Page 311 of Kingdoms of Night

Despite the darkness, I see that the eyes I took for blue are as changing as the sea, a deep green at the edges, and a yellow coral close to irises that aren't quite round, nor slits like his companion; a strange, cat-like oval.

I will myself to look down, but I can't. I can't move at all. By some dark magic, he keeps my gaze fixed on his unrelenting, mesmerizing, and dangerous eyes for long seconds, minutes, hours, I couldn't tell. His pale, cold fingers brush the side of my cheekbone ever so softly, a featherlight touch, as though he fears he could break me by exerting any more pressure. And he might. "Good pets answer when they're spoken to."

I don't know what's more frightening, his amusement or his annoyance. I get a taste of both in the same breath. He sees my silence as defiance rather than what it is: sheer terror. But it pleases him. Hadn't he warned me?

The others were born docile. It’s not nearly as satisfying, don’t you think?

He likes the challenge of taming wild hounds. Of course, he prefers a misbehaving pet. That's not me. I'm the obedient, silent daughter, never complaining, always doing what's expected of me. The real me would bore him, but he has me too scared to be rational.

Speak, Lena. Speak.

That's all he’s asked me to do. A few words and he'll leave me alone. Hell, a nod or a shake of my head would suffice in this instance.

I can't even manage that. I'm frozen, a prisoner in my own body.

The monster smiles. "Very well. Let us teach you a lesson."

CHAPTERFOUR

I'm no stranger to punishments. My music tutor has slapped my hands with a ruler for sour notes, my governess used to send me to bed without supper if I dared talk out of turn or walk with a slouch, and of course, my father has used his hands and belt on me for a wrong word, an insolent look, or sometimes, nothing at all.

This creature scares me without so much as a touch. I can't imagine how much he'll hurt me.

I feel the tears fall and curse myself for my many weaknesses, the endless list of flaws that brought me to this moment.

Dryan's cruel mouth stretches in a smirk, and his tongue darts out to graze my skin.Did he just lick my tears?

"There, there, pretty pet. It'll be over before you know it. But I do have to train you. No one likes a willful bitch."

The hand that touched my cheek moments ago pushes against my throat until I lie down on the rug. I close my eyes and wince, expecting the first blow. Instead of pain, I'm startled by more featherlight, careful touches alone my collarbone and down my bare shoulder. I'm still wearing the day dress I prayed in yesterday, a cream off-the-shoulder dress with little ornaments. Margaux wouldn't have been seen dead in it. The simplicity appealed to me; I wasn't immediately recognized as royalty where I went, which allowed for a degree of freedom. Now I wish I'd worn one of the great gowns my father favors, covering my entire throat. I shiver. I've never been touched like this, not by anyone. My father and brother kiss my cheeks when they're in a pleasant mood, and I've been hugged. Margaux wraps her arm around my shoulders and squeezes me. Occasionally, I'm hit. This softness is foreign to me, and thoroughly disturbing.

Dryan continues exploring my shivering limb, down to the tip of my finger, and brings my hand to his face. I think he means to kiss it, which would be wild enough, but instead, he parts his lips and puts my middle finger in his mouth before closing them over it. I half think he means to eat it. Instead, he sucks. I gasp, more and more confused with every moment, both by his actions and my response.

An odd sound—thumping—distracts me from my predicament, and I glance in its direction: the bed. My eyes widen as I watch the man who entered the room moments ago on his knees behind his female companion, pants lowered. Her face is plastered on the mattress and her ass, up in the air. He relentlessly pushes his hips against her, so hard the stone headrest slams against the wall. I was too distracted by my own quandary to pay attention to them until now, but she screams at each thrust and he grunts and mutters as they rut like animals, indifferent to our presence.

I might have heard Margaux perform the same act behind closed doors no later than yesterday, but I've never seen anyone in this position except for a horse. At the stable, I'd blushed and promptly left. Now, I can only stare.

"Eyes on me, pet." Dryan grasps my chin and forces me to face him. "Always on me."

This order, I can obey without difficulty, given how hypnotic his eyes are, but my brain no longer tunes out the salacious ruckus. I can feel my entire face heat. I must be a flattering shade of tomato red, though in the darkness, he might not notice.

The hand on my chin returns to my throat. Though his grasp isn't without pressure, his dark nails digging into my skin, he's not hurting me as much as pinning me down. Does he expect me to flee? I know better. I saw the speed and force with which he beheaded one of his own men for his insolence. Besides, where would I run? I don't even know where I am, but it's far, far from home. And if, by some miracle, I made it back to my father's, what then? He's given me away. He'd send me right back here rather than risk the consequences.

Dryan shifts to hover right above my torso, eyes blazing anew as his free hand ventures to the hem of my neckline. He bites his lip as he lowers the fabric as far as it will go, revealing both of my breasts. "I haven't seen a human for quite some time. How delightful, these curves of yours." He presses a finger to a hard, frozen nipple, visibly pleased.

My heart thunders in my chest. No one's ever seen me like this, not even the maid who helps me dress. I'm in a chemise by the time she gets to my room.

Dryan treats my body as though it's his property, his to see and touch.

In all my years, I assumed the man who'd eventually see me would be my husband. I know better than to think I would have had a choice about whom I would have to marry, so I've never dwelled on the potential event.

Am I to be mounted too? He made it clear he intends to use me as his whore, so I shouldn't be surprised. Part of me wishes I could rewind my life for a week, a month, a year. If I had known I'd end up here, given away, powerless, I would have behaved differently. To hell with obedience and decorum. I would have pleased myself like Margaux. Kissed a stable hand or a knight, anyone I might have chosen for myself.

I can't describe exactly what's different between being touched by Dryan the fae-captor and this hypothetical husband I might have had one day, given that I had no input in either choice. I suppose it comes down to morality. The Church of the Sun taught me that it was only natural that I be given to my husband, while the fornication taking place on the bed right now is entirely illicit, wrong.

Though those two could be married for all I know.

The same church also taught me that only humans inhabit the six kingdoms now that the gods and demons retreated, and that fae are nothing more than children's tales, yet here I am, pinned underneath a creature too beautiful to be real, with eyes shining like starlight and ears pointed at the ends.

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