Chapter 8 Isha
ISHA
I’M ACTUALLY curious whether Sadaré will obey my summons to the grand dining hall, or if she’ll risk defying me again so soon. Either outcome would be diverting, at the very least.
Seated in my chair at the end of the table, I wait for her in front of a feast as decadent as that which I presented to her before—and which she declined in entirety, much to my ire.
I didn’t do her the honor of fetching her personally this time, only sending a messenger.
I want her to come to me, even as I don’t appreciate being made to wait.
Desire and control, always in balance—or always in conflict? As long as neither side gains too much ground, they’re much the same thing.
I find myself rubbing the bristle along my jaw with one hand as I drum my fingers on the table with the other—the hard taps making a servant start forward until I wave him off—pondering the puzzle of her.
How her sharp edges fit with her soft curves, how those green eyes are both a window into her thoughts and a mirror showing me only what I wish to see.
I turn her over and over in my mind like an object in my hands, one I’m unsure whether I want to crack open or caress.
Or even smash to pieces on the ground in frustration.
But I’m far too patient to break something that might yet provide amusement or utility.
She’s still giving me the former, while Deonyus lends her the latter.
And yet what I really want is for her to bend.
She’s made claims of pliability, but I’ve yet to witness much of it.
This will be her first real test of how willing she truly is, despite her already tasting the lash of my disapproval in place of the food I offered.
While her punishment was deserved, it was more of a warning than a reprimand.
She’d only so recently arrived, still gaining her bearings.
Still learning that there are rules here.
Now the question is: Can she actually learn to follow them?
Toying with the stem of my wine goblet, I wonder if she might enjoy the punishment too much to be motivated. Which leads me to another question: Will she learn better from reward or punishment—her desire or her pain? Perhaps a balance of the two—and always under my control.
Even though she hardly mentions Deonyus—Daesra, to her—I know he’s in her thoughts. I must do whatever I can to cast him from her mind the fastest, and to leave him despairing in darkness.
What will best bend her to my will—and break his?
The soft sound of Sadaré’s steps interrupts my musing.
As compelling as the last question is, she draws my attention like a flame, the candlelight making her pale skin and red hair glow.
The black silk of her gown swirls around her legs like dark water, while the chains wrapping her from chest to hips tinkle and shine at her approach.
I suddenly want to watch her dance, but there will be time for that later.
Now I have more important objectives.
“You called for me, my lord?” she asks with a pleasant, bemused smile, as if my intention for summoning her here weren’t obvious with the laden table.
“Sit,” I order, gesturing to the smaller chair beside mine. “Eat.”
She seats herself demurely with barely a wince, crossing her legs, but only folds her hands in her lap. “I’m happy to keep you company, but I’m afraid I’m not hungry.”
I lean forward, planting my elbow on the table and gripping my armrest with a threatening creak of wood that makes her eyes widen slightly. “You’re in my house, under my roof, and you have yet to eat. That won’t do, Arinae.”
She tosses her hair over her shoulder with a sigh, exposing her slender neck as if to taunt me. “If you can’t even remember my name, you could hardly pretend to care about my well-being.”
“You’re under my care, so I will see you properly nourished. Eat.”
“No.”
“I don’t like that word,” I say, my tone dropping dangerously.
Her voice sinks with something more lascivious. “Then command me to do something else.”
She’s trying to test me at the same time as I’m testing her. Teasing out my rigidity while I’m demanding her pliancy.
I lean back in my chair, lacing my hands before me with a smile, resisting the urge to snatch a fistful of her hair.
There are other ways to pain her—strike her where I suspect it truly hurts.
“Were you like this for Deonyus?” I ask casually.
“No wonder you found him soft, if you were so ceaselessly butting your head against him.”
“Who?”
I want to wipe the coy smile from her lips with the hard press of my thumb, but my hands remain laced.
“Surely you haven’t forgotten him yet, even if you were quite eager to leave him—Deseus, Deonyus, your boy god?
” I deliberately leave out the name she favors.
I let my smile fall. “I’m no boy to be bruised or rashly baited by your stubbornness.
