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"Yes," Endreth continued, his gaze steady on her. "This is why we believe it is in your best interest to stay with us, at least for now. If you work with us, allow us to understand why our magic does not affect you—we will help you find a way back to your home.”
Her instincts flared, her skepticism jumping forward. She couldn’t help but pick apart their proposal, the perceived benefits. As a seasoned public relations specialist, she was all too familiar with the delicate dance of manipulation, the subtle craft of spinning a tale to make it seem advantageous. Was that what they were doing? Their words held an eerie uniformity, almost as if they had been rehearsed.
“What happens if I refuse?”
“If you refuse, you will be imprisoned. A solitary cell like this one, perhaps.” Aegonar gestured around them. “We would give you time to reconsider our offer.”
“Is that a threat?—”
“If you still refuse after that time—the fate of humans in Isluma is a harsh one. Slavery is a common fate. You would likely be sold off, maybe to a brothel or to some elven male for his personal pleasures, entertaining his every whim. Your new owners would not appreciate your spirit, your fire. They would seek to beat it out of you.” His eyes locked with hers, their green depths mirroring the severe gravity of his words. “Take our offer, Anthea.”
The chill of the cell seeped into her bones, her heart hammering so violently, she feared it might shatter her ribcage. Her life, her choices, had been whittled down to a single, terrifying ultimatum: cooperate or be subjected to a fate more abominable than she could ever fathom. The bleak truth of her predicament threatened to suffocate her. She was stranded, a foreigner in an alien land, bargaining the conditions of her imprisonment. It was a nightmare, a dreadful, ceaseless nightmare. She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to give some relief to the continued pounding in her head. It was making it difficult for her to think.
“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Anthea’s voice emerged far more robust than she felt.
Aegonar’s mouth curved in a subtle, almost pleased smile. “No, you do not,” he confirmed, his tone unapologetic. “But you have the option to make this easier for yourself. Do as you are told, and we will ensure you are treated well.”
“Your fate is in your hands,” Endreth added from his position by the door. She glanced around the cell, the stone walls and the small barred window. She would get nowhere staying in here.
She would get no answers staying in here.
So, she nodded, her voice scarcely above a whisper when she spoke. “Okay. I . . . I agree.”
“There is one more thing,” Endreth said. “For your safety and to maintain the secret of your origin in the eyes of the other elven courts, you will need to assume a role in public.” Anthea crossed her arms on her chest, keeping her eyes on the younger prince and saying nothing, waiting for him to continue. “You will pose as my slave,” he added, leaving the door and taking his position next to his brother.
“N-No! I agreed to cooperate, not to be enslaved.”
Endreth lifted his hands, his palms facing her, his expression calm. “You misunderstand, Anthea. It would only be a ruse. A disguise to protect your true identity.”
Aegonar nodded. “This charade will afford you protection and keep unwanted attention at bay. Remember, your presence here is an anomaly.”
“But I won’t . . . I can’t!” she protested, her voice wavering. The thought of pretending to be a slave, being treated as less than, filled her with dread. She had just agreed to be their test subject to escape such fate.
Endreth sighed. “Believe me when I say this is the best course of action, especially given your human origin. You need not fear ill-treatment from me. I hold my word.”
Anthea gave him a long look, trying to see if he really meant it. She had no way of knowing. She didn’t know what to do. She wanted to curl up and wait for this fucking pounding in her head to stop rather than negotiate the term of her imprisonment. She couldn’t think clearly?—
“So let’s say I agree to this . . . charade. What exactly does being a slave here mean?”
Endreth and Aegonar exchanged another loaded glance before the latter gave a rounded explanation. He described a life at Endreth’s mercy, of anticipated obedience and subservience. He detailed the variety of tasks she might have to carry out, from minor errands to maintaining appearances when in public settings. As he spoke, Anthea couldn’t help but feel that he was intentionally holding back, dispensing crumbs of information while concealing the larger, more unpalatable truth.
“But that’s not all, is it?” she asked, her eyes darting between the two elves. “Without a clear understanding, how can I ensure I won’t misstep? That I won’t jeopardize this . . . delicate operation?”
Aegonar’s keen eyes met hers, corners of his lips twitching slightly. “There are certain additional expectations that come with being a personal slave. More intimate ones.”
“Care to elaborate?” Anthea glanced at Endreth before meeting Aegonar’s eyes again.
Aegonar was about to add something, his lips parting to utter the next words, when Endreth cut in, effectively halting his older brother.
“You need not concern yourself with such intricate details at present. We first need to determine your . . . potential. Your usefulness in our cause.”
“Usefulness?” Anthea repeated, her voice quivering with the effort to suppress her anger. “And who exactly are you to judge my worth, Endreth?” A swift exchange of glances between Aegonar and Endreth only served to escalate the rapid drumming of her heart. It was like they were having their own private conversations right in front of her, and she was not included.
“I understand this is all too new for you,” Aegonar’s sharp tone made it clear he was at the edge of his patience with her. “In our world, power and usefulness go hand in hand. As for the role of a personal slave . . . for you it involves the charade of you entertaining Endreth’s every whim, no matter how intimate.”
“Let me make this clear,” she spat out, her gaze locked onto the younger elf. “I will not sleep with you. That is not negotiable.”
Endreth scoffed, a sound that bounced off the cold stone walls, filling the room with its disdain. “Do not flatter yourself,” he smirked. “I would not dream of bedding you. I do have standards.” A surge of relief went through her, relief she wouldn’t have to face the prospect of that at least. But that relief was tainted with humiliation, her cheeks flushing in response to his derogatory remark.
