Relief softens Kazia’s face before that cruel smirk returns. In that instant, Lucien and Kazia are the only ones who know what happened. Everyone else, from the drasgard to the king—who has a perfect view, thanks to Kazia’s maneuvering—believes they saw something ordinary. A prince ordered a prisoner to stand, and the prisoner stood.
“You’ll regret this,” Lucien growls.
Kazia smiles. “Kneel for me.”
Prepared, Lucien tries to resist. The result is an instant of skin-crawling hesitation before his knees bend.
Kneel, said Kazia, but nothing about remaining kneeling. As soon as he hits the cold flagstone, Lucien tries to lunge to his feet again. All he manages is a shudder, and a lesson learned: the enchantment isn’t precisely literal.
“Bow to me,” Kazia commands. “Forehead to the floor.”
Shocked whispers turn to laughter. Lucien bites back his protests, his humiliation, as he bends. There’s no shame in being forced to bow—yet everything in him screams in protest. He doesn’t want to bow to this foreign brat.
It’s fine. Lucien can tolerate this. Just focus on the pain in his shoulders, the grit digging into his forehead.
“Are you done yet?” Imrik asks from the dais.
Footsteps tap in front of Lucien. “Almost, Father. Just one more test,” Kazia says loudly. “Kiss my boot, Commander Vaire.”
Lucien jerks, revulsion twisting with the enchanted obedience. For one searing instant, he meets Kazia’s eyes—and finds nothing but matching disgust.
Then Lucien can only bend forward, awkward with his hands behind his back, to kiss the toe of Kazia’s black leather boot. He gets it over with as quickly as he can, but the grit lingers on his lips even as he rocks back onto his heels.
Heckling rises around him. Insults collided until individual words are lost in the discord. There’s just the surge of derision. Delight. How they must love seeing a Silaisan dragonrider kissing their prince’s boot. A commoner returned to his rightful place.
The crowd only quiets when Kazia claps his hands.
Kazia turns his back on Lucien, who isn’t a threat at all. “See, Father, he’s perfectly tame. He’ll do anything I say.”
“A fascinating trinket,” Imrik says. “Can anyone use it?”
“No, it truly was a gift from Lord Radovan. It only works for me.”
Imrik is silent for too long. Like he’s actually considering this absurdity. Then he murmurs something to Marek, whose reply is also inaudible. They’re too far away for Lucien to judge their expressions.
“Please, Father, don’t I deserve to have some fun?” Kazia wrings his hands behind his back. “I’ll return him when I’m bored with him.”
“Very well.” Imrik rises. “My drasgard will review security in your quarters. Do what you wish with Commander Vaire until negotiations conclude—so long as you don’t kill him.”
Lucien’s stomach drops as Kazia bows to the king.
“Thank you, Father! I’ll take wonderful care of him.” Straightening up, Kazia snaps his fingers. “Follow me, dog. No, don’t stand. Follow me on your knees.”
Kazia hasn’t commanded Lucien to silence; he doesn’t need to. The humiliation chokes Lucien’s voice to nothing.
Lucien shuffles forward three awkward steps before Kazia groans.
“Never mind, you’re too slow. Stand up and follow me. Walking. No running. Don’t get within five feet of me.”
The rapid-fire orders drive Lucien to his feet. As he stumbles from the dining hall, surrounded by two teams of drasgard in black and lavender, Lucien scrambles for his thoughts. The tiny tyrant striding ahead is the only thing he can think clearly about.
Every step Lucien takes hammers home the loss of control over his own body. His throat burns beneath the collar. The violation runs deep, all for the brat prince’s whims.
Of course this is how Imrik Dire’s son would turn out.
Lucien needs to revise his plan. Before killing Imrik and fucking off back to Silaise, he’s going to kill Kazia Dire too.
?
