Chapter 9
Vivian’s Point of View
Rule nine: Never squander an opportunity to shatter the male ego.
Whoever said that mobs were fickle nailed it. And honestly, I’m kind of here for it.
Whatever credit Leon bought for himself yesterday when he saved the castle and won the damsel in distress (barf) is apparently old news.
Leon holds my hand as he leads us down yet another maze of corridors. He hasn’t bothered to tell me where we’re going, and since I’m not allowed to speak without his permission, I can’t ask.
The halls around our bedrooms are deserted, but the moment we enter a hall a few floors down, it’s bustling with people. I’m assuming this area is open to the public.
As usual, everyone is dressed like they’re about to attend a ball and lose a glass slipper, but today, there’s one significant difference. The people are hungry for gossip.
We’ve barely made it down a single corridor, and already, we’ve been stopped by three well-wishers. It seems everyone is curious about their new Creator and whatever juicy details I may have about Sin.
While being the center of attention is definitely not my idea of a good time, I’ve been doing my best to leave a good impression. If I do manage to take down Need, not being hated by the mob might increase my chances of survival.
My efforts are aided by the fact that Leon absolutely hates not being the center of attention. It turns out that my petty side outweighs my social awkwardness, because with each encounter, I’ve wordlessly encouraged more questions.
Meanwhile, Leon has grown more agitated when his repeated efforts to steer the conversation back to his own heroic efforts have failed. Every time, the well-wishers have offered him dismissive gratitude, and their attention hasn’t wavered from their new, shiny Creator.
Nailed it.
“You poor darling. How in the Fates did you survive the Shadow Realm?” A woman asks, looking down at me with concern.
She’s almost as tall as Leon, and her short silver hair matches her shimmering silver gown.
While I can’t be sure, I think she might be from the Beast Realm.
Her eyes are bright yellow and look almost lupine.
As usual, Leon answers, while I give the woman a knowing, mysterious smile. I tried out the look on the last well-wisher, and they looked positively scandalized. They immediately had a ton more questions.
“She was terrified, of course, but she knew I would rescue her,” Leon answers for me in a pompous, self-important tone.
The woman, who introduced herself as Ragna, raises a brow at Leon before lifting her chin and staring down at me.
A moment passes.
And then another. Yet still, she stares some more, not saying a word.
Unease ripples through me. Beyond the fact that it’s a bit of an awkward move, there’s something about her stare that’s uncomfortable – like something is compelling me to look down.
My spine stiffens.
I beg your finest pardon?
Respectfully, I already have a pseudo-magical muzzle going on, and now a stranger wants to control me too? A small burst of fire lights inside me, and I hold her stare, raising a challenging eyebrow.
Our impromptu staring contest carries on for a few more moments until Leon lets out a slight cough. The corner of Ragna’s lip lifts, like she might smile, before she turns her attention back to him. I don’t miss the way Leon turns to look at me, rather than meeting her eyes.
“I get the feeling that this one is braver than you’re giving her credit for. Do avoid lying to me in the future,” she notes, before winking at me and continuing down the hall.
Well, that was… good?
The other well-wishers might have been dismissive, but they never dared to challenge his answers. Ragna blatantly called him out on being a liar and stood up for me in the process. She is giving major girlboss energy.
Leon is rigid as he watches her stride away, and one of his eyes is starting to twitch. The moment Ragna rounds the corner, he drops my hand. “You will walk a few paces behind me,” he growls, before setting off again.
I roll my eyes. Someone got a taste of their ten seconds of fame and is starved for more.
Sad.
Leon leads us to a massive hall. The décor is pretty much identical to the dining hall where we had dinner last night.
But as I take in the golden coats of arms that are carved into the walls, I can’t dismiss the weirdest sense of déjà vu.
I’m sure I’ve seen this all before, even though I’m certain I’ve never been in this room.
The hall is crammed with people, but Leon confidently leads us down a path through the center of the crowd. He only stops once we reach a platform at the front of the hall. It stretches over the width of the room, and wide, gold-trimmed steps lead to the top.
I’m not surprised to find Need sitting upon a golden throne, looking bored in her mountain of white silks.
But I’m completely shocked by what’s on top of her head.
