Page 202 of A Dance of Water

Bastian inclined his head to Vale—who had not taken his eyes away from her—in a warning that her silence could be commanded. Bastian wouldn’t allow it, though. This was too much fun—and he didn’t want to push his luck. Right now, he still had her fragile, blooming trust.

Luella nodded jerkily.

"I will see you in the morning, Princess Luella. Rest well after your lessons. We leave at dawn for the Temples of Aedis, for the next part of your journey." And with that, Vale left, cape fluttering behind him as he disappeared down the hall and back to the sinful den of the revelers.

The Solstice celebration would be drinking and fucking for the remainder of the night to celebrate the Chosen’s pleasure lessons, as if in solidarity. Bastian wasn’t jealous; he would be able to bear witness to something much greater this eve: a female scorned, and finally able to speak freely.

When they arrived at Bastian’s room, Tharen was already there,waiting. But this time, he was not sitting in the chair in the corner but on a small, wooden stool—a twin to the one beside it. On the other side of the sheet, sat just one stool, where Bastian would instruct her. In the mage’s fist, a thin piece of ribbon, silky and long.

She wouldn’t like this at all.

"It took you long enough," Tharen grumbled, running the ribbon through his fingers.

Bastian shut the door behind him, and Luella tugged her hand away, almost stomping to the other side of the sheet, where just one stool sat.

Tharen’s icy eyes met his, filled with questions as she sat on the stool with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest. Her lips were pinched, as if to keep herself from speaking. The rigid line of her silhouette was cast onto the sheet. She wouldn’t look at either of them.

The mage stood. "Wrong side, little lamb. Don’t try to run. We don’t have time for your games tonight, as fun as they can be…" He tugged the sheet to the side, a soft crinkle as it brushed against the rod that it was draped over. "You’re sitting with me." He dangled the ribbon between two fingers; it looked far too delicate for his hands.

"What now?" Luella huffed. "Are you going to tie me up this time?" She did not stand, and Tharen’s eyes grew light with sick amusement at her words, finding Bastian where he stood watching their exchange.

"What’s this?" Tharen’s eyes raked over her skin, the sheet straining under his grip. "Did you finally grow a backbone? Or did it all become too much and you decided to give in to your anger?"

She tilted her head back, watching him. "No. I was, once again, forced to do something against my will. Vale ordered me not to tell lies or hide my feelings tonight." Her fingers tightened on her gown—a small moment of weakness. "So this is who I will be for now."

"Shame it’s not forever, pet," Bastian interjected. "You’re so wonderful like this." The vampire walked to her side and placed a pale hand on her bare shoulder. He allowed the words to drift into her mind:so wonderful that everything you try to keep hidden is finallyout in the open.

Aloud, Bastian said, "This is who you are. Truly. And I cannot wait for you to no longer hide."

A white braid fell over Tharen’s shoulder as he jerked his head toward the two stools, demanding, "Now."

Luella met Bastian’s gaze with her kohl-lined, half-lidded pleas. She would not find sympathy in his eyes—they must hurry. He was torn, did not want the lessons to be over, but wanted desperately to have it all behind them. So he might finally feel at peace with himself, finally feel like he could earn her forgiveness for the parts he played ever since they had first been called to the Fate’s lair.

This—all of this—was for her. She just didn’t understand. Not truly. And she might never.

But at least they did. The five of them.

Bastian arched a brow. "Tradition waits for one. The gods wait for no one."

"What gods do you worship to have such sinful acts of praise?" she whispered.

"When you enter the Temples and feel their presence," said Bastian, "maybe that will enlighten you."

Luella stood, hair tickling his forearms as she brushed past him, heading around the sheet, to stand by Tharen. "I doubt anything will enlighten me." Her eyes dipped to the ribbon in his grasp. "What is that for?"

The Prima grabbed her wrist, fingers enclosing it, as he held up the silky length of the ribbon and began to wrap one end around her wrist.

She started to protest, but Tharen cut her off:

"Unlike Vale’s demand to loosen your tongue, this will benefit you." He finished knotting the end, tugging it sharply to ensure it was tight enough.

She gasped.

Bastian knew it was not tight enough to cause pain—that was what the soft silk was for. He loved silks, loved seeing her wrapped in them, most of all.

The mage took the other end and looped it around his own wrist, tying it as best as he was able one-handed before bringing theloosely entwined ends up to his mouth and tugging it with his teeth until it tightened into a hard knot.

"Hey!" she protested, trying to tug her hand away, but it was futile against the mage’s strength.

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