Every sinister glance, shrouded in darkness. Every torn gown, every bit of flesh. It was a mass of desolate corruption.
And as she knelt there, before the ruler of it all, she found her thoughts drifting to Serpentis. The revels at Vale’s castle hadbeen nothing like this. They had been lewd, wanton, but freeing, in a way. This was nothing of the sort. Perhaps because she knew these beings were enslaved, forced to bend to the will of their master.
She wondered of the females she watched. The fae with hair as white as hers and eyes of moonlit blue—Luna fae. She watched as they dropped to their knees and were used by the males. She watched as they sat on laps, eyes glassy—some filled with shadows, others clear.
She wasn’t sure which was worse. The ones who were wholly aware of what was being done to them as they dissociated in horror. Or the Umbra, used but uncaring that they were a pawn to a puppeteer. Each gasp, each roving hand, and call of laughter, Luella couldn’t help but wonder if somewhere, deep down within them, they were disgusted by what they were being forced to do.
Or were they trapped so deeply within themselves that they didn’t realize they were being hurt and used?
The females with clear eyes were the hardest to watch, Luella realized. It was the little things. The way their hands curled against the ground or the hard edges of stone chairs, as they were forced onto their knees, between legs. The tears they tried to hold back. The blood that welled on split lips from hard slaps, unsatisfied that they weren’t doing enough, weren’t pleasing enough.
She watched it all, mind detached far from her body. She couldn’t drift far, however. Because the collar at her throat kept her from doing so. Every breath, every swallow—she was forced back into her mind from the cutting sensation of the spikes into her jugular. It grounded her when she didn’t wish to remain on the ground. Kept her tethered when she wished she could fly.
Her legs were numb from how long she had been kneeling there.
She couldn’t feel her lower half.
The shadows remained curling around her in warning.
"Who wants to touch?" Caliban boomed, his voice jolting her.
She didn’t look up at him, instead studying the marbled floor.
The crowd roared.
The bodies had been so thick, she couldn’t see through—only glimpses of walls and the reddened pool. As they began to form a line before the throne, she saw what had been hidden from her.
Her hands flexed on her numb thighs. What would it take to rid her of her sight—claw out her eyes? Surely that would be less horrifying than this.
The pool of blood was not a small thing as she had originally thought, but rather a large cavernous hole carved into the base of the throne room—filled to overflowing with blood. It lapped against the edges, too much to be contained, as it mingled with water from the pure, smaller pools inlaid into the corners, coating parts of the marble floor with pinkish red.
Along the far wall, a place she hadn’t been able to see at all: stone spikes.
They were carved crudely, as if not an original decoration for the room, but an addition.
Sentient shadows curled up the stone spikes, straight toward disembodied heads attached to the ends. Their eyes were wide, unseeing. She was so horrified, she thought they were fake at first.
But she saw the pale grey pallor to their skin, the droop to their jaws, the hollows under their eyes.
Real. They were real.
The malodor that had first struck her came back with a vengeance at the sight—metal, rot, and decay.
One horror was replaced by another as the line began to move at Caliban’s behest.
Then, the Umbra touched her.
He allowed them up the steps one at a time, only for a moment, but that moment was stretched into eternity by the feel of their cold hands on her flesh, stroking over her wings and drifting down her shoulders to her arms. One tried to touch her ruined, swollen hand, and she gasped, making the crowd laugh.
One tried to do more than touch innocently—but Caliban swept his hand up, and the male who had tried to lean forward and place his lips on Luella’s cheek was roughly yanked back, dragged until his feet kissed the edge of the blood pool. He hovered there for a moment, and Caliban said:
"Only a touch—never a taste. You would do well to remember I do not misspeak. She is mine, firstly and always. Mine to touch, mine to taste, mine to wreck and ruin." His shadowed eyes swept throughout the room. "Let this be the first lesson of what I will do to anyone who attempts to take what I am owed."
He flattened his hand, and the male was thrust beneath the pool of blood, red droplets splattering the Umbra standing nearby and staining their skin red.
Bubbles popped on the surface.
Luella blinked?—
