The Cage
They stop at a door. One of them pushes it open.
I expect a cell. A narrow room with a cot and a chamber pot. A locked door and a single barred window.
Instead I find paradise.
The room stretches enormous, three times the size of my entire cottage.
A four-poster bed commands the space, draped in silks and velvets the color of midnight and fresh blood.
A fire crackles in a marble hearth, throwing restless shadows across the walls.
A vanity with a gilded mirror stands ready.
A chaise lounge upholstered in deep burgundy waits beside a wide balcony door that overlooks the gardens below.
What is this place? Why treat me like a guest?
I turn to the maids, mind racing. “Is this really my room?”
They nod, still wearing those empty smiles.
“I don’t understand. I thought—”
One of them gestures toward the bathroom. A copper tub waits, filled with steaming water. Rose petals float on the surface. The scent of lavender and honey thickens the air.
They are preparing me. They are making me beautiful. For them.
The thought should disgust me. It does. Yet beneath the disgust a darker current stirs…Unwelcome relief.
The women help me undress. Their touch stays impersonal and efficient. I want to tell them I can manage alone, but the words die in my throat. They are already unlacing my dress, guiding me toward the bath.
The water is perfect. Hot enough to soothe every aching muscle. Fragrant enough to erase the stench of the carriage. I sink into it and let the heat claim my bones. For one brief, treacherous moment I forget where I am.
Then I look at the maids. They stand motionless by the door, faces blank.
“Are you going to just stand there?”
They nod.
“Can I have some privacy?”
No response. Only those placid, empty smiles.
I sink lower until the water covers my mouth.
This is what they want. To strip away every scrap of privacy, every shred of dignity.
Well. They can’t have my thoughts. They can’t take my anger.
I will hold onto both until they burn.
The maids dress me in a gown of deep emerald silk. The fabric whispers against my skin like a lover’s caress. They brush my hair until it gleams, twist it into an elaborate arrangement that makes my neck ache, and dust a light powder across my cheeks.
They lead me to the grand hall. I try not to gape.
The room rises like a cathedral of excess.
Chandeliers drip with crystals. Walls paneled in dark wood gleam like polished bone.
A table stretches for what seems like miles, laden with roasted meats, glazed vegetables, breads still steaming from the oven, pastries dusted with sugar.
My traitorous stomach growls loud.
When did I last eat? Yesterday? The day before? I can’t remember.
The maids guide me to a seat near the center of the table. I sink into the cushion as if it is made of clouds. Two other girls already sit nearby. One has honey-brown hair and a pinched face. The other has bright eyes and a smile that never quite reaches them.
“New girl?” the bright-eyed one asks. “I’m Jenny. This is Margaret. Everyone calls her Mag.”
I nod. My throat is too tight for words.
“Don’t be nervous.” Jenny leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “The first night is always the worst. They’re trying to scare you. Testing your limits.”
“What do you mean?” My voice is hoarse. “Is this all a trap?”
“No. It’s not that bad…” Mag shifts in her seat. “I’ve been here three months.” Her smile sharpens. “And I’m still here. Alive.”
Her eyes dart toward the raised dais at the far end of the hall. I follow her gaze.
The Masters sit on four thrones, elevated above us like gods surveying their domain. They pretend to eat. Their plates remain untouched. Their eyes scan the room the way predators watch prey.
Jenny stays quiet for a long moment, her eyes drifting over the crowd before settling on the men across the hall.
“The one on the left—the blond with the sharp jawline—that’s Lord Peter,” she whispers, leaning closer, her breath brushing my ear. I follow her gaze, taking in his icy composure. He feels cold and distant, as if the warmth of the room cuts off a foot before it ever reaches him.
“Next to him is Lord Francis. The one with gray at his temples.” Mag continues, her fingers twisting nervously in her dress.
I recognize him. He was the first one who spoke to me when I arrived.
Her gaze shifts to the man sitting at the center, her eyes narrowing.
“And then there’s Lord Cain.”
Mag shakes her head softly, as he turns flashing a warm, disarming smile in my direction.
“He’s charming. He makes you feel safe—and that is precisely what makes him the most dangerous man in this room.”
I glance at Cain again.
He is the jerk who asked about my period and dismissed me like I was yesterday’s newspaper.
“And the youngest-looking one?”
She doesn’t answer at once. A shadow crosses her face. A flicker that makes me pause. “Lord Thomas.” She says, finally. “He’s complicated.”
I frown.
She stops and turns to face me fully. Her eyes unreadable. “Just stay away from all of them, Lucy. Especially Lord Thomas.”
“Don’t stare,” Jenny murmurs. “They don’t like it.”
“Why? What happens if you do something they dislike?”
Jenny laughs dryly. “Nothing good,” she whispers. “The Masters rule this place. They own every one of us.”
“Four men,” I repeat. I see no guards. “That’s all?”
“It’s enough. They’re not just men. They’re—”
“Jenny.” Margaret’s tone carries a clear warning. “Don’t.”
Jenny meets her gaze. A silent argument passes between them. Then she looks away, jaw tight.
“They’re powerful,” she says instead. “That’s all you need to know. They’re powerful, they own us, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
Servants bring more food than I have seen in years. They place it before me. I stare at it as if it might vanish the moment I reach out.
“Eat,” Jenny says, nudging my arm. “Trust me. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”
“What do they force us to do every day?”
“The training.” Her voice drops even lower. “They don’t tell you what it is. Not until you’re already in the room. But…” She glances at Mag, then back at me. “It changes you.”
I force myself to eat. The food tastes like ash, yet my body doesn’t care. It is hungry. It devours everything I set in front of it.
“Why are they doing this?” I ask between bites. “Why treat us like guests? I thought I was going to be a slave.”
Jenny’s smile thins. “You’re not a slave. You’re an investment. They’re polishing you, Lucy. Making you pretty. Making you desirable. Then they’ll sell you to the highest bidder.”
“At the auction,” I whisper, reaching for my wine glass, needing the liquid to steady my nerves. The wine is rich, the color of rubies. It tastes like nothing I have ever known.
“Don’t drink too much,” Jenny warns. “It’s stronger than it looks.”
I don’t listen. I’m too tired, too scared.
“And the Masters?” I nod toward the dais. “Are they always so—”
“Creepy?” Jenny laughs. “Yes. Always.”
She lowers her voice and leans in until we almost touch. “But you should see the way Mag looks at the young blond one. Thomas. The one with the green eyes.”
Mag’s face flushes. Red creeps up her neck. “I do not—”
“Oh, you do.” Jenny’s grin turns wicked. “Every time he walks into the room you stop breathing. Every time he looks at you—”
“Enough, Jenny.” Mag’s voice cuts sharp. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But I see it. The way her eyes keep darting toward the dais. The way her fingers tighten on her glass.
She is falling for one of them.
One of the monsters.
How? How can she—
“You talk as if you’ve forgotten what you are.” My voice comes out dry and hard. The warning is for them and for myself. I can’t forget my place the way these girls clearly have. A bird too comfortable in a golden cage forgets the bars.
I realize too late that my voice has risen.
“We haven’t forgotten,” Mag says. “You’re just new. There are things you don’t understand yet.”
“Of course. Like what? What possible reason do you have to speak of those monsters as if they’re the boys you flirt with after church?”
“Sex,” Jenny cuts in, laughing.