Fitting
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Atickle assaulted my nose, rousing me from the doze. I lifted my head and dropped it back down when I saw it was Cassiel.
His palm caught my face, cushioning the thud.
“The discussion ran on much too long,” he mused. I closed my eyes, and he began to rub his thumb against the spot between my brows.
“Sweet bliss,” I mumbled.
Reading, then taking a break. Again and again for hours on end until the ache became too severe.
Trying to breathe through the agony slicing through my mind was a feat. I had scanned most everything in the Scripture, and there was no talk of magicks other than in referencing how bluebloods were the true magick wielders.
“There is nothing about magicks in the Scripture. Especially nothing stating a word about Warlords’ abilities. It droned on about bluebloods though.” His hand tensed under my face, and I lifted it before he crushed my jaw.
During one of my breaks, I had walked down the shelves, hoping for a nudge or itch to walk toward something as it had for the Lore of Old. But nothing.
He no longer wore his battle leathers; instead, he wore a fitted black linen shirt that hung open at the top.
“You cleaned up,” I noted huskily.
He hummed. “There were left over Hollow innards dried on me.”
I wrinkled my nose.
His focus had not wavered. It was almost as if he searched for something.
The bloom in me pulsed as it grew, filling my torso with a weightlessness that wracked my senses. A soft emotion, close to what I felt when thinking of my deceased family and Miriam, yet vastly different. With an intensity that elated and scared me.
He leaned even closer.
“I need a taste,” he whispered against my lips.
I swayed forward, thinking he meant my lips, but the corner of his mouth kicked up and my seat jerked back, shoving me a few paces so there was space before me.
He knelt on the floor and his hands cupped my ankles.
So painfully slowly, he dragged his touch upward.
The dress naturally split at the panels.
Inhaling sharply, I watched the steady glide of his palm up my leg. It was all I could do. Such a wicked man. Not removing his gaze from me, he parted my thighs. He reached under the skirt to encounter more skin . . . and a lack of bloomers. A hot flush stung my face.
“I could not find any,” I said.
“I want you like this at all times.” His words were a guttural sound that wracked me with desire. The spot between my legs dampened.
“Nocturn is coming,” I whispered. “I will no longer be . . . with you.”
It was not a lie. Leaving meant I would never see him again. I detested the pang that struck me rigid.
His face turned to stone. A blank stone.
He exhaled, nostrils flaring. “I suppose you are correct.”
My heart shattered. Into countless pieces.
I hated how severely he affected me. What? Had I wanted him to tell me he would not extinguish my existence?
Foolish. Pure foolishness.
Cassiel straightened to his full height. I stretched my neck to keep my gaze on him. Then why had he not turned away from me?
Why did his nostrils flare as if he battled with himself?
I cleared my throat, smoothing my palms down my thighs.
“Are there other scriptures? What of the Articles of Prophecy?”
“The Articles of Prophecy no longer exist.” He said it so flatly, with no room for doubt. Still, as a creature so ancient, he had learned the art of lies. He narrowed his eyes, studying my face. “They were destroyed by a fire.”
What if he was telling the truth?
“Is there a reason for your question?” Suspicion bled into his gaze.
I let out a steady breath to calm my pulse.
“It is the only piece of literature I could think of that may have an answer about your faltering abilities.” My throat tightened, causing the words to struggle to escape. “Or to see if there was a way for me to remain with you.”
I did not have to fake the emotion in my voice.
The furrowing of his eyebrows as a muscle spasmed in his jaw was the only indicator of his struggle. As if coming to a decision, he gripped my jaw.
“Enjoy the time you have left.”
There was no anger in his tone, or much of anything. He said it softly, his silky voice settling over me. Somehow it hurt more than any insult he could have spat out.
I rolled my lips between my teeth before the tremble escaped.
A knock resonated through the Archives, deep and vibrating. I startled, but Cassiel did not seem surprised.
“They are here for you.”
With that short, abrupt comment, the warning bells went off. He had not looked at me, not truly.
