19. No Choice
No Choice
W hen Jezebel woke, her chaotic and fickle nature grated on Mila more than ever before. In fact, she seemed worse than usual, incensed, no doubt, by Culis’s art in dodging actual sex with her.
Either to distract herself, or for some other unknown impulse, she decided to dangle one of her handmaids out the second-storey window that morning, only finally hauling her in when the woman was somehow able to turn her screams of fear into screams of praise and adoration.
Mila drew again on the inner stoicism that had kept her alive up until now and managed to watch this scene impassively, despite the way her insides were boiling with her own petrified fear.
Culis might not even need to win her over with the moral nature of his pitch. The promise of being saved from such immediate proximity to Jezebel’s chaos might be incentive enough.
The rakish man in question met them in the gardens on the way to Worship Day prayers and bowed low, his soft blond curls blowing a little over his face as he stood in the shade of a blossom tree, attempting to mitigate the midmorning heat.
When they approached him, Jezebel delightedly linked her arm into his offered one, and as he escorted her, Mila looked for anything in his actions, anything that might indicate something other than utmost attentiveness towards the princess. She found none. It was as if the conversation he’d had with Mila the night before had never occurred, and this unnerved her more than ever. He was so genuinely engrossed in his playacting, and was so unreadable to her power that, had she not known otherwise, she would have assumed he was being entirely genuine.
It made Mila recoil from him and question if life would truly be better under such a master. The man was as sly and untrustworthy as a hungry fox.
When their trio reached the front of Jezebel’s private garden chapel, the two of them tied Mila up outside and walked in, kneeling together at a pew and commencing their obligatory weekly service. The chapel was made entirely from glass bricks that contained the Golden Sand of Midas’s vanquished and was encased almost wholly within the purple flowers of the surrounding wisteria trees, making it possible to walk past and completely miss it if you didn’t already know it was there. It was only visited by Jezebel and her chosen few, created expressly for her.
One of the High Priest’s chosen ran the private service for Jezebel and Culis today, and despite being left out in the blazing summer sun without a patch of shade to shield her, Mila was overwhelmingly relieved that she was not permitted inside the chapel. She had no desire to be even one inch closer to that sand, subjected to yet another parroting of damnation .
Instead, she used the time to do her own form of worship, reaching out to the calm, steadying energy of the nearby tree. As she mentally explored its systems, its cool, underground roots welcomed her mind in and granted her a sensation of reprieve from the heat.
Suddenly, she felt at home, and for the first time since her capture, she allowed herself to feel truly emotional about her homesickness, her fear, and her longing for the life she had led before. Her chest seized with hot, unshed tears, and her mouth ached with the effort of restraining a sob.
The pressure of trying to survive here was killing her in its own way. The spark within, which usually burned hot and vibrant inside her, seemed faint and depleted. She barely felt present in her own body at all. Despite still receiving very little food, today she’d found herself unable to eat when food was offered. It was as if by continually forcing herself to find that internal, stoic place to exist in, she’d completely managed to disassociate from herself. Now, through the simple generosity of some cool tree roots, she’d been reminded of what she once had been.
There were no good options available to her, only monsters, but it was in that moment she knew she would accept Christopher Culis’s offer.
With the decision made, she surrendered to calm and let her mind sink deeper, to utterly fixate on the cool offering of those roots and the feelings of hope and life they offered her. She was so engrossed in her meditation that she did not notice when the chapel service ended.
Jezebel delighted in thwarting Mila’s powers during moments when it was apparent her concentration was elsewhere. She did so now, breaking Mila’s peace with a hearty yank of the lead, choking Mila and injuring her throat. The pain stung fiercely, and Mila coughed, but made sure to contain her flash of anger, always the sign of defiance Jezebel hunted for.
Culis stood behind Jezebel, watching on, his arms folded and a small smile in his eyes.
“I said attend me, demon,” Jezebel spat at Mila, who scrambled to obey. The princess was always worse to her after the weekly service. She held out her arms, displaying great sweat patches running through the fine fabric. “I am uncomfortable. Dress me in another gown.”
“Princess.” Mila scraped her forehead along the ground in a demonstration of complete subjugation, then held up the second gown. It was customary in this heat for Mila to carry a second gown for Jezebel, who was required to look immaculate at all times. The spare was a navy blue, floor-length wrap that Mila had picked out for her that morning. The material was largely sheer, and things such as shapely silhouettes would not be able to be ignored.
Jezebel’s face lit up happily as Mila held up the garment. She stripped off the old one immediately in the garden, completely unashamed. Once wrapped up again, with the new gauzy fabric hugging her figure and the tiny, embroidered birds doing very little for her modesty, she turned back to Culis, who had politely averted his eyes during the change.
Mila and Jezebel both secretly watched his face as he appraised the new attire. It remained neutral, unaffected by the new display of skin, denying Jezebel the very response she was desperate for. She turned away with a poorly disguised huff.
