CASPIAN
The screams tore themselves free from my throat, raw and guttural. They were pleas I knew would go unheard by those beyond the stone confines of my imprisonment. It was a damnation that no one else bothered to listen to, electing to ignore my anguish just like the ones responsible for my torment.
My helplessness was merely a state of being, a reality I would never escape until Elaros finally graced me.
“Do you wish to comply now, boy?” The grooming hum that lingered beneath the king’s question caused bile to surge up the back of my throat. “Because I believe you’re well acquainted with how things will go if you continue to contest.”
I forced myself to swallow, the simple act nearly unbearable. “G-Go fuck... yourself.”
“Suit yourself.”
Before I could gather enough air to steady myself against his impending blow, the whip’s various strands tore through my flesh, mutilating my back. My breath hitched, another agony-infused bellow tumbling from between my dry, parted lips. My body tensed, struggling against the chains responsible for keeping my arms overhead. Blurring inand out of focus, my life force coating the ground became a mockery of all I’d never amount to, of all they’d continue to take from me.
I had never tasted the sweetness of autonomy, because I’d always beenhis.
As I ushered myself toward the doors of unconsciousness, fingers curled around my hair, ripping my head back. The sudden movement sent another surge of affliction throughout my body, wrapping its tendrils around my ankle and tearing me away from the reprieve I’d been so close to reaching.
“You’re not going to pass out on me now, are you?” The king’s lips brushed the shell of my ear, my nausea building as his hand met my chest, fingers gliding toward my waistband. “Because we’ve only just gotten started, love.”
Through dimming vision, I blinked, praying to any god that would listen for his touch, his abuse, to be nothing more than a sick dream. But as soon as the bottle cap spun loose, I knew it was far too real.
I was trapped in this hellish reality.
His hand curled around my throat, squeezing with an intensity I knew wouldn’t stop until he was satisfied. I thrashed against him, watching as he tipped the bottle of alcohol, his soulless gaze assaulting my soul. “Now, be a good boy and sing for me like you always do.”
The scent of liquor assaulted my senses, quickly replaced by an influx of warmth that, in a fraction of a second, overwhelming agony devoured. Searing through the fresh wounds, the liquid lapped up my blood, savoring its tang before penetrating muscle and bone.
It was a feeling I should’ve been accustomed to, considering this wasn’t the first time I’d experienced it.
It was the fifty-third.
Enthralled by my struggle, the king stepped closer, his hardness brushing against my practically bare thighs. The briefs I wore did little to separate me from him, and the poison of all the crown carried polluted my essence before I could stop it—just as it had been since the day he’d purchased me.
As he tightened his hold around my neck, his other hand began itsexploration. Dipping beneath my waistband and approaching the part of me he’d touched far too many times without an ounce of permission, his alcohol-laden breath brushed along my jaw as he planted a kiss on one of the many bruises covering it.
The distance separating me from his violation closed, his fingers coiling around?—
Gasping, I rolled onto my side, coughing up a mouthful of water. The shift from its infiltration to the sudden influx of oxygen kindled a fire in my lungs, my mind failing to remember how to perform the simple act of breathing.
That haunting memory was why I did not desire to allow my men to touch Rohen with the claim that her mind, body, and soul were theirs. They were granted passing touches, grazing fingertips, but nothing more, and Rohen didn’t seem to question it. To question my truth. I had been cast into the dark by our overseers, and I never wished the same on any other, especially someone like her, and yet, that godsdamned simmering loathing, that deep-seated?—
Heartbeat pulsing in my ears, paired with my body’s instinctual need to purge the foreign liquid, obliterated my thoughts. But just as quickly as it had pierced my internalized battle, the white noise faded, and a heightened chorus of voices replaced it. Some were far more vehement than others, and two specific timbres ripped me from the depths of my subconscious.
“Don’t fucking lecture me as ifI’mthe one who pushed him overboard!” A woman screamed; the ethereal tune, interlaced with seething articulation, sparked immediate familiarity.
Rohen.
“You might as well have,” a male—Syoran—spat. “If you hadn’t allowed your emotions to suffocate your veryapparent,and nowconfirmed,lack of common sense, then you wouldn’t have climbed up on the fucking gunwale to begin with!”
Her patterned gait roared across the deck, confirming her willingness to close the gap between them. A quickshingindicatedshe’d snagged a weapon from one of the men. The rustle of fabric followed, and I didn’t have to look to know she’d grabbed hold of Syoran’s shirt to pull him closer, only to rest the sharpened edge of the steel she constantly carried against his throat.
My deviously intoxicating little siren.
“You areluckyI didn’t let him drown, becausebelieve me, there is nothing I crave more than watching him take his last, fleeting breath,” she snarled, her wrath palpable. “And before you senselessly continue running your mouth, let it be known that the only reason he’s still alive is becauseIwant to be the one to drive a blade through his chest. Drowning is far too painless, and men like him—men likeyou—deserve to fuckingsuffer.”
Metal rasped against a leather scabbard, the audibly recognizableshingconfirming Syoran’s rare decision to draw his sword. He rarely wielded it outside of sparring and combat, not because he lacked the ability, but because he was perfectly capable of taking a life without needing to graze its hilt.
Only awakened when he decided someone had overstepped the line he’d etched through the metaphorical sand of respect, it was a weapon he wielded to display his protectiveness and lack of tolerance for anyone willing to cross me. As much as it was a statement of his unwavering dedication to kill for me, it was equally a cautionary warning of what was to come.
