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“Is there anything to make it . . . easier?” Anthea kept her eyes downcast, glued to the vegetable roast in front of her. She had been in Isluma for over a month now. After their discussion about genetics, Endreth had been as cold as ever in their testing sessions, wearing his usual mask of indifference. It was really starting to grate on her nerves. Over a month—they had given her nothing—no information on why they were testing her—nothing. Ari and Treia had probably thought her missing for all this time. And she was no nearer to getting back than she was on the first day she had arrived in Isluma?—
“To make what easier?” Alyra’s pale eyes searched her face for clues.
She bit her lower lip, her shoulders slightly hunched, and sighed, feigning a defeated look. “You know.” She traced her fingers on the table before her. “Is there anything to make it hurt less? When . . . when Prince Endreth . . .” Anthea trailed off, gauging the other woman’s reaction beneath her lashes. Alyra hadn’t asked about her interactions with Endreth again after the first time, but Anthea had hinted and played on the misconception. Now, it was time to see if all the baiting had been enough.
Alyra’s eyes narrowed even more, the empathy in her gaze turning into something stronger, perhaps a touch of indignation. “I’m sorry. If the prince hasn’t given you anything, then?—”
“Please,” Anthea interrupted, cutting her off. She looked at Alyra with eyes she hoped seemed earnest, desperate even. “Do you know of any human settlements nearby? I don’t know how much longer I can take it.”
“You’re considering leaving? Escaping?”
Anthea nodded, looking down at her lap as if admitting to such a thought was a betrayal. “I need to know I have options, Alyra. Just in case.” And she did, she really did want to know if there even was somewhere she could go in this world, if all else failed.
The elf gave her a long, searching look before leaning back in her chair. “Trying to leave would be a terrible idea.” Alyra kept her eyes on her, a cold calculation in those pale depths that hadn’t been there before.
Anthea started to question the wisdom of pushing this topic so early in their relationship. Had she made a mistake? Had she read Alyra’s reactions wrong? She lowered her eyes, looking down to her hands, making sure her sigh was audible.
The elven maiden leaned closer. “If you think what Prince Endreth is doing is bad? If you’re captured trying to leave, Anthea. What you’re going through now—it would be nothing compared to what would happen then.”
Anthea looked up, startled by the curt tone, “What do you. . . what would happen?”
“Let just say, the Crimson court is not the worst place for a human slave.”
“I don’t understand,” Anthea said softly, searching her eyes, but it seemed Alyra was done with sharing?—
“On that merchant ship, you told me you were also a slave. Was it any different there?”
“I was with them ever since I was a child. They taught me to read, write, and calculate. I mainly kept their books, made sure things ran smoothly on that front,” she lied.
“So you had . . . What? A better form of servitude?” The elf’s tone was tinged with irony.
“It allowed me some semblance of dignity, something I fear I’m losing day by day here.”
“You’re serving a prince here,” Alyra pointed out, her eyes raking over her. “It cannot be that bad. I don’t see any bruises on you.”
“That’s because the bruises aren’t in places I would publicly expose,” Anthea lied softly, whispering.
Alyra’s eyes softened, her hand reaching out to take hers. “Listen to me, the world outside these castle walls will not welcome a runaway slave. And if you’re caught?—”
“I know,” Anthea interjected, her eyes darting away, not able to hold the elf’s gaze. “You’ve already made that clear. I’m not saying I will escape; I just needed to know I had options.”
Alyra sighed, her thumb lightly brushing against the back of Anthea’s hand in a comforting motion. “Believe me, I understand the desire for options, for some form of control in this life we’re leading. But if you can, try to adapt. You’ll get used to the prince’s . . . demands.”
Anthea felt her stomach turn at the thought—at the thought of getting used to the life she currently had, but she faked a small, pained smile. “Thank you, Alyra. I’ll keep that in mind.”
9
Two days had passed since her conversation with Alyra, and she was once again in the same study, once again facing the same arrogant elven princes. Anthea hadn’t touched the topic of human settlements again. Alyra’s response had been clear enough—she wasn’t willing to help her. She stared at the the Crimson princes. Their non expressions were really starting to get on her nerves. It was like she was playing a game every night, only she didn’t know what the rules were. Or even what the game was.
Endreth sat across from her, a table littered with magical artifacts separating them. Each piece had been selected for the experiment. Some radiated an almost palpable aura of power, while others seemed innocent enough, their curses and enchantments concealed under the veil of ordinary. One by one, she had been asked to touch these items, to test her immunity against their magic. She had handled a few already with no ill effects.
Then, a sudden pang in her lower abdomen made her wince, disrupting her focus. It was a familiar sensation, one she had momentarily forgotten amidst all the chaos of her new life—her period. How could she have forgotten? Anthea was irritated. Why did it have to happen now? Why couldn’t it have started earlier when she had just been lounging in her room, doing nothing?
The magical artifact she had been holding dropped from her hand, clattering against the wooden table and drawing Endreth’s attention. His blue eyes flickered as he noted the change in her demeanor.
“What is the matter?”
Her cheeks heated up at the thought of explaining the reason for her discomfort. Sharing something so personal with Endreth or Aegonar wasn’t an option. No—They had enough power over her already.