Culis’s eyes slid briefly over to Mila’s, and when it was possible to do so undetected, he wryly raised an eyebrow.
An answer, she realised. He wanted to know her answer.
She drew a small breath and gave a barely perceptible nod, just once .
Fast as a spring-loaded trap, Culis turned back to Jezebel and dialled up the dotage. “You realise that this new attire is entirely inappropriate for a Worship Day.” He paired his words with a seductive chuckle and a hand that ran down the small of her back and over the curve of her backside. “How am I supposed to mediate on the priest’s message today with this kind of distraction before me?”
“I had little say in the matter!” Jezebel protested in delight. “The demon’s inappropriate selection has forced me to put you in such a position.”
“Regardless,” he scolded softly, “you’d better proceed directly to your bedchambers and don something less…”
“Less…?” she prompted with a sickly smile.
“Less likely to have me destroyed if your father were to read my mind today.”
Jezebel laughed, and Culis continued. “It’s true. He’d see the gaze in my eyes and suspect me of worshipping you , instead of him.” He turned her towards him and kissed her deeply, then whispered, “Indeed, when it comes to being on my knees, I know which form of worship I’d prefer.”
Mila fought to repress her bile, but Jezebel glowed in delight and began to tug him towards her chambers.
“Shall we remove the offending outfit then? You can help me select a more appropriate attire?” She was nearly breathless, her eyes bright with lustful fever.
“Before we do.” He drew her back to him. “I have a point of business I need to put to you.”
“Business? On a Worship Day? Surely that’s too droll, even for you.”
“Sell me the demon,” he said with a quiet smile and playful air .
The playful, bantering atmosphere between them disappeared as Jezebel sobered up from her love haze almost immediately. “What? No. Why?” Suspicion and jealous energy now dominated her entire body. Her glance towards Mila was an arrow of death.
Mila shivered and tried her best to also look shocked by Culis’s proposal. If this deal did not eventuate, the only thing that would keep her from immediate execution was if Jezebel did not suspect that the two of them had conspired behind her back.
“I want her because you want her,” he said plainly, not backing down, but trying to lighten the situation with his tone.
Jezebel’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”
“Let me explain.” He took her hands in his, then twirled her in his arms before continuing. “You are the beloved daughter of our vengeful and all-powerful God-King. You could be bored of me within a day and exile me to the furthest reaches of the land at a whim. You could order anything from me – of anyone – and it would be done. Your power knows no limits.” He drew her close and kissed her forehead. “Even now,” he whispered, “we both know you could just order me to your bed, and I would comply. But, so far, you’ve refrained from doing so, because of a truth we both know.”
“Which is?”
“That it’s worth more to you, and the sex will be better for us both, if I come to your bed willingly.” He took a deep breath and ran his fingers over the front of the gauze wrap, finding the gap in the fabric and slipping his hand inside while he continued to speak softly. “Now, Princess, I am a proud man. My second religion is status, followed closely by that of power. I worship them because these are both inescapable, unavoidable, omnipresent facets that permeate all aspects of life, especially good sex. Anyone who tries to tell you that sex is about anything other than power is a fool. ”
Mila could sense Jezebel’s lust rising. Her eyes clouded over as he continued to run his fingers over her body, allowing them to move lower and lower, below her navel.
“Now when it comes to you and me?” he continued in a drawl, “you will always hold both power and status over me. There can be no tussle for dominion, no uncertainty between us in this regard. And this poses something of a dilemma for me… because the way I see it, unless we can both be temporarily deceived of this fact, then our sex will never be anything more than mediocre.”
At this, he withdrew his hand, and Jezebel raised an eyebrow and bit down on a wry smile.
Culis ploughed forward. “It’s true,” he insisted, “and I have no intention of being mediocre in any facet of my life. If you cannot relinquish an inch of power to me, then you will soon tire of me and cast me off, as you have every other suitor who has ever come to your bed. I have no desire for that to occur. I wish to be in your inner arc for as long as conceivably possible.”
He let this statement linger for just one breath longer than usual before saying, in a somewhat softer tone, “You are, at once, the most beautiful and powerful woman in this entire nation. I want both of these things close to me for professional and…personal reasons.” The bold statement hung between them, then he slowly raised a hand to her face. “That’s why I want the demon. Not because I want her , but because I want you to submit to me. Inconvenience yourself for me.” He spoke now in a low whisper and ran a finger along her cheek. “Do something you don’t want to do for once. Give up a prized possession…and take the risk that the consequence may be a relationship that runs deeper and more potent than any you’ve ever experienced before. ”
Mila watched the entire exchange with a held breath, gobsmacked at his words and the spell he’d weaved in their delivery.
And Jezebel? The princess never stood a chance. If Culis was a snake, Jezebel was a hypnotised rabbit.
By the time the afternoon heat descended, the contract had been drawn, the payment exchanged, and Culis had disappeared for hours into the silken folds of the princess’s bedchamber.