Page 23 of Caging Cessie
“And if I, the falcon, doesn’t come home to the falconer, even after all the training?” she asked, not challenging exactly—more testing, feeling out the edges of his promise.
Leon shrugged one shoulder. “Then he waits for her to return, and when she does, he starts again.”
Her relief was visible, and it made him want to simultaneously hold her and shake her. “For now, all you need to know is this: you don’t have to prove anything to me, Cessie. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. I’m here. You’re safe.”
Cessie was quiet for a long time after that. Leon stayed still, content to let her think, to let her weigh his words.
Eventually, she unfolded herself from the couch. He held very still and vowed that if she turned around and walked out the door he would wait until she was far enough away, she wouldn’t hear him lose his shit.
She took two steps toward him, turned… and knelt at his feet. She didn’t touch him, didn’t speak—just knelt there, her head bowed, breathing slow and steady.
Leon watched her, his chest tightening in a way he hadn’t expected. He lifted a hand and let it hover near her hair, not touching, just waiting. Offering.
Slowly, almost tentatively, Cessie pressed her cheek into his palm.
Leon’s fingers curled gently, cradling her face and taking the weight of her head. Cessie let out a breath, a soft, shaky thing, and leaned more fully into his touch.
“I think it’s time to show you the bedroom.”
Cessie stepped through the doorway into the bedroom and stopped, her breath catching in her throat.
The room was beautiful, in a stark, imposing way—wide and open, the dark wooden floors stretching out beneath her bare feet, the ceiling vaulted high above, supported by thick beams. A single large window dominated one wall, its heavy drapes pulled back to let in the last golden light of the afternoon. Through it, she could see the dense trees and deep shadows of the forest, but it wasn’t the view that held her attention.
The king-sized four-poster stood at the heart of the room, grand and sprawling. Thick, square posts rose up at each corner, supporting a simple canopy draped with gauzy fabric that stirred faintly in the breeze from the ceiling vent. The linens were adeep, rich green, the pillows piled high against the tall, carved headboard centered against the wall opposite the door.
But what captured and held her gaze was what surrounded the bed.
A cage.
The black, iron vertical bars surrounded the bed on three sides and were set far enough apart for her to slip an arm through, but no more. The matte metal seemed to soak up the afternoon light.
The cage appeared to be a freestanding structure, with horizontal flat bars at the top and bottom, like some perverse, oversized railing. The bars didn’t extend all the way to the ceiling, and the top was mostly open, though several heavy crossbars formed a tic tac toe grid ten feet above the floor.
There was three feet of space between the cage and the sides and bottom of the mattress. Enough room for someone—for her—to walk around or kneel beside the bed.
Her pulse fluttered and her body began to both heat and soften.
At the foot of the bed, set neatly into the bars, was a door. It took her a minute to notice it, because it too was vertical bars, except for the door jamb and header, which were the same flat metal bars as the top and bottom of the cage. It was closed now, the heavy black ‘lock hanging from the latch.
Cessie swallowed, her mouth dry.
She shifted her gaze, trying to take in the rest of the room, but the cage remained in the corner of her vision, impossible to ignore.
Against the far wall, beside the window, stood a tall, imposing armoire. Dark wood, polished to a high sheen, with brass handles and delicate carvings winding along the edges—a touch of elegance against the otherwise spartan space. She imagined it filled with carefully folded clothes, or maybe notclothes at all. Maybe other things. Things meant for whoever would step willingly—or be led—inside that cage.
An armchair near the window was turned to face the bed. A spot for someone to watch the captive in the cage.
The idea of it—of being inside it—unsettled her. But not in the way she expected. It wasn’t fear she felt twisting low in her belly. It was anticipation. A quiet, powerful hum that prickled along her skin.
Leon hadn’t said anything when he led her to the door and gestured for her to enter ahead of him. He hadn’t explained or warned her. He simply opened the door and waited to see what she would do.
Cessie took a small step forward, drawn closer almost against her will. The bars shone brighter as she neared, the play of light and shadow making them seem alive. She lifted a hand, hesitating a moment before letting her fingers brush the nearest bar.
Cool metal met her skin—smooth, implacable.
She wrapped her fingers around it gently, feeling the solid resistance, the promise of it. It wouldn’t give way if she pulled. She doubted it would move or shift no matter how hard she pulled or pushed.
Cessie’s throat tightened.
