Chapter 15
It takes me a moment to understand what he means. A second ago, I was a person sitting at their table. Now he is pointing to a cushion at his feet, and I am something that belongs to them.
The shift happens so quickly that I do not move.
Mero clicks his tongue.
“Come here.”
I climb down from the bench and cross to him, the bell chiming with every step.
“Sit.”
I lower myself onto the cushion, cross my legs and place my hands upon my thighs, straightening my back into the position he taught me.
From down here, both men’s boots seem even larger.
Mero’s are polished dark-brown leather, while Arrek’s are black and heavier, one planted beneath the table close enough for me to see every crease.
“Get comfortable.”
I glance up at him before letting the rigid posture soften, my hands falling loosely into my lap.
Talarin brings the bowl of berries and the pot of honey to the table, placing them within reach. Arrek immediately takes one of the enormous strawberries, dips it into the honey and bites into it.
“How many of your precious books did you sell today?”
“Three,” Talarin says. “The collectors are always hungry for more.”
Mero picks up one of the enormous blackberries and rolls it through the honey. I expect him to eat it, but instead, he lowers it towards my mouth.
I open my mouth and take it from him, my lips brushing his fingers. The blackberry bursts inside my mouth, perfectly ripe and sweet, the honey rich and floral with the faintest taste of blueberries.
I’d been dreaming of that honey for years, but I could never find a way to surreptitiously take any without being stung half to death.
He selects a strawberry next, dipping and rolling it through the honey before bringing it down to my lips. It is so large that I bite into it and pull the entire fruit away from its leafy crown. Juice runs down my chin while his focus remains upon his battle-brothers.
“There are still the Orb-Blades we took from the Fanatics,” Talarin says.
Arrek’s hand stills around his wineglass. He takes a deep drink, then runs his tongue over his teeth.
“Hard-earned trophies.”
“That is behind us now,” Talarin answers, his voice tightening.
“I had already earmarked those for another shield array,” Mero says as he draws the strawberry’s leafy crown back from my lips, the only part remaining between his fingers. “The bandit attacks are getting worse while our Empire retreats and we give up territory we used to patrol.”
His words land more heavily than I expect.
The globe in their study flashes through my mind. The unfamiliar planet with its little houses and the domes that flickered over only some of the settlements.
Were those the shields they supplied?
Had the harvest been meant to pay for another, and did my carelessness leave one of those settlements exposed?
Arrek’s fist slams against the table. The plates and glasses jump, cutlery clattering.
I startle, a small whimper of fear escaping before I can stop it.
A new sharpness cuts through the scent of soap and sweat clinging to his skin.
“What do you expect?” he growls. “The farther we draw back, the more desperate people become. And with the price of virginity only rising, a man can make a fortune selling captives to those fucking Spires.”
He grabs the carafe and fills his glass again, then drains it in one swallow and sets it down, shaking his head.
“All done?”
Mero’s question draws me back. His voice is soft, and his nose wrinkles with distaste as he gives Arrek a long, slow glance.
He does not like the taste of fear in my scent.
He is holding another blackberry before my lips, its dark surface shining beneath the honey.
I move a little closer to him, looking up, and this time I let my lips close around the end of his finger as I take the berry into my mouth.
His finger is huge against my tongue, and I do not pull away as quickly as I should.
For one hot, shameful moment, I picture myself beneath the table between his legs, servicing him while the three men continue talking above me. Their voices could fade into a low, grumbling background sound while I kneel out of sight with his enormous cock filling my mouth.
A shiver runs through me.
Mero’s nostrils flare. His gaze drops to my mouth, but there is no mockery or judgment in his expression. The coldness in his eyes fades as my fear does.
“Do you want to return to your cage?”
I glance towards the passage leading to the washroom.
Mero follows my gaze and extends one hand in its direction.
“Go ahead.”
I rise from the cushion and cross the dining hall, the silver bell announcing every step.
At the washroom, I slide the broad heartwood panel shut behind me.
Finally, I am alone.
I use the toilet, then look towards the shower. Shutting my mind off for a bit under the warm, relaxing water is about as private as I can get on the estate. For now, I am going to assume that this privilege is included until they take it away.
I carefully fold the pink shorts and shirt and place them beside the basin. I do not push my luck by lingering. I step beneath the water and begin washing myself.
The collar remains fastened around my throat. The silver bell knocks against my collarbones and chimes whenever I turn, even beneath the rush of the water, but it is soft enough that they will barely hear it over the water, if at all, and that makes it so much less annoying.
As I rinse the soap from my skin, my gaze shifts towards the enormous bathing pool set into the limestone. It is large enough for all three Aurelians, with room left over.
Sooner or later, they intend to groom me.
What does that even mean?
Will they bring me in here? Will all three of them be present, washing and touching me while I sit naked between them?
My stomach tightens at the thought. My nipples suddenly feel far too sensitive as I run my soapy hands over my breasts, the hard points dragging against my palms.
My left hand traces downwards over my stomach.
It stops at my belly button.
Heat rushes into my cheeks as I remember the other rule.
Surely they cannot see me in here. There should be no cameras inside the washroom, and even if one of them happened to pass through the corridor, the scent of my arousal would be too faint beneath the steam and soap for them to notice.
All I would have to do is move my hand a little lower.
My fingers curl against my stomach.
Then I pull my hand away.
I thought that rule was going to be the easiest one, but just the fact that I am not allowed to touch myself makes it frustrating, and the last thing in the world I want them to know is that it is already annoying me.
I finish washing, shut off the water and dry myself before pulling the pink clothes back on.