She’s wearing a crown. Only it’s not just any crown.
I would recognize the three-petaled symbols that adorn the top anywhere. They’re fleur-de-lis.
Suddenly, I realize why some parts of the castle look so familiar.
Honestly, I’m embarrassed it took me this long.
I’m a disgrace to all history majors. Everything here is a weird replica of the Palace of Versailles.
I’m ninety-nine percent sure Need’s crown is a copy of the one King Louis the thirteenth – or maybe the fourteenth – wore.
What in the actual fuck?
Leon clears his throat, snapping me out of my shock.
The room has gone silent, and my cheeks heat when I realize they’re all watching me.
Apparently, I’ve zoned out long enough to miss an important social cue, because Leon’s eye is twitching so hard, it looks like it’s trying to threaten me in Morse code.
Need isn’t looking much happier, and murmurs are starting to fill the hall.
I frown, trying to figure out what I’ve missed, and the whispers grow even louder.
“Curtsy,” Leon mutters through his teeth.
My brow lifts. Apparently, we’re going all the way with the whole, ‘let’s steal from the monarchy thing,’ and I’ve been standing here blatantly disrespecting the leader of all the realms.
Clearly, my survival instincts have not improved.
Lifting my skirts and dipping, I’m suddenly grateful for all the squats I had to do in the Shadow Realm; otherwise, the weight of this dress alone would probably take me down.
Need gives the slightest nod, and Leon is silent as he leads us up the steps. He takes a seat on an unoccupied chair at the back corner of the platform.
I pause, since there’s nowhere else to sit, but Leon beckons me closer, a smug look on his face. My steps are rigid as I approach him.
I really hope he isn’t going to make me sit on his lap.
He relaxes back in the cushy-looking upholstered chair and tilts his chin, indicating to something behind him. Shifting, I peek behind him and spot what looks like a tiny ottoman. It’s the size of a shoebox. Maybe he wants me to grab it for him? There’s no way I’ll fit if I try to sit on it.
At my lack of action, he gives an exasperated sigh, leaning forward to whisper, “You will kneel on the bench behind me. Keep your head down, and your hands on your knees until I instruct you to do otherwise.”
The mental leash tugs, and I do as he says, once again kicking myself for thinking there was nothing else Leon could do to surprise me.
Alas, the patriarchy is the gift that keeps on giving – just like an STD.
The marble slab has no padding, and the skirts of my dress billow around me like a demented cloud as I kneel.
There’s just enough room for my knees and my upper shins.
It’s high enough that my feet don’t touch the ground, and the edges bite into my legs.
I’m almost impressed by the efficiency – submissiveness and joint pain, all rolled into one.
The entire room waits as I get settled, and though the leash won’t let me lift my head, I can still peek through my lashes. It’s just enough that I catch many of the men in the crowd nodding in approval at Leon.
A few of them have women standing behind them, their eyes glued to the floor. Leon inclines his head slightly, acknowledging their admiration.
Gotta love a room full of men bonding over their shared love of using women as decoration and doormats. Yet another timeless classic.
More fire burns through my veins.
At some unspoken signal, someone steps forward from the crowd.
He looks like a bad Napoleon cosplay, with his white pants, short jacket topped with golden shoulder pads, and tall boots.
He gives a deep bow to Need before rising and placing a hand to his heart.
“Your holiness and esteemed Council members,” he begins.
Shock rolls through me at the mention of the Council, and out of the corner of my eye, I notice about a dozen other chairs on the right side of the platform.
The chairs are slightly less intricate than Need’s but still much more ornate than Leon’s.
Most members of the Council are hidden by the chair backings, and I can only make out a few profiles.
Still, I don’t miss the two sets of bright pink fairy wings, since their seats look specifically designed to accommodate them. One is wearing a black and red crown, and I assume she’s the Fae Queen. The fairy beside her turns, and Lilanthara smirks as she takes in the position I’m in.
Not wanting to give her any attention, I turn back to the Napoleon-cosplay man.
He’s listing off numbers of jewels, I think from a recent trade run.
When he reaches the last number, he raises his hand and snaps twice.
Two men in similar attire come forward, placing a chest overflowing with precious jewels at Need’s feet.
