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Rage flashed like a bright light.Shehad done this to me? This woman was the reason I was frozen like this?
How I had had enough of being someone’s plaything. A toy to be molded and shaped, forced into poses and positions. I had told myself no one would ever do such a thing to me again. Yet here I was.
Silently I swore revenge. Yet at the same time, I marveled at her power. She held me in place without even lifting a hand. How? How had she done it? What sort of magic did these people possess?
I recalled the word she had used. Siabra. Someone else had used the same word, not very long ago. A violet-haired woman who had spat it like a curse.
Siabra. They were that and I was not. I was something else to them. Something different enough or strange enough to poke fun of.
“Oh, I rather think the latter, don’t you?” the man drawled. “Much more fun that way. Perhaps she’ll even wet herself before he comes back.”
“You did say he was across the palace?” the woman demanded. “In that case, we have plenty of time. Perhaps I’ll do some further... redecorating.”
A world of horrific possibilities opened in my mind.
“Yes, but I still think we should...”
There was a slamming sound. Like two heavy double doors crashing open, shoved hard by someone who didn’t give a damn about cracking the walls. Even without being able to move my limbs, my heart gave a jolt.
Heavy footsteps paced towards us.
“Shit,” I heard the man mutter nervously. “Fucking shit.”
Evidently made of sterner stuff than her companion, the woman said nothing.
“Release her. Now.” The newcomer’s voice was deep, furious, and all-too-familiar.
My heart gave a painful lurch.
Draven.
Yes. I knew him. The tenseness of my body had eased imperceptibly at the sound of his voice. He was familiar. Everything in me said I could trust him.
“Release her now, Lyrastra. You will not like what will happen if I must ask you again.”
Instantly I felt my body relax. I flexed my fingers and with relief felt them connect with cool fabric.
I raised my arm, felt it wobble, but managed to touch a hand to my chest.
With relief, I found I was clothed. I wore a thin shift of some kind. A sheet was draped across my body. I fumbled, pulling it higher over my chest.
Then I tried to sit up. This was a conversation I very much wished to participate in.
But the strain was too much. When I tried to prop my elbow up, even that much effort left me trembling.
I gritted my teeth and tried once more. This time I managed to push myself a few inches back in the bed. Enough for me to lift my head a little higher on the pillow on which it lay.
Enough for me to see those around me.
Turning my head slowly, I took in my surroundings.
I was in a bedchamber, as I had already surmised.
The room was incredibly opulent.
It was not hyperbole to say the decor dripped with gold.
Every surface gleamed with the bright yellow stuff, from the polished four-poster bed to the burnished walls made of patterned gold panels. Even the floors ran with the lustrous metal. Black and white marble stone that looked as if pure gold had been poured over it and then swirled into beautiful designs.