Before leaving, I clean my teeth with the freshmint paste beside the basin. Its sharp bite clears the lingering taste of meat, wine and honey from my mouth.
When I enter the dining hall, all three men look towards me. Whatever they were discussing is over, at least aloud.
I walk towards the cage, but as I pass the table, Mero raises one finger.
I stop instinctively and look at him, waiting for his command.
Instead, his gaze moves slowly over my damp hair and the tight pink clothes clinging to my body. His slate-grey eyes heat with appreciation.
“Gods be damned, you are absolutely gorgeous.”
I blink, taken aback.
Then Mero lowers his hand, and I continue towards the cage, very, very aware of their eyes upon me.
I lower myself onto my hands and knees and crawl through the little door, the pink shorts riding higher as I move, exposing even more of my ass. Their eyes burn into me, but not one of them makes a sniping comment.
Mero follows and lowers himself onto one knee before the cage. He closes the door and secures the external lock while I move into the corner and pull the furs around myself.
“Do you have everything you need?” he asks. “Would you like another log on the fire?”
My gaze moves around the cage before settling upon the four books still resting on the arm of Talarin’s chair.
“I’m okay.”
Mero follows my gaze. He rises, gathers the books and carries them to the cage, passing each one between the bars. The bird guide comes first, followed by the mystery, the book of calligraphy and, finally, fluid dynamics.
I arrange them beside the furs while he crosses to the hearth and places another thick log upon the fire. Sparks rise around his hand as flames begin playing across the bark.
“When that burns low, put the book away,” he says. “Do not strain your eyes trying to read in the dark.”
I nod.
Behind him, Talarin and Arrek leave the dining hall. Mero watches me for another moment before rising and following them into the passage.
A single heavy door closes.
The study. They must all be inside it.
I pick up the mystery, turn it over in my hands and crack it open.
But the thirst drying my mouth distracts me. I should have drunk more from the tap in the washroom, but I had been too aware that it might be my last chance to use the toilet without asking permission.
My attention shifts to the shallow stone bowl beside the cage door, its surface reflecting the firelight.
I lick my lips and try to focus. By the time I have reread the first paragraph twice, I am still not sure who the main character is.
I close the book and cock an ear towards the voices behind the study door. They remain low, too muffled to make out the words.
I set the book beside the furs and move towards the water bowl. The bell gives a soft chime as I kneel over it and lower my face to the surface.
The first mouthful barely wets my tongue. I try again, and a humiliating slurp breaks the silence.
My cheeks burn.
This is fucking ridiculous.
There is no one around. I am not just letting them train me to perform as a pet. I am acting like one when they cannot even see me.
The contract forbids them from opening the video feed themselves.
I slide both hands into the water, cup them together and lift it to my lips. Water runs between my fingers and down my wrists, but I do not care. I drink again, slurping greedily from my hands, then lower them for another mouthful.
The study door opens.
Three deep voices spill into the passage.
I jerk away from the bowl, the bell ringing wildly with every movement, and scramble into my corner. I pull the furs around myself and hide my hands beneath them, forcing my breathing to slow.
Two sets of footsteps recede deeper into the estate, but the third turns towards the dining hall.
Those bootsteps are heavier than the other two.
Arrek.
I keep my eyes almost closed, watching through the narrow slit between my lashes as his enormous black boots pass the cage and move deeper into the kitchen. A cork pulls free from another bottle of wine, followed by the quiet sound of a glass being filled.
For an instant, I relax.
He did not come back for me. He only wanted another glass.
Then the heavy bootsteps return.
A shadow falls across the bars. I let my eyes open slowly, as though the sound woke me.
Arrek stands outside the cage with the wineglass in one hand, looking down at me. He turns his wrist gently, making the dark wine circle the glass, and his nostrils flare as he draws in its rich scent.
The glass stops halfway to his mouth.
Suspicion sharpens his eyes.
Oh gods. Can he smell that I’m hiding something?
His gaze lowers to the floor, and I see with horror the trail of droplets leading from the water bowl to the furs.
“Present your hands.”
His voice is hard and commanding.
I slowly draw them out from beneath the fur, letting them graze against it in the hope of wiping away any remaining water, and lift them.
They gleam traitorously in the firelight.
Arrek examines them, then lifts his gaze to mine.
“You drank from the bowl with your hands, you naughty girl.”
“I... I didn’t. I just...”
“Then how did your hands get wet?”
I do not answer for several heartbeats. Then I glare at him.
“I didn’t use my hands. And you’re going to lose yours if you try to punish me.”
His wolfish grin widens, and that huge, thick thing resting against his left thigh swells and throbs.
“Unless you’re lying.” He sets his wineglass upon the table. “It’s worth the risk.”
He reaches down and releases the external lock, and panic flares.
I retreat into the corner as the little door swings open and Arrek reaches inside, his long arm grasping for me. He cannot get his body through the door, and I kick at him, but his hand closes around my ankle with insulting ease.
I seize the bars, but my wet grip falters against the dark heartwood. He drags me through the furs while I twist and kick, the bell ringing wildly at my throat.
The heel of my free foot strikes his forearm, and it feels like I kicked an iron bar.
As soon as my hips clear the doorway, he catches me around the waist, but his grip is not tight. His fingers do not dig into my flesh as he hauls me from the cage.
I fight him every step of the way, twisting, kicking, trying to scratch, but he manhandles me towards the fire as though my struggles are nothing.
He lowers himself into his leather chair and hauls me across his lap, trapping me beneath one massive arm locked across my lower back, his hand gripping my far hip while my legs kick behind me.
His enormous hand settles against my bottom.