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Icarion’s laughter, a hearty, full-bodied sound, echoed in the room as he conceded to the Obsidian heir’s jest. “Ah, I’d forgotten it is his first. Well, Endreth, enjoy your new toy. We shall see how long it lasts.”
12
The grand double doors of Endreth’s study closed behind them, sealing away the prying eyes. Anthea wasted no time in putting distance between herself and the Crimson prince, practically bolting toward the back of the room, where on a small, ornate table, crystal glasses gleamed beneath the soft luminescence of the room. She poured the golden liquid into one, and grabbed it, tilting her head back, she let the drink glide down her throat in a generous gulp. She moved closer to the vast window overlooking the moonlit sea. The two moons hung low, both glowing full and vibrant in the night sky, casting a twin silver radiance upon the world below.
Anthea took another large sip of wine and?—
Her long blue dress rustled softly against her legs as she turned her body toward the prince. Endreth was standing at his table, his back to her, trailing his fingers absently across the polished surface.
“Was that necessary?!” she bit out, her mask of obedience slipping to reveal the storm of emotions roiling beneath.
The prince remained a silent figure by his desk, the glow of the two moons reflecting off his auburn hair. His hand, which had been tracing the edge of a golden paperweight, stilled. Turning around, his blue eyes met hers in the soft light, an inscrutable expression on his handsome features.
“Answer me, Endreth!” Anthea demanded. “We never agreed upon . . . this.” She gestured toward her body, to her breasts that he had bared to the elven nobility. She could still feel his hands on her, could still feel the others’ eyes on her, a violation she could not shake off.
For a moment, the prince said nothing, the silence growing louder with each passing second. And then?—
“Indeed, it was.” His eyes never left hers. “You were the very reason for this evening’s proceedings.”
“What?!”
Endreth sighed, seeming to steel himself before speaking again. “The Obsidian court has doubted our commitment to the cause. Our position on humans—it has not escaped their notice that our court has yet to partake in . . . slave ownership.” As his words sank in, a cold dread washed over her. She had been the prop in their play, a pawn moved by the whims of the elven lords.
Anthea took another large sip of the golden liquid.
“And your presence,” Endreth continued, “proved to them we are no different. You were the evidence they needed . . . and I needed to make it believable . . . I had to make sure your role as my slave would not be questioned.” The prince took a small step closer to her. “And you—you played your part to perfection.”
Shame, icy and gnawing, filled her—like a thousand tiny claws scraping against her spine. Her hand rose to her neck, fingers tracing the golden collar. How had she allowed herself to be reduced to . . . this? She’d allowed them to manipulate her, to mold her into a character in their cruel play. What would her sisters think of her now? There she was, doing it again: selling out.
Anthea gulped down the remaining liquid, finishing her glass?—
“Have you finally determined my . . . usefulness to the court?” Endreth opened his mouth to respond, but she was already moving on, words spilling out of her like a dam breaking free. “Because if you wish to continue using me as your prop, your testing subject, then we’re going to have to agree to some terms.”
The prince’s expression tightened at her words. “Do not forget your place. I am your only lifeline in this world.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Anthea’s lips curled in a wicked smile. Realization dawned on her. By showcasing her to the High King, Endreth had unwittingly presented her to the world, assigned her a public role as the first slave of the Crimson court in millenniums. They had thrust her into the political arena and that was a game she knew how to play. And yet, there was one card they had not revealed. One ace that could change the rules of the game—her immunity to magic, a secret they’d zealously guarded, a secret they had told her the other courts could not know. “I know my place very well, My Prince. And it’s with leverage over you.”
“Leverage?!” The single word dripped with derision.
“You need me, Endreth. Not just as a figurehead, but a willing participant in your schemes. The moment you paraded me around as your first slave, you made me a player. Not just a pawn.”
Endreth inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring with the intake of breath. It was a small reaction, almost imperceptible, but she knew her words had struck a nerve. He was quick to regain his composure, his lips curling into a sardonic smile that failed to reach his eyes.
“I can easily dispose of you, Anthea,” he said, his voice a deadly whisper. “I can acquire another slave, one that will not question me, one that will do as told. Or perhaps, I could heed Icarion’s wishes. Let him teach you some manners.”
“Can you, Endreth? Can you really do that when you’ve taken such pains to keep my origin . . . my immunity . . . a secret?” She watched him closely, noting the flicker of surprise that flashed through his eyes. It disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by a hardened stare. “Do as you wish.” Anthea’s chest heaved with the effort of keeping her features in check. “Lend me out to Icarion, hell, lend me out to the High King. Perhaps they would find my immunity to magic a more intriguing subject than my charms as a slave.”
The offhand comment had hit its intended target.
A low growl echoed in the silent room. Endreth’s jaw was set in a hard line, the tendons in his neck standing out as he gritted his teeth. “You seem to have a misguided perception of your situation.” His voice was dangerously low as he started closing the distance between them. “I have been too lenient with you, allowing you to foster some ridiculous idea that you have a choice in any of this.” His towering presence filled her vision. Anthea forced herself to stand her ground. Lifting her chin, she stared back at him. “You think I cannot make you obey?” the prince asked. The corners of his mouth curled up, forming a cruel smile. “You are wrong,” he murmured, leaning down while grasping the chain attached to her collar with his fingers, tugging her face closer to his.
Fear, cold and paralyzing, crept up her spine. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter. “Oh, I don’t doubt that. I just . . . I just don’t think you will. Because . . . because you can’t afford to fail.”
“Are you sure about that, little human?” Endreth whispered menacingly, his face dangerously close to hers, words slipping out like venom. “You are in my court, inside my walls. You have no power here.”
With a sudden movement, Anthea flung her empty glass against the back wall. It shattered, splattering shards of glass in all directions. The shock of the act made Endreth release the chain, his eyes widening momentarily in surprise.
“Do you think I care about your threats?” she spat. “I’ve been dragged, chained, and paraded around like a trophy.” She took a small step back, just enough to regain her personal space. “I have nothing left to lose. This world is alien to me, my family, my life . . . is a universe away, and you—you have everything to lose.” Anthea’s heart pounded relentlessly in her chest, the anxiety of uncertainty making it difficult to breathe. She knew she was taking a monumental risk. Betting on the hope she had read him right, and he was unwilling to truly hurt her. Doubt crept into her mind, gnawing at her confidence as the prince regarded her with an icy glint in his eyes. She hadn’t challenged him like this before. She could be wrong. She could have miscalculated.
