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The smirk on my face reveals that I planned a nasty party for my brother. That’s all.
The smirk on my face hides my pain in plain sight.
The smirk on my face… It hasn’t been real for a while.
Kendrick and Penelope Jade keep me going. Whenever I’m in the palace, whether it’s refurbished or not, I’m flooded with pieces of my past. In this palace, I’ve endured it all. Aram might have let me wash my body before going home to my family, but he never cleansed my soul. Instead, he took and took until there was nothing left to give.
“Mrs. Cross, you’re early,” one of the guards at the doors greets me. Jordan hates the concept of the party, but he’s made sure that our safety is on point. He’s put his best guards at the palace’s gates and entrance.
“Somebody has to run this party,” I tell him, and he takes my palace ID card. He’s bulky and stoic, a description fitting most men and women working for Jordan in the palace. They’re kind to us because we’re part of the royal family, but I’ve seen how hostile they can get if they sense danger.
The new guards do their job well. My brother and the Queen of Katantia have organized a new gym for the palace’s hardworking men and women. It’s a project that my brother is very proud of, and his employees are excited to try out the new equipment. They even installed a cafeteria where they’ll serve protein shakes and food, among other things.
“Enjoy the party, Mrs. Cross. You’ve outdone yourself,” the guard says, handing me my card. I place it back inside my clutch, and I briefly remember a time when the guards would gladly watch as Aram Wraith raped me. Back then, they didn’t talk to me in a friendly tone. I was scum. I was there to please their king. I had no voice or choice.
I was Aram Wraith’s object, his whore.
As was Kamila.
And everyone was aware of it.
Of course, those guards were either killed in the riots that destroyed half the palace five years ago, or they were allegedly fired and deported by my brother. Jordan claims he removed them, but to this day, neither he nor Fylox are willing to explain exactly how they removed the cowardly guards who watched hundreds of women and men be tortured against their will.
The palace guards of today are vigilant, and they are model modern Katantian citizens. Their queen is their one true monarch, but the laws in place reject any torture of innocents on palace grounds.
The other guards remain silent as I’m patted down by the guard who scanned my ID card. They study the periphery. Some busy themselves on tablets. Others press on their earpieces, presumably talking to other guards through secure lines. Cameras are watching our every move, keeping records for later analysis. I look for my brother’s favorite employee, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Why would he be down here, doing the trivial work of patting people down and checking their IDs? With his rank, he’s probably in my brother’s office, discussing things that nobody else is supposed to know.
We always had guards in the palace.
They were never as efficient.
Do I feel safe? Physically, yes. I can’t be hurt anymore. Mentally, I’m a mess.
I enter the Main Hall. There’s no need for further inspection. The areas are separated as I requested them to be. My brother won’t kill me for throwing him a sex party, but he will consider killing me if I don’t provide a safe space for him to sit and watch theshow.
The dance floor is pristine, ready for the short list of guests to come and fill it up with their dancing shoes. Down the hall, I see the fully stocked bar. The staff is cleaning up, sorting bottles, and talking among each other.
I check in with the DJ, going over the playlist with him. Knowing my brother, he’ll be upset by more than half the songs. Good. It’ll motivate him to leave the party early with one of the female guests. I’m counting on it.
The entire island drools over my brother, but he’s as chaste as a nun for some peculiar reason. It’s not that peculiar when I consider that I haven’t touched another man in years either.
At any point, I expect Aram to stomp toward me and force me to my knees. He’d hurt me in front of the staff to make them see how much I mattered to him.Zero.He’d rip my clothes from my body, and he’d make me crawl after him.
It’s been five years, and the scars have faded.
I still can’t shake the humiliation I endured.
Unable to stand still, I pace on the dance floor. I earn the staff’s curious gazes. One or two girls come up to me, and they ask if I would like to have a drink. Kindly, I refuse. I need to have a clear mind for tonight.
It’s Jordan’s birthday, and while there aren’t a lot of traditions we have as a family, birthdays used to be Travis’s favorite event. He made the children feel special on their birthdays. Every other day, he was on the phone with a friend from overseas because it was their birthday.
All these years later, I wonder where these people are. Do they know that Travis is no more? My deceased husband had a lot of sketchy friends. They didn’t seem like the type to check gossip sites that report on Katantian news.
Perhaps the underground world has a way of communicating the passing of one of their own.
The guests begin to trickle in. Upon sight, they greet me with kisses and hugs. Most of them are new Katantians or people of Kamila’s age. Jordan doesn’t have any friends who would come to a party, so I had to improvise.
When Adonis walks in, he instantly meets my gaze. I shudder.
