44. Chapter 40
Chapter 40
Raven
C aelan was gone when I got back to his chambers. Baris offered me a sympathetic smile and a joke before he locked me in my small room to wait. Little did he know that the starkness and smallness of these quarters was comforting in its familiarity.
Kill Caelan.
It wasn’t so long ago that I looked down from the Mother’s Womb on Caelan’s party and desired just that with all my heart. I studied his eagle in the sky and figured out what he was. I felt a yearning deep in my soul to end his life, a craving so compelling, I abandoned Asherah to follow its call.
Now I found out that I could fulfill my father’s deepest wish and possibly save the entire Tapestry simply by running a blade across Caelan’s neck and I felt…conflicted. I tried to summon up eager bloodlust and found my supply had run low. Since I was old enough to feel anything, my store of vengeful fury overflowed. What was happening?
It didn’t matter, I decided. Farad was right. I was too caught up with my personal feelings, which weren’t important when the stakes were this high. I should put aside Farad's betrayal and focus. Caelan needed to die.
But damn, I wished I could read the prophecy for myself.
The door creaked open and Caelan’s huge shadow fell across me as light from his chamber poured in. He tossed a scrap of fabric to me and I held it up, trying to discern what it was. Something to wrap my hair in, perhaps. But no. It was a dress. If I could even call it that.
I stormed out of my room and raised it to the light. The rich aubergine color of the silk was stunning, but the cut was outrageous. There was only a single layer of silk, first of all. The peaks of my nipples and the dip of my ass would be traceable by anyone with eyes. But that was only one problem. The other was the thin strip of fabric that served as the entire top. It would wrap around the back of my neck and cover my breasts—that was it. Everything else would be exposed. The scars on my chest and stomach. The tattoo on my back. Everything.
“Absolutely not,” I said.
“Do you think I’m asking?” Caelan had turned his back on me already. He stripped off the rough tunic he wore to spar and tossed it in a crumpled pile. He splashed water on his chest and beneath his arms.
The muscles of his back rippled with every motion. The strength in them was a visible weapon he carried everywhere. But his weakness was right there, too. No muscles rippled beneath the thick strip of scar tissue that ran the entire length of his back—the white scar tissue was too thick for the muscles to show through. How had he gotten that scar? Since meeting Amon, a suspicion had begun to form, but it was still unconfirmed. Perhaps before my name was revealed, Caelan might have told me, but now…
A droplet of water landed in the center of his back and trailed down the trench that ran between the bulging muscles on either side of his spine. His biceps clenched and loosened with every angry toss of the water. It got everywhere, all over the floor. He cared nothing for the messes he left.
He reached for a towel and cast a glance at me. I hadn’t moved. My arm was still outstretched with the garment clenched in my fist.
“No dawdling," he said. "I trained late in the yards and I don’t wish to be late to dinner. Unless you’d prefer to make an entrance.” He raised an eyebrow.
I knew what that would mean. Hundreds of eyes trained on the leash in his hand and the whore at the end of it. A whore wearing a dress that left no doubts whatsoever as to her purpose. Her reason for existing.
To serve the pleasure of a prince.
I wanted to beg. The vile word almost snuck past my quivering lips. Please.
But that would be worse than wearing the damned thing.
I gathered my courage. I’d killed people with my bare hands and traveled alone through unknown lands and I’d been inside the mind of a dragon. A dragon and whatever that voice is.
I could wear this dress.
Without ceremony, I stripped off the dress I already wore. I felt Caelan’s eyes on me but I didn’t look up as I slid my legs into the single layer of silky fabric and tugged it up my torso.
It was nothing like the folds of fabric worn by courtiers here. Current fashion dictated that layers indicated wealth, and so the rich lords and ladies of the emperor’s court styled themselves with layer after thin layer of brightly-colored fabric. The exposed hems were richly embroidered, displaying gold thread, elaborate scenes more suited to tapestries, and even gemstones. They must broil in the heat, but they cared nothing for such practicalities.
I would be quite the opposing image.