“The tithe for the calm seas,” he declares.
A tithe – as in payment? Why would someone be paying off Need for calm seas? Seems weird, but okay.
Need considers the chest before nodding, and Napoleon’s shoulder pads sag in relief.
He steps back into the crowd as two guards emerge from behind marble columns and carry the chest away.
I track their movement, only to pause when I meet the familiar yellow eyes of another person seated in the Council chairs.
Ragna.
Well, I suppose that explains why she wasn’t impressed by Leon. She’s in a position of higher authority, if this set-up is any indication. Even Rosie’s sister gets to sit closer to the front. It looks like Leon is still stuck at the kids’ table.
I want to smirk, knowing it must be killing him, but Ragna’s expression stops me. She narrows her eyes, staring between Leon and me in obvious distaste. Either she hates that Leon is even up on this platform, or she’s also not a fan of misogyny.
My pulse quickens at the thought that she might be a possible ally. Now I’m kicking myself for not getting more details from Morgana about who was planning on joining our side of the war.
A new person steps out of the crowd, and Ragna turns her attention to him.
He’s wearing a loose-fitting black shirt, tucked into black britches.
His greasy black hair hangs loose, and his only accent of color is a thick golden chain that hangs around his neck.
He reminds me of the people I saw in the black market – the ones who looked like pirates.
If he is from the black market, then I’m surprised to see him here, since Leon mentioned that those individuals mostly govern themselves.
“Yer holiness,” he begins, giving a slight bow.
“Council.” He straightens up and plants his hands on the belt, which is noticeably empty of weapons.
“We got our’selves a situation startin’ up.
Businesses are startin’ to worry. Ain’t no more souls comin’ in.
N’fact, haven’t received a shipment in a week. ”
Hearing that the spirits are going missing in more than just the castle is setting off alarms in my mind. That can’t be good.
The man looks at Need expectantly, and she only lifts an unimpressed brow. More time passes in silence until the man clears his throat, now looking slightly nervous. “Well – I’d like to know, does the Council know what’s goin’ on? Are ye lookin’ into it?”
Need raises a hand in a nonchalant gesture. “There are slow weeks for souls. That you are incapable of bringing in product for your business is a problem for the black market and does not concern the Council.”
The man looks like he wants to argue, but shuts his mouth when two guards take a threatening step forward. He backs up and goes silent. But it’s too late. More people from the crowd, including some of the well-dressed gentlemen, start to speak up.
“I’m here about the souls as well!”
“My entire staff has gone missing in the last three days.”
“I didn’t see any spirits here either!”
“Even the harvesters have stopped coming to town.”
“Where are they going?”
The voices grow exceedingly panicked until finally, Need calls out, “Silence!” There’s power laced into the words, and her voice reverberates around the room.
The crowd falls back into absolute silence.
“Those are indeed troubling reports. The Council will be looking into them, effective immediately. We will find the souls and restore things to the way they were. Until then, the court is dismissed.”
Need’s assurances are met with sounds of approval.
My unease only mounts. Clearly, she already knew that the spirits were going missing, since the castle is completely void of them.
And yet, she still tried to sweep the issue under the rug.
Whatever is happening, Need is clearly at the center of it.
I scan the crowd, hoping at least some of them look suspicious, but much to my dismay, they all look hopeful as they leave the room in an orderly fashion.
Is the Otherworld education system lacking?
Where are the critical thinking skills?
Where are the conspiracy theorists?
Not a single person is blaming aliens, and I, for one, am very disappointed.
The room slowly empties, but a handful of men hang back. They’re the same ones that looked happy when they saw my seating arrangement. Leon rises to join them, leaving me kneeling on the bench.
I watch as they grin and give Leon knowing expressions. One claps him on the back, and another nudges Leon with his shoulder. Funnily enough, their appearances are shockingly similar.
They all look like they’ve never found the clitoris.
My observations are cut short when a shadow falls over me. I look up through my lashes, recognizing the silver dress.
“What an interesting era you’re ushering in, Vivian,” Ragna notes. There’s a rhythmic cadence to her words, the accent more pronounced than when we spoke earlier. Her voice is barely audible when she adds, “I do wonder, though, why you obey someone who is weaker than you.”