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My voice quivers when I dare speak out against his handling. “What’s the meaning of this? Where are you taking me?”
He says nothing, my heavy boots clomping harder than his fine leather soles, though he’s easily twice my height and three times my weight. I am not prepared for whatever they have planned, though I’ve been waiting most of my life to find out. My limbs are weak from years of captivity, and my knees give out on me.
But the dark elf won’t let me collapse, his grip too tight around my elbow.
The sounds of couplings are louder here, and the smell of hot flesh and sex is noxious. I can barely breathe as he drags me through their menagerie of rooms, some doors open to reveal the goings on inside.
I catch only glances, but the images sear themselves into my mind.
A woman is shackled from the ceiling, her body strained between heavy manacles that pull her taut as a dark elf patron rails her from behind. Her screams are senseless and batting, and I know she must be in great pain. It’s a hard contrast to the gratification blooming over her host’s countenance. In another room, several dark elves are crowded around a human who can’t even let out a scream, choking on some kind of foul liquid. I can’t even tell if they’re male or female. All I can see is the surge of their flesh between the naked limbs of their dark elf masters.
Is that what will happen to me?
Of course, not,comes a small voice inside of me,I am the most expensive pet here.They will reserve me for something far worse, I’m sure.The thought brings tears to my eyes, blurring the horrible display as I am dragged toward the front of the building.
A human male nearly bolts from his captor, only to be dragged back in by a heavy dark hand and onto a waiting cock. Even as he struggles, his own cock goes hard against his will, and I understand the gleam of fear in his eyes as he stares right through me.
The space opens to more of the same, and as horrible as the sight is, I can’t tear my gaze away. There’s a woman, shackled to the bottom of a shallow pool, her head barely above the yellow waters as several dark elves take aim at her face. Hot streams cut off her gasps and make her choke as they laugh at her expense.
Two more sit atop human figures—who strain beneath the weight of them—watching with glee as the woman slowly drowns in their collective fluids. There are people strung from the ceiling here too, unmoving. I can’t be sure if they’re still alive or not, but no one seems to care. They’re finished with those ones, and they’ll be dragged away soon enough.
I want to puke.
But showing weakness will only make my punishment more severe, when it finally comes. I have to remain stoic and silent among the worst of it. The hot panting of a dark elf as he mounts one of the unconscious humans echoes in my mind, even as we turn down another hall, away from the gruesome orgy.
I can breathe a little better here, though the air is still thick with the reek of sex.
The Zagfer catches me by the nape of my neck and leads me forward, his grip tightening as we near the master’s office. A chill runs up my spine as I tear out of his grasp and turn to face him. He may be doing his master’s bidding, but he is not my owner, and I will not be treated like a pet by him. “Get your handsoffme, Zagfer.”
He takes no offense to his title, measuring me up and licking his lips.
Disgust finds me again and I straighten. What is the point of being the most sought after pet if I am subjected to the whims of the master’s servants? He wants to sell me to the highest bidder, and for that, I need to be pure before they put me on the auction block.
I bare my teeth at him in the only language they know and grab the handle to the master’s door. “It willneverbe your turn,” I say with certainty, stealing the smug expression from his face. He glowers at me as I turn the handle and enter.
I am pleased with myself, until that too is stolen from me.
33
KRAL ISHIRAYA
The silence of my study is a blessing.
It is free from the fickle emotions of court, and insulated from the whims of my family. Many in my position might have abused the authority of it by now, but I’d rather be studying the royal accounts, hidden away in my private chambers.
My brother, the King, respects my wishes to a point. But he insists that I still make appearances from time to time, so our subjects don’t think I’ve disappeared entirely from proper society. They’ll begin to wonder and talk.
It’s the talk that I hate most.
Even those I respect are prey to it, where I am immune. It is no wonder why, however. We all know the story of how I was forced to seal away my emotions because they were simply too powerful when tethered to my magical abilities.
It’s easier this way.
I prefer it, not having to worry about the subtleties that plague every interaction as the Archduke of my brother’s kingdom. They will say one thing and mean something entirely different. They should simply pass around a ledger and sign their names under friend or foe, so that I know which to trust and which to have executed. I don’t enjoy parsing through their words like puzzles to be solved.
Numbers make more sense than they.
A soft knock at my door makes my shoulders tense. I say nothing, in hopes that it is a stray Zagfer who will leave if I do not respond. The knock comes again and I sigh, surrendering the pages to my desk. “Go away.”