A thick knot formed in my chest, and I stood so fast I knocked into the seat. “Yes, my lord.” I did not recognize my tension-riddled words.
His turned away from me.
With a curtsy, I turned on my slippers and left to the entrance. I had spent so long in here . . . I swept my gaze over the shelves as I passed.
Upon stepping out, I found myself staring at Eliza.
“Lady Drusilla awaits you in the feeder wing,” she announced in her abrupt manner.
My gaze snagged on the inner side of her elbow. She tugged the hem of her sleeve down, but the sleeve did not reach past the forearm.
“Were you here to visit Al?”
“You are much too curious for a redblood. Did no one teach you to keep questions to yourself?”
I clamped my teeth together. She was in a particularly foul mood, and I was in no better mental state. So it was best that I keep my mouth shut. We reached the feeder wing. An officer swept the door open for us.
It was madness inside.
Fabrics sprawled across the parlor, and a divider had been stretched out. Vera poked her head out from behind it.
“Amara! You must look at these beautiful dresses,” she preened and disappeared. There were sounds of zipping and shuffling.
“Stay still,” Branwen ordered, similarly veiled by the divider.
Eliza moved to the side and folded her hands in front of her brown smock. As I rounded the wooden barrier, I encountered Branwen in a golden gown, helping Vera cinch her violet gown. What I had not expected was Lady Drusilla.
“There you are.” Lady Drusilla scanned me. “Undress.” She approached a rack where the dresses had been placed on metal hooks. “Now, Vessel.”
I jumped at her bark.
Vera and Branwen went quiet. They looked at Lady Drusilla, then me, widening their eyes pointedly. I shrugged and collected my hair over my shoulder. Branwen came over to me and helped me unlace the back of my dress. It pooled at my feet in time for Lady Drusilla to turn back around.
She tripped over her feet and slowed a few paces from me, her gaze fastened on my breasts. Right where Cassiel bit me at the inn. Two scabbed-over puncture wounds adorned the side of the swell.
I crossed my arms, attempting to ignore Vera and Branwen’s shocked gazes. They were not the ones that had me on edge. Lady Drusilla smoothed her expression and held out my gown.
The scarlet shading left me no doubt it was meant to remind Cassiel what I was—nothing but a filthy redblood.
“Lift your arms,” Lady Drusilla ordered abruptly.
Soft, smooth fabric settled over my skin. Quality silk. Something I had never been afforded the privilege of wearing.
“Why must I be fitted in this?”
She yanked at the bottom of the dress, spreading it out at the hem as she made her way around me. Ruffled sleeves settled near my shoulders, swooping outward.
“His Highness wanted you dressed in something fit for the body that would belong to his bondmate.” Her voice took on a lower register. She stepped behind me and tightened the corset. “If it were up to me, I would not have you make an appearance.”
“Lady Drusilla,” Hester’s voice came from near the entrance on the other side of the barrier. “I have finished my visit with Al—”
“I am coming,” she interrupted abruptly, releasing the sash at my back and leaving.
She had scurried away. And the manner she interrupted Hester was incredibly suspicious . . . I gripped the bottom of my gown and inched to the edge of the wooden slat to peek around it.
Hester held a white cloth to the side of her arm . . . cloths I had certainly seen at Al’s.
She had received an injection?
Tabby said redbloods were being injected, not bluebloods. What could they possibly be putting inside these girls?
Vera tugged my arm.
“She does not like when others watch her healing,” she murmured only for my ears. “Anyhow, we should focus on the ball tomorrow! I look forward to it every annum.” She continued rattling on as I followed her—numb from the revelation. The Solstice Ball was tomorrow. So soon . . .
I waited until she finished arranging my gown around me to ask my question.
“What do they inject you with?”
She shrugged. “No idea. It is part of the feeder life.”
She smiled and stepped back to take in my dress. I could not admire the beautiful fabric.
Did Lady Drusilla know what was being injected, or was she just another pawn? Another woman obsessed with Cassiel and, because of that, doing what she must because it meant she would be close to him?
She had to know something more. Someone with her access and control had to.