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I drank it because my body craved sustenance, but it didn’t stop the lashings of sickness brought on by sheer mindless terror.
Every tick of the clock shoved me closer and closer to something I wouldn’t survive. My mind threatened to crack. My heart revolted with palpitating skips. Any wetness Henri had shamefully drawn from me dried up, forcing me to come face to face with the truth that Peter might be true to his word about caring for me, but it didn’t mean I wouldn’t be hurt.
Badly.
So badly, the others resorted to drugs to endure.
I choked back tears as Peter squeezed my hand and guided me from the bathing chamber. We stayed silent as we walked through palatial rooms. I tried to pay attention as he pointed out the communal bedroom for all the jewels, the small kitchen with blenders, fruits, and raw vegetables, and the walk-in wardrobe full of clothes fit for a prince or princess.
The gown Peter had given me swirled around my legs and dragged behind me with a delicate train, making it seem as if I’d stepped into a different era. The palest shade of periwinkle set off the inkiness of my hair, clashing with the gold in my eyes. The belt dug into my waist, lashed far tighter than normal as if I could strap myself into the fabric and be safe.
Being dressed eased some of my brewing panic, even if the material was so sheer the shadows of my nipples and pussy could be seen.
I sagged with another wash of despair.
I’d had a Brazilian for Sam’s benefit, not these nameless bastards. I’d ensured my body was desirable, just in case we rekindled the spark on our romantic trip to Paris.
I should’ve trusted my instincts.
Should’ve known when I’d spread my legs for the wax-beautician that what I felt wasn’t excitement to sleep with Sam but obligation. A four-year-old obligation to be the perfect girlfriend who got on her knees when she was told.
Oh God.
Tears burned as I imagined a faceless man shoving me down and sticking his cock down my throat.
Would that happen?
When would it happen?
Now?
Today?
A minute from now?
A whimper escaped me.
Peter sighed softly. “It will be okay. I’m not sure what Sir V has planned for you but…new jewels are treated well. You’ll be in demand. That demand usually ensures you are treated kindly until you’re a little more broken in.”
My whimper turned into a cry. “Peter, please…please don’t take me to them.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“You do. You do have a choice.”
He laughed blackly. “None of us have a choice. Do you think we’d still be here if we did?”
“Why do you obey? What’s stopping you from barricading yourself in the bathing chamber and refusing to do what they want?”
He huffed as if I was stupid. “It’s called training for a reason, Ily. We’re well trained. And you will be too by the time they’re through.” He softened his voice. “We all arrive like you. Stubborn and determined to accept pain out of principle. But let me tell you, you’ll soon jump when they summon.”
“No, I won’t. I refuse to do what they want. I won’t let them do this to me without a fight. No fucking way.”
“A fight you’ll lose. Every single time.”
“It’s better to try than to—”
“Wrong.” He jerked me to a stop. “It’s better to live without broken bones or your skin in ribbons from punishment. Believe me. We’ve all learned that lesson, so learn from us without having to find out for yourself.” Pulling me back into a walk, he snapped, “You think fighting makes this better? Wrong, it only makes it worse. If you fight, you pay. It’s as simple as that.” He shuddered. “I’d rather be allowed to sleep with my fellow jewels with blankets and comfort, than spend a week in the icy dungeons with nothing. I’d rather bathe in steam showers, than rot in my own filth.”