But you are being a very disobedient girl, and soon you will learn what that provokes in me. ”
Her eyes flare, and I know she’s taken my bait. “He’s Daesra,” she says. “He chose that name.”
My words crack like a whip, making her jump in her seat.
“He chose defiance. He chose you. And what did he get for his endless caprice in return? Godhood.” I gesture at the feast as though sweeping it all away.
“It should never have been granted to him. It’s a mockery.
A ploy of the gods—the god that remade themself as Horizon in order to remake him.
Both of them are abominations, perversions of divine order. ”
She shakes her head slowly, her mouth slightly agape at my outburst—or perhaps at what she perceives as blasphemy against Horizon. “How can you say that?”
“He has always pretended he’s not bound by our rules—not by death as a daemon nor by his own nature as a god.
That spoiled boy does whatever he wants without care, and his childish whims have been humored for too long without punishment.
” I take a deep breath, calming my voice.
I don’t wish to frighten her too much. At least not right now.
“But he only acts this way because of what he is—an aberration. And I should be the one to punish him. Because, in the end, we cannot be aught but what we are made to be.”
But Sadaré looks anything but frightened, much to my vexation. “Careful, god,” she says with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “It almost sounds like you might be jealous of him.”
Fear it is, then. I rest my hand against her throat, squeezing just enough to make her gasp. But even that doesn’t quite have the effect I want it to. Her eyes grow heavy-lidded, and she bites her lip.
“Careful, mortal, to watch your tongue lest you lose it.” My voice is low, but huskier than I would prefer, my eyes on her mouth.
“Lest you lose something perhaps more precious to you? Because Deonyus will be my abomination, my perversion, in the end—if you force me to substitute him for you.” I will have him no matter what, or else destroy him in the process. But she doesn’t have to know that.
Real fear finally surfaces in her eyes—for him or for herself? “But I already traded myself in his place.”
“Indeed. Yet you are mortal, and mortals only last so long, even in death. In your case, that greatly depends on how long you manage to hold my interest. When I chose you, it wasn’t for insolence or defiance.”
Although I do find myself relishing her defiance at times, if only in anticipation of breaking her. I give her a brief shake before releasing her throat, lacing my hands once more. The better to resist the temptation to touch her.
Tears brim over and spill down one of her cheeks—deceptively convincing—and she throws herself down at the side of my chair, clasping at the armrest with pleading hands. “I’m sorry.”
I appreciate the sight of her on her knees, but my words are merciless. “Prove it.”
She glances at the table with watery reluctance.
“If I have to feed you by force,” I say, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, “I will.”
She stands abruptly and snatches up a grape from a platter on the table. After popping it into her mouth, she chews and swallows as quickly as possible as if to get it over with, and then turns back to me primly.
“There,” she says. “I ate.”
“More,” I growl.
“But I’m not hungry.” She whines rather pathetically as she sidles around my knees to lean on the end of the table, hands gripping the edge on either side of her, facing me—and not the food. She’s nearly perched between my legs. “Not in that way.” Her gaze drops to my lips… and then wanders lower.
Her attempt at distraction is charming, I have to admit. And she ate something, however small it was. It’s still a victory for me.
Which perhaps has earned her some pleasure. That is, if she truly wants such things and this isn’t just another act to distract me from my hunger for Deonyus.
Her test hasn’t ended yet.
“What is it you’re craving, hm?” I ask, tracing my fingers up her arm. I hook one around the silk shoulder strap of her gown.
Rather than look frightened or repulsed, her eyes follow my hand hungrily, far more hungrily than she’s ever looked at any morsel of food. When she meets my gaze, there’s a dare in her own.
A swift tug is all it takes for my finger to part the strap and draw the silk down, baring one of her breasts to the air.
Her nipple grows instantly taut and hard.
Her lips part with a little gasp, and her legs spread the slightest bit more in front of me.
Once more, I can smell her arousal—proving that at least this isn’t an act.
Her eyes are still locked on mine. She either doesn’t care that the servants are watching or she’s relishing the show she’s giving them.
But I don’t reach for her. I only lean back in my chair, leaving her there like the untouched feast behind her, propping my chin on my fist with a small smile. “Still chafing under my restrictions on your pleasure?”