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Chapter 1
Raven
“He’s very handsome, you know.”
“How nice for him.”
Another blow from the riding crop landed, this time across the middle of my face. My bottom lip split and I spat blood onto the floor, barely a foot from my aching knees. If I could have managed it, I’d have directed it to hit the bitch right between the eyes.
Alas, I’d not spent my youth practicing the art of launching expectorate past my lips.
I blamed my mother for many things, I may as well blame her for my lack of phlegm control. While some races of witches believed sputum brought good fortune, Dianic witches did not believe in groundless fortuity.
Wedo not rely upon luck, Raveena. We blaze our own paths, the memory of her sultry voice chastised. Goddess knew the only thing blazing in my world at the moment was my skin.
The nerves in my face were going haywire. Tingling had started a while ago, after a dozen or so rapid-succession strikes. I suspected the whip had traces of iron dusted upon the leather.
Iron was bad news, even for a half-breed like me.
A swipe of my tongue caught the tangy trace of copper. The motion sent a drop of liquid trickling down the front of my chin. Holding my captor’s sharp stare, I calmly wiped my mouth on the sleeve covering my shoulder.
The view in my peripheral wasn’t pretty. The Otherland’s natural light, streaming in through the keep’s slender windows, highlighted the rust-colored stains on my once pristine white shirt.
The material across my back was torn, the large ribbons spread apart far enough I could feel a slight draft upon my skin. Thankfully, I’d been afforded some semblance of modesty and my most vulnerable parts remained covered.
I waited for the Queen’s next move, ineffectively ignoring the soft scoring of the bottom of her satin slipper sliding across stone. It grated against my ears.
It wasn’t surprising she slithered around fluidly. It was, after all, how snakes navigated the world.
Unlike the vipers she imitated, Queen Sersha lacked the ability to effectively subdue. Today’s efforts at torture were unimpressive. The unimaginative queen was trying to break me as one might try to break a timid horse–with a stern voice and a riding crop.
As if.
My biggest complaints had nothing to do with her direct hits. The skin at my wrists burned from the iron shackles, the ferric bonds weakening me to near exhaustion.
My body was beginning to feel the toll of my internment. There was a heavy ache in my arms, the result of being chained to the large metal grommet with my arms above my head.
At least I was kneeling and able to conserve some degree of energy. I think Sersha preferred me on my knees, anyway, so she could pretend I was bowing at her feet.
Conveniently, it also made it easier for her to reach my face, something she seemed fixated on today.
The riding crop smacked lightly against her palm in tandem with her unhurried movements. It wasn’t the worst of the Fae Queen’s tools, but it seemed to be her favorite.
When Sersha was once more facing me directly, her expression shifted into one a mother might give to her youngling throwing a fit.
“There really is no need for all of this,” she said with faux conciliation. “You can easily change your situation. A few words from you and we can be done with this nonsense.”
The Queen’s eyes probed my own. Searching. Waiting. I gave nothing more than a blank face.
Eyes flashing, her knuckles whitened around the handle of the whip. It was a lot like Sersha. Precise. Mordant.
Unable to finish the job on its own, I sneered internally.
“Must you be so difficult?” she whined sullenly, dropping the pretense she’d held for not even a full minute. “Lying with him is no hardship, I can assure you.”
Gag.
Mutely, I watched Sersha circle the empty chamber twirling the black leather instrument in her elegant hands, looking every bit the queen she was. Ruler of the Faelands, of both sects of fae, the Seelie and the Unseelie. A descendant of royal bloodlines who carried her frame with poise and grace.
