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“I offered you a compliment, and you thanked me, dear, pretty, foolish human.” The monster's smile shows his white, pointed canines. Not like a vampire's, but they're still sharper than any normal person's. “You thanked me,” he repeats, chuckling like it’s the best of jokes. “Your kind has grown far too easy to take in the ironside. Believing yourselves at the top of food chain, you ceased to pay attention to the laws of the worlds. He—or she—who thanks a folk admits to a debt. Hence you shall serve and obey me a year and a day as the law dictates—or until I consider it fulfilled.”
I want to scream, to deny all of his claims, but the fact that, just like yesterday, I cannot form words confirms his statements.
All of this because I said thank you to avoid being rude.
Common politeness didn't used to come easy to me. As a child, my parents had to remind me that people deserved courtesy again and again, until it was engrained into me like a mantra. I’ve always been reluctant to offer words I don’t truly mean.
Never again.
I will never again say anything, do anything that I don't truly, deeply believe in. And the words “thank you” are forever banned from my vocabulary.
“Don’t worry, pretty toy. I’ll likely get tired of you before the year is out.”
A year.
“What do you plan to do with me?” I manage to ask in a whisper.
I must be permitted to speak now. How long do commands last?
At the back of my mind, I realize that I'm woefully ignorant about the deal I've supposedly entered. What it entails, how to work around it. He told me to be silent, yet I can speak now. How long are his orders valid? I doubt he'd tell me, but I'll find out. Somehow.
Junis replies, ever so courteous, casual. “I fetched you for the conclave. It’s all the rage to bring servants, I hear, and none of mine are fit to be used at a gathering of lords. You’ll service me, of course, and mayhaps bear me a child—mortals are so proficient at that, and I do need an heir to secure my line now that I rule over this court," he babbles conversationally, like we're discussing his five-year plan over tea. "And when I have no need of you, you may assist the maids and the cooks.”
From an independent woman, I’ve turned into an eighteenth-century maid overnight.Not even a maid. Those have a right to resign, and independence of action.I’m a slave.A sex slave, to be precise.
“We’ll need to get you dressed first. I can’t be seen at the conclave with a third-rate whore.” His eyes rake over me from head to toes, assessing my silver dress.
I honestly can't even remember putting it back on, but I'm wearing it, so someone must have dressed me after I passed out in the basement. The thought of any of them touching me is sickening. What else did they do? The fact I don’t know brings tears to my eyes.
I want to bleach my skin, and cover myself in a burka to avoid his leer.
“The vulgarity, I approve of,” the vile man says. “But I can’t abide cheap.”
That insult should have left me cold after everything, but it cuts. I guess being called a whore after being treated like one hits its mark.
God, I have never despised anyone as much as him. The only thing keeping me sane by this point is the certainty that I will kill him one day. And I’ll make it hurt.
CHAPTER TEN
WRAPPED IN A WHOLE LOT OF NOTHING
Darina
Two strange creatures come in with yards of colorful fabric. Both are female, I think, though I can't call them women. The word's too normal.
Imp. That's the term that comes to mind, but I opt not to say it out loud or ask to avoid making a fool of myself. I know nothing of their world.
The shorter one has ample curves, skin green as moss and a fiery cloud for hair. Her companion's ink black everywhere, except for her wide sapphire eyes and the long mane of the same hue.
They couldn’t have been less human if they tried. The sups I’ve encountered or heard about look like us, but from what I’ve seen of the fae, most really don’t. I wonder what they make of me; if I look strange to them. Or perhaps, to a species as varied in appearance, the concept of strange looks doesn’t exist.
They're both attired in identical dark blue clothes, and considering I've met their master, I am certain he chose the uniform: a boned blouse pinching their waists into place and enhancing their figures, with a long skirt of a silky cloth that clings to every one of their features. Are they part of Junis's harem? The way they dress suggests it.
They smile as a greeting, not bothering with wasting words before proceeding to reach for my sleeves on each side.
“I can undress myself,” I say stiffly.
The mossy haired lady nods sagely. “Yes, this garment is certainly simple enough to manage on your own.”