Caelan had not even given me undergarments to wear beneath the dress. The silk hugged every curve, slipping into the crevice of my ass. My nipples might as well have been exposed for all this did to hide them.
The color was flattering, at least. The deep aubergine drew attention to my olive-toned skin and emerald eyes. Not that a single person would be looking at my eyes.
For the most daring feature of the dress wasn’t its tightness or the sparseness of the fabric. It was the open back that displayed the entirety of my father’s mark. Nobody at court tonight would be able to forget for one second who I was.
When I’d tugged and finagled the thing to cover as much of my body as I could, I met Caelan’s gaze. He was admiring me appreciatively.
I knew he would enjoy my humiliation. That was just fine. It’ll make it that much easier to kill you.
“Do you like it?” he drawled.
“Of course I don’t.”
He chuckled. “It’s flattering on you. My mother thought it would be.”
“Your mother picked this out?!”
“The color.”
A knock came on the door. A moment later, a guard opened it and a woman entered. She was a servant, dressed plainly. She stared at the floor. Brushes and hair pins overwhelmed her hands.
“Sit there,” Caelan said to me. To the girl he said, “Quickly now. But make her look as elegant as the empress herself.”
I sat in the chair, too confused to put up a fight. The girl hurried into position behind me and deposited her armful in a careful pile on a nearby table. She began to brush my thick hair, humming quietly to herself as she worked.
“Who is this?” I asked Caelan.
“She’s my mother’s hairdresser.” He was pulling on his own clothes. Layer upon layer upon layer, of course.
I was baffled. Why dress me in this humiliating dress and then style my hair as if I were a princess? It made no sense. He wanted to lower me before his father’s court, right? So why was this servant shoving jeweled pins into my elaborate braid?
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“You don’t have to understand. You just have to sit there.” Caelan’s tone was still clipped. He’d been short with me since the Hunt, and hadn’t touched me either. He was still furious.
“Can you give me some idea of what to expect tonight?”
“You already know what to expect, Raven.”
“Perhaps. But you’ve managed to surprise me once already. Makes a girl nervous.” It was as close as I’d get to telling him the truth of how terrified I was.
He must’ve sensed it, or maybe he’d just finished dressing. He came to me and assessed the servant’s handiwork. She was finishing up, smoothing down the final pieces and pressing in the last pin.
“Good. Thank you,” Caelan said when he looked me over.
The girl sank into a bow. "An honor, my prince,” she murmured, so quiet I barely heard her. Then she gathered up her tools and rushed from the room.
Caelan leaned on my shoulder. The weight of him pressed me down into the stool. “You may be a traitor, but you’re also the official companion of a prince of Vaharilar. You’re mine. That means something. I can bring you out there looking like I’ve just fucked you to the edge of death. I can display you for them naked if I want to. But what I will not do is dishonor myself by making you look like nothing but a gutter whore. Now stand up. Face the wall, there. You may want to brace yourself.”
My heart hammered. One moment, I’d received what almost could be called kindness and the next, he was directing me to face the wall and brace. I couldn’t keep on top of his shifts in mood.
I looked at him, but he held no weapon in his hands. His expression was masked, the picture of a man patiently waiting. Only the way he shifted his weight on his feet suggested he was not so patient after all.
Should I disobey him? I wanted to, if only to prove I wasn’t some meek slave who would quietly obey all his orders just because she was a little bit afraid.
I raised my chin. “No.”
He laughed. It sounded cold and fake. “You don’t even know why I’ve told you to go to the wall. You might like it.”
“Then tell me.”
“That’s not how this works.” His mask of patience had slipped. He glanced at the door as if it told the time. “Get in the corner, Raven, now.”
“That’s not how this works,” I said quietly. “You may hold my leash but I do not belong to you, Slayer.”
He was on me, fast. His hands closed around my narrow upper arms. He dragged me and I stumbled, my legs unable to spread very far because of the tightness of the dress. But I hadn’t trained for cycles for nothing.
