Chapter 19 Sadaré #2
Which gives me an idea. A dark, deceitful idea—one that fortunately has nothing to do with this particular child. I kiss the top of his curly head and give him a gentle but insistent shove toward the alcove.
“You go on. Isha will take care of me now.”
The boy hesitates, his brow creasing, but then Isha nods. I don’t know in what way the god of death will take care of me, but it’s enough for the boy to realize he’s no longer needed and has perhaps worn out his welcome. He goes scurrying for the exit, vanishing from sight.
Which leaves me still on my knees, with Isha staring down at me.
“I was very worried,” he says eventually, his voice low.
“I’m sorry,” I say miserably, rubbing my chilly arms when my teeth chatter.
He holds out his hand. “Come. Let’s get you warm.”
Even though I’ve already lowered myself, I fully expect him to yank me farther to the floor, or drag me elsewhere for punishment. Instead, when I take his hand, he pulls me up against his chest—into his arms. Smothering me with his crushing embrace.
“Don’t do that again,” he says in the lowest, deadliest of voices. But his lips press against the top of my head. “I can’t lose you.”
When I look up at him—and then around, blinking in surprise—I realize we’re no longer in the arcade spanning the distance from the main keep to the north tower.
I’m not entirely sure where we are. We’re surrounded by windows on all sides, but most of the views are obscured by gauzy black curtains and lacquered black folding screens.
The latter are beautifully inlaid with silver and mother-of-pearl, depicting flowers and birds and landscapes in stunning detail where they stand in front of every window—almost as if they were views to cover those outside.
There’s a massive black iron bed resting in the center of the room, draped in heavy midnight curtains to block even the minimal light reaching inside, with a black silk coverlet that somehow looks like it hasn’t been disturbed in a long time, even though there’s not a speck of dust on it.
It takes me a moment of turning around in wonder to realize this must be Isha’s bedchamber, at the top of the main keep. Like the throne room at the bottom, I haven’t caught a glimpse of it—until now.
Isha doesn’t give me long to peer about before he scoops me up in his arms, knocking a startled grunt from me despite how numb I am.
He carries me to one side of the room sectioned off by more folding screens, behind which is a huge black marble basin filled with steaming water.
My clothes vanish just before my toes dip below the surface, and I release an obscene groan of pleasure as the hot water envelops the rest of me.
It burns against my cold flesh, but in the best of ways.
I immediately slip my head under the surface, letting the water melt away the presence of the sea on my face and in my hair.
I wish it could clean the inside of me, too, where I still feel its filth—a darkness taking root, deep within me.
I stay under for so long that strong hands come under my armpits and pull me back to the surface. Isha’s arm loops around my shoulders to draw me back to the edge of the basin, pressing me partially against him, heedless of the water.
His voice is a dark hum behind me. “I think you’ve had enough of nearly drowning, don’t you?”
“It just feels so good,” I mutter, leaning my head back into his hard stomach. Finally, my body is beginning to thaw.
“Then let’s try something else.” His long fingers begin combing through my hair, scraping over my scalp with sudsy soap that smells of lavender and cedar.
My thoughts stutter, and not just because, indeed, this feels even better.
Isha… is washing… my hair.
As absolutely unexpected as his actions are, they strike me as familiar for a moment, like I’ve been here before, when I know I haven’t.
Likewise, an answering call rises inside of me, flooding hot through my chest and turning my insides to buttery warmth.
It almost feels like something I’ve felt before, even though I’ve never experienced the like.
I don’t just care for Isha—I’m beginning to fall for him.
And I’ve never fallen in love before.
As powerful as the realization is, I let it drift away as he carries on scrubbing the rest of me.
His hands are gentle enough but firm, guiding me to move this way and that so he can better get at my skin, allowing me no room for resistance.
I don’t give him any, but it still makes me feel somewhat like an object that he’s cleaning, or even an animal.
A pet.
I should be used to him treating me this way. Maybe I should even feel victorious in winning so much of his personal attention. But something inside of me is shifting.
This is my life, my death, now, I think. As his pet. Unless I do something about it.
Never mind that this existence feels deliciously seductive at times—I need more than this. I need to matter more to him. Because I was meant for more than this.
Even if my feelings for him are undeniable now, they’re irrelevant. Only his feelings matter. Unless he sees me as more, he’ll never free me to be what I was always meant to be… even if I’m not entirely sure what that is yet.
I need to plant a seed that could grow into something bigger than myself. Even if it’s a lie.
Such a lie could endanger me just as much as it could elevate me in his eyes, if he were to realize the truth before he freed me.
What I’m imagining is probably impossible, and he would no doubt think so as well.
I would have to time it perfectly. Not too soon, but not too late.
A window big enough for the possibility and yet still too small to see through.
But first things first.
When he’s mostly through scrubbing me, I catch his hand and his deep, glinting eyes. “I want to see your throne room.”
“Now?” he asks mildly, arching his brow.
“Now,” I say, using his grip to help me out of the tub. I don’t bother taking one of the black silk robes hanging on a screen nearby. I only twist my wet, sweet-smelling hair up into a loose knot on my head and look at him expectantly, waiting.
His brow climbs higher as his gaze sweeps over me—lingering in a few places. “Like that?”
I shrug delicately, droplets of water still glistening on my shoulders, my breasts. “Why not, if you’ll allow it? Everyone knows I’m yours.”
“Everyone but you, perhaps,” he murmurs almost to himself, but the corner of his mouth curves to take the sting out of the words. “Very well, I’ll show you.”
He sounds pleased, sparking an answering warmth inside of me, despite the fact that I’m wet and naked.
Taking my hand, he leads me out of his bedchamber and down a winding spiral staircase that guides us past the delectable torture chamber.
It cleverly exits out the base of a huge column at the back of his yawning throne room, where I pause to look around with the appropriate amount of awe.
The walls and wide columns that support the high ceiling are bone, but the ceiling itself is black stone, as if to emphasize we’re in the underworld.
His throne is black, too, of course, sitting atop the steps of the central dais.
A black, silver, and gold-swirled rug stretches from the base of the throne to the towering double doors that must open onto the central courtyard—the doors that would likely not have opened for me alone.
I only wanted to gain access to the throne room to reach the north tower, but now I’m here for a different purpose.
I drop Isha’s hand to stroll toward the throne, as if I were the foreign princess that I technically am and not his nude creature.
But I jump when I spot figures lurking in the shadows between columns, suddenly worried we might actually have an audience, until the torch-lit gloom reveals them to be statues scattered around the dais.
They’re not made of marble like those I’m more accustomed to in the mortal realm, but a gray sandstone-like substance.
Most of them are frozen with surprise, fear, or horror on their faces, so I turn away with a minute shudder to approach the side of the throne.
Isha stalks slowly around it to stand in front, regarding me over folded arms. His metallic gaze is curious, wary almost.
I caress the armrest, smiling coyly at him. His eyes narrow as I sidle in front of it as if to sit—but then widen when I turn, bending over and planting my hands on the seat to present him with my bare backside. I hold his gaze over my shoulder all the while.
“I want you to fuck me,” I say.
He stands frozen, with true surprise on his face—never mind that he told me that my limbs and mouth would be free for such an occasion so I could put myself into position and beg him for it.
I’ve just so happened to position myself over his throne. Which I know he won’t be able to resist.
“Please, fuck me,” I say, biting my lip. “I beg you. I want to feel you inside of me. Filling me. Here, now.”
I can see him hardening under his robe. I’m already wet from simply bending over like this in front of him. He only needs the slightest push.
“I want it,” I breathe. “I want you. Please.”