Shush, Flower, he murmurs in my mind.Just me. Only me. I’ve got you.
His fingers slip through my folds, finding where I’m already wet. I bite the inside of my cheek, hard. A moan claws its way up my throat, and I swallow it.
But he wants the crowd to hear.
He presses deeper, firm and deliberate. “So easy to break, this one. Look how wet she is just from my voice. The heir to the Vale, coming on my fingers like a common whore.”
Our audience howls with laughter and lust.
I don’t look at them. I can’t.
So I gaze up, past the smoke and fire, to the cage above.
Keldarion watches me. His hands are clenched around the bars, white-knuckled. His chest rises and falls too fast. He doesn’t turn away.
He gets what Caspian is doing. What I’m allowing.
And he understands that it’s not real. That itisreal. That I’m caught somewhere in between.
Caspian’s fingers curl just right, and my hips jerk in his lap. A whimper escapes before I can stop it.
His voice is a weapon. “See how desperate she is to be taken? How eager she is to be ruined in front of you all?”
Then he whispers in my mind.I’m sorry, Rose. I’m so sorry. I hate them. I hate all of them for looking at you. I’ll kill every single one after this.
He’s furious.
I can feel it in his touch, in the rougher press of his palm, in the way he coils beneath me like a storm waiting to break. His jaw grinds, his teeth clench.You are mine. Not theirs. Mine.
And yet he keeps touching me. For them. For the lie.
For the plan.
I close my eyes, arch into him, and play my part. We have to for our home, for the good of the Vale.
My body trembles, and I grip his wrist as if it might break. He knows what this means. I’m about to?—
His fingers curl inside me.
“Cas, I’m, I’m?—”
Then he stops.
I blink up at him, heart pounding.
He grabs me. One rough hand tangles in my hair, the other gripping my waist hard enough to bruise. He pushes us to standing.
Still too many eyes on the rose, he says.
I follow his gaze. While we’ve drawn stares to be sure, still a huge crowd lingers around the pedestal.
Then he bends me sideways over the shadow throne. It’s cold against my skin, my chest pressing against something solid, though it ripples like liquid.
I hear the sound before I feel it. Briars break out from the ground. They coil around my wrists, binding me in place, coiling like vines with minds of their own. They don’t pierce my flesh, but they could. One twitch, and I know they’d bite.
The crowd goes feral. Chanting filthy encouragement.
They don’t know I can control these briars.