I jabbed the flat of my palm into his sternum. He grunted, but I wasn’t strong enough at this distance for it to work like it was supposed to. I hiked up my dress and wrapped my leg around the back of his knee. As I jerked it forward, I tugged his upper body, trying to pull him off-balance. But he only stumbled and then corrected himself. He was a beast of a man. I’d never fought anyone so big.
“Raven, stop it,” he said. He lifted me off the ground, rendering my kicks impotent, my arms pinned to my sides. In a few steps we were in the corner he’d chosen. He let me go and spun me towards the wall, then pressed his weight on top to pin me.
He breathed heavily, as did I. He lay against me for a moment before speaking. “Do I need to chain you or will you stay?” He couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice or the arousal that hardened and pressed against my ass.
He wanted me in chains.
I wanted to deny him what he wanted. “I’ll stay.”
If he was disappointed, he didn’t allow me to witness it. He backed away from me. True to my word, I held myself still, waiting for whatever came.
Thwack. The sound of the belt whistling through the air and slapping the bare skin of my back reached me before the pain did. A wild, shameful excitement roared when I realized what he was doing, and then the pain arrived. A stretch of skin came alive, prickling and burning from the slap of the leather. It radiated out, warming me until it dissipated just as the next one came.
Thwack. He hit the same place as before, so the heat was more intense this time. I let out an audible breath, processing the sting. Having gotten over my surprise, I leaned into the sensation. I sank into the pain he offered like it was a bath enjoyed after weeks of hard travel. Inside the pain, there was no confusion. No complication. Only sensation. Only aliveness.
The belt landed again and again. Caelan hit me with all the strength in his arm, nothing held back. The belt whizzed through the air and cracked like a whip as it landed. I didn’t know how many hits I took before my little gasps turned to moans. I clutched the wall, scratching the tapestry hanging there with clawed fingers. My knees began to shake.
The pain banished all thought. My mind emptied of consciousness; my thoughts were replaced by a pleasant buzzing like the effect of a tall glass of wine. My moans increased in volume. The proud woman who might feel ashamed at offering a Slayer that sound had vanished. I was just a hungry body now, and my food was pain.
I craved the next lash even as I dreaded it, too. I pressed myself into the wall to get away from it and also to feel the pleasant pressure the wall offered to that yearning place between my legs that had lit up with heat and wetness.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, more.” It was more of a moan than it was words.
I thought at first Caelan hadn’t understood it when the belt stopped landing. Behind me, Caelan breathed heavily. We were breathing together, I realized. Every breath in and out in unison. Yet despite this, it felt like spans existed between us. The longer he waited to hit me, the further apart we grew. It was the belt that had brought us close.
Caelan cleared his throat.
I blinked, trying to clear my head.
Danger, danger, a warning flashed in my mind. I was drunk on pain, not thinking clearly. Not clever. Not ready to spar with him with words or swords or any other way.
The buzzing reduced, but didn’t clear. Previous experience promised it could last for near half a day, though I’d never received a beating as heavy as this one. Lusa had treated me more gently. Afraid to mark the precious body of the Traitor’s daughter. But Caelan marked me as if he owned me.
Because he did.
I turned slowly, using the wall to keep me standing. My legs were jelly. My lashes were lazy and slow as I blinked and focused on him. "What's the matter?"
The Slayer prince stood there with the belt limp in his hand. Both shoulders were low and his arms hung loose at his sides. He’d sweated some; droplets glistened on his forehead. He looked down, his chin low, his face like a man defeated.
"It doesn't matter," he said.
"What doesn't?"
Abruptly, he raised his head. His eyes did not match his body at all. Hunger and desire fought a war against restraint. "Your name."
My heart skipped a beat.
"I want you anyway. I shouldn't. I'm angry. I've tried to stay angry, to burn hot enough for it to erase the rest, but I can't." Caelan surged forward and dropped the belt. His hand slipped beneath my dress to the hot, wanting place between my legs. His fingers weren’t gentle—they were looking for something. The wetness that had leaked out of me to coat my lips and upper thighs.
