raises her head high to look him in the eye.
But the damage is done.
The curl of his blubberin’ lips is enough to see how offended he is by her mere existence.
“Lower,” he booms.
There’s a slight tilt of her head like a sweet puppy who doesn’t understand.
“I’m—I’m sorry, what?”
“I said LOWER .” Stubby fingers bite into the intricate vines of his throne, and he’s barely containing himself now.
My eyes close slowly, and my thoughts travel the room like a mouse looking for the exit in an endless maze. There are too many voices, too many thoughts all murmuring at once.
But I find her among them. I find the lure of her pretty thoughts, and I slip right in.
Bow down to the floor. Now. Quickly.
A shudder shakes through her petite shoulders, and I know she heard me. I feel it in her. Her mind feels... dark. Full of anxiety and fear and strangely, intimacy...
I cannot hear her mind. I can feel it. Sense it. And of course, speak to it.
She doesn’t question it though. She drops to her knees instantly and hangs her head.
Lower. Bring your head so low, you can nearly taste the ground.
Her shoulders fling forward, and she plants her hands flat on the floor like a peasant worshiping the old gods.
Her ass curves high in the air, and I know I’m not the only one looking. I’m just the only one with the good manners to glance away.
Christian’s cold gray eyes slide my way, and there’s amusement there in the face of my kindness to the Promised girl.
Fucker.
“Good. Good,” the king praises.
The vines of his throne cry out when his weight shifts, and with rolling force, he stands. His shadow reaches out to her. With each wobbling step down the few stairs, he encroaches on her little by little.
She looks small when she’s finally there just in front of his thick black boots. He’s three times as wide as she is. He could smother her out with just the weight of his body on hers.
Vomit stings the back of my throat, and that chaotic urge to pull her away from this fat fuck is growin’ stronger by the second.
The tremble of her breath is consuming. It’s louder than the slamming of her heart even.
Don’ move. You’ll be okay. He won’ touch you. Jus’ don’ move.
I don’t know why I’m still talking to her.
The king has over three hundred living Promises. This girl is just one more.
“Why’s she dressed like this? Where is the purity gown?” The king’s narrowed eyes fling to me.
Christian’s shoes shift ever so slightly at my side. He doesn’t speak for me. But he’ll always protect me from his father. He vowed that the day this fucker killed my own father. When I was only seven years old. We were just boys then. I trust Christian with my life, entirely.
They say best friends hold many secrets between them. The secrets between Christian and me are so dark, it’s vile. If I could, I’d bury them in an unmarked grave and never think of them again.
Unfortunately, I have to carry them with me for the rest of eternity.
“They’re the clothes she arrived in, my king. Her gown hasn’t yet been arranged.” I don’t lower my head. I hold his gaze, and just like myself, the girl resiliently holds her place before the king.
“She’s wearing too much! She should be dressed as a Promised!” It’s more of a tantrum than a command. He’s more of a child than a vampire king.
Someday he’ll die the same way the king before him died.
And I just hope it’s me who finally does it.
“She isn’t a Promise.” The voice echoes out to the silent crowd, and a gasp of surprise flutters through the room from the viewers no one acknowledges.
“ Yet ,” Seven adds boldly, his chin lowering so his eyes are focused on the ground rather than the king who now sends glares like knives toward my friend.
“She will be! And she should be dressed as such!” His scream holds a tremor at the end, but it doesn’t stop his big hands from gripping the thin material of the girl’s dress.
Long black nails slide out and rip over her soft flesh.
Fabric tears viciously. The dress is torn away from her, leaving deep red lines in the wake of his fury.
Pain strikes through my jaw, and I fist my hands at my sides, determination desperately keeping my feet planted where I am.
I will not show him what he knows lies beneath my calm obedience. Not yet.
Not for a random girl I don’ even know.
She shivers at his feet; her bloody back and the curve of her ass is well exposed to the room of watchers. Unlike his hundreds of other Promises, a lacy line of a black thong covers her sex. She isn’t naked. Not entirely.
Not yet.
The heavy curl of his lips remains in place as he looks down at the now trembling girl with deep disappointment.
Blood runs along her back and down her sides.
The heavy scent of it alone kicks up a hungry murmur of voices from the shadows.
No one would dare touch the king’s property though.
Her sob is smothered down in her chest, and she seems to refuse to release it to him.
“I’m late for my nightly shaving,” he finally says, his hand peacefully resting on his round belly despite the thin layer of blood that I can see beneath his jagged nails. “Get her cleaned up. Next time, she is to be presented to me like a Promise.” Beady eyes slice up to me. “Or else.”
It’s the squandering unevenness of his footfalls that truly annoys me. He snuck up on my father like a true challenge. And now, he can’t even waddle down the hall without waking the maids who sleep on the third floor below.
He’s barely out of the room before I’m walking toward her. My hand reaches over my head, and I grab the back of my button-down. It lifts against my abdomen. I pull it off and slide it over her head while she’s still kneeling.
“He’s gone,” I whisper against her messy crimson hair.
“Get up,” Christian orders in a tone that’s a bit too similar to his father’s in this moment.
He endured the worst of his father’s torment when we were young. He was so protected by his mother that after she was gone, he had no one to shield him anymore. I don’t think he’s felt a loving hand since the day she died.
You’d think he’d be kinder because of it. He knows what it’s like to feel only abuse. And yet, he only regurgitates that cold cruelness his father always showed him.
She stands on stumbling feet. While she slides her arms through the long sleeves of my shirt, the tattered remains of her black dress slip down her thighs and to the floor.
The gold chains linking her hands together beneath the shirt are hidden, but the lines of where they lie press against the fabric.
My shirt covers her but rises against her thighs with every move she makes.
Smooth, pale skin demands my attention but I focus only on the alarm sparking in her big green eyes.
Until she folds her arms tightly around herself, and reminds me of her perfect tits that are now pressing hard against the weak little button of my shirt.
“Shit,” I hiss under my breath. I look quickly away, but Seven catches my gaze, a hinting smirk pulling at his lips as he glances my way.
Fuckers. Both of them.
They think I’m weak and too kind for my own good.
I’m not. I’m a warrior to a throne that despises me. I’ve slain thousands for a man I’d kill myself if given the chance.
I just happen to give a shit about the world and the state of this fucking kingdom. It needs stability right now. If Boris were to be violently killed, his limbs removed one by one before his meaty head was ripped off, the Fae Kingdom would strike.
Stability. It’s entirely too important right now.
Carelessly, Christian lights a cigarette. The red smoke of it curls around his fingers before he inhales so deeply, the magic in the smoke nearly snuffs right out. His eyes remain closed for a long, long moment.
“Seven, take her back to the room. Get her some of your Hallistal salve for her back and for starlight’s fucking sake get her gown on her.” Christian’s attention isn’t on the woman he’s speaking about at all. Hooded, steely eyes remain focused on the door his father exited just moments ago.
Just like a true king, the list in his mind never ends. I just don’t know what that list entails at the moment.
“Then meet Rorrick and me in my office.” He’s striding away before anyone even has time to process his words.
There it is.
Those dark secrets I mentioned; those are on the list.