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“You never listen, do you?” There was no warning before the Mistress’s knuckles cracked against my skull, knocking me sideways, my hands skinning on the rough stone floor when I crashed to my knees, Ember watching in horror from the end of the hall.
“I have beaten you every day of your worthless life, yet you have never learned your place.” She twisted her thin, cruel fingers into my hair and held me aloft, as if I weighed nothing.
Some claimed she was half-Fae.
Some said half-demon.
All I knew? I’d been the Mistress’s favorite target, as long as I could remember.
My toes skimmed the floor as the Mistress forced me to look into her eerie, dead eyes, her black hair bound up in a tight bun. Her dark power slipped over my bones like oil, plucking at my skin with phantom fingers, ready to shred and tear, my neck bones grinding as I dangled like a fish.
A river of sweat dripped down my spine as I wondered if she’d just slay me and be done with it.
It was my lucky night.
She tossed me at Ember’s feet.
“Down to the kitchens, both of you. I catch you up here again, I’ll carve your eyes out.”
She would, too. Half the slaves were one-eyed. Some were missing one hand or a foot. Mutilated, ruined, trapped at Ravenshade Castle for the rest of their miserable lives, however short they might be.
“Yes, Mistress.” I murmured, trying to blink away the stars dancing in my vision.
I couldn’t stop shaking as her footsteps died away on the stone floor, black dress swirling around her ankles like petulant shadows. Nor could I stop stealing one final glance at the ballroom, at the too-lush-to-touch roses, at the glittering plates begging to be filled with roast goose and crusty bread.
Ember helped me to my feet, cursing beneath her breath, her wild red hair escaping her sedate bun.
Nothing about Ember was sedate.
From her stunningly beautiful face, to her dark gray eyes, flecked with silver, to her mass of dark red curls, she stood out everywhere she went. While I boasted modest curves, my friend was as curvy as the mountain roads leading to the castle.
“What in the fuck is wrong with you, Anaria?” She scolded, for the thousandth time. “The Mistress is dying for a chance to whip you in the public courtyard, like she did Oberon last week. The poor bastard will never heal right.”
“I just wanted one last look.” I rubbed my stinging scalp and came away with a handful of loose hair. “I…couldn’t help myself.” I’d been so mesmerized by the humming ward; I’d forgotten the risks. And for one, marvelous moment, I swore the magic spoke to me.
Only to me.
I shivered at the memory, but my friend was right. The Mistress wielded her bull whip like a master and Oberon wouldn’t ever heal, if he even survived.
“You’d better.” Ember muttered. “If I have to watch her punish you again, I’ll throttle you with my bare hands.”
“Anyway, thanks for the warning.”
“It was the least I could do, you fool.” Ember bumped my shoulder with a grin, trying to tuck her hair back up into her bun, eyes dancing with humor.
“I don’t know where she came from. One second you were alone, the next…she wasright behind you.” I rubbed the back of my aching neck. I was lucky the Mistress hadn’t tossed me through the ward and incinerated me. Luckily Ember was there, saving me from my own foolishness.
Which was becoming a full-time job.
Because these days, whenever I was around magic...I couldn’t resist.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say magic had an affinity for me, but I was a powerless slave in a realm of Descendants and that was impossible.
We rounded the last corner into the kitchen, where the teetering stacks of dishes—and Ember’s muttered curse—sent my shoulders sagging. We slaves would work until dawn, until none of us could stand.
Bought and paid for, like the food that would soon fill those too-fragile plates.
No expense had been spared for tonight’s momentous occasion. This celebration was not only the duke’s daughter’s eighteenth birthday, this was her betrothal party. Carriages already raced toward Ravenshade Castle, kicking up plumes of red dust on every road leading here.