He found it easily and took a deep, shuddering breath. His fingers splayed, spreading the slickness. I hadn’t made a sound—I was too surprised. Once, I would've felt disgust at the man attached to those fingers. But now, in the haze that lingered in the aftermath of the beating, I only wanted more. His name did not matter to me, either. His destiny didn't matter; there was no past and no future. I knew exactly how he felt because I felt it, too.
I pressed into him, allowing a whimper to escape me. My back throbbed, warm with heat. If he grabbed me and raked his nails across it, it would be agony. Agony I craved.
“Fuck,” Caelan said. He was a man undone. I saw it in his eyes—how close he was to unhinging, to losing that control he clung to ever so tightly. “What the fuck is the matter with us?” he said, but there was no strength in the words.
“The same thing." My voice was husky and deep. Full of desire.
Caelan leaned forward, his mouth coming within a fingerspan of mine. His fingers still lingered at my opening, teasing my sensitive lips with tiny movements. I wanted him to slip inside.
“Raven,” he breathed. I could taste his breath. He was that close.
"Come on," I begged. Leaning into him, my skin on fire, my wanton desire dripping down to coat my thigh.
"Fuck," Caelan growled again. He dropped to his knees. His arms forced my legs wider, his hands grasping my ass and squeezing, tugging me forward. I felt his breath on my most sensitive place and the next thing I knew, his tongue was on my slit. He groaned in pleasure as he devoured me. The vibrations traveled through my skin and into my bones—into my soul. I felt like I might crack open as Caelan lapped up my juices as if nothing had ever tasted so sweet.
"Fuck, Raven, you taste so fucking good."
I could hardly hear him. I was soaring on waves of pleasure as his tongue danced and flicked and sucked me. I cried out as his finger joined it, slipping easily inside. It stretched me, filled me. It was everything and not enough, all at once. His mouth's gentleness was at odds with his finger, which thrust into me as hard as I hoped his cock soon would. It was spearing me, forcing me open as a second finger joined it, both of them pumping deep and hard and fast. Faster, faster.
I could hardly breathe. Pleasure was ripping through me in waves, pressure building. I was about to explode.
"Now, Raven," Caelan ordered gruffly, and I obeyed. His fingers demanded it. His tongue left me no other option. A force overriding my control rocketed out from my core, heat and shuddering ecstasy flooding my senses. Replacing my vision with blackness. Replacing all thought with nothing. Nothing but him.
I grabbed his head, tangling my fingers in his hair as I held him in place and rocked against his face until the ecstasy eased and my body relaxed. I languished in the gentle laps he gave my slit in the moments after, until my body stopped shaking.
Then, abruptly, he pulled away. The sudden absence of him was a shock of cold water. I nearly fell; I’d been leaning into him. He’d turned his back by the time I righted myself. “What the fuck?” I blurted out.
All of Caelan's softness was gone, but I felt bold enough to take on even the coldest Slayer living. I had never been able to understand why pain made me rise up into the bravest version of myself, but it did. “Why are you stopping? Nobody is stopping you. I’m not stopping you. I want it. I want you. ” Shit, were those words true? I was supposed to be planning his death, not trying to convince him to fuck me.
Caelan laughed bitterly. “Let’s see if you still want me after dinner."
Fuck.
The reality of what came next flooded through me, replacing the afterglow of my climax.
We had to go to dinner at court. I looked down at myself. The dress, so recently new and pristine, was disheveled and creased. He’d preserved my fancy hair style, though a few tendrils had fallen down around my face. There was a wet spot on the dress where my arousal had soaked it. And my back must be flaming red and marked with stripes.
He’d done all this to put on a show for the lords and ladies of court.
Cold anger doused my arousal. He must’ve seen the transformation in my face, for he laughed.
“Exactly. Tell me I’m not a monster now. Go ahead, Raven. Fucking tell me.”
I was silent.
“That’s what I thought. Now pull that thing down. Try to look presentable, will you? We’re late.”