Page 107 of Golden Queen
"You will be bound to the Prince, Aelia," Markus interjected. "It will be much easier that way. You have always been too...restless for your own good."
They were talking about reaving my soul in service to another—binding my will, my thoughts, and my body to him so that everything I was would be gone, replaced by some biddable, tractable creature to cater to his every whim.
The Arkyllan queen had been bound to her husband. The sad tale had crossed the seas about what a simpering black hole she was, even as the world knew that she, once a powerful sorceress in her own right, had tried to flee the continent rather than marry the man.
"You will not bind me to anyone," I said, anger burning a hole deep into the core of me. I felt heat, blessed, pitiless heat, building beneath my palms, and I knew it for what it was.
Markus put his hands up placatingly. "Calm down, Princess."
I hurled my dagger at him. The blade sailed across the room as though guided by an unseen hand and struck him in the shoulder. It sank deep.
He lurched to his feet with a muttered curse as I ran for the door, skating around the edge and running down the hall.
I hurled myself around the corner and directly into the waiting arms of two massive Royal Guards.
Large hands caught me. I shoved against them, hitting and kicking.
I managed to line the crown of my head up with the guard's face. I kicked up off his own booted foot to crack him in the nose. I heard a sickening crunch and a harsh groan.
The guard lurched back as a second set of arms snaked around me, pulling me back to a large chest.
They hauled me down the hall toward Markus' chambers—to the necromancer standing in the doorway.
I struggled, helpless and angry, as the guard held me firmly. I screamed, cursed them, but I barely knew what I was saying as we reached the old man.
"Take her below," he said.
I spat at him, realizing only when bright spots of blood hit his face that I must have bitten my tongue.
The necromancer's cane shot out, amber head striking me in the chest, forcing the air from my lungs.
"That is enough, Aelia! You will stop struggling!" he said angrily. "Give me her hand," he told the guard. "And hold her face away so she cannot spit on me again."
They did as commanded, one guard forced my hand out in front of me while the other held my face to the side.
I felt a sharp cut across my palm, and then another. I didn't think they were very deep, but when I felt a hand clasp mine, fiery pain bloomed in my skin, sending shockwaves of agony up my arm.
A familiar, acrid scent filled the air, sticking to the back of my throat. I held my breath, whether by choice or something the man had done to prevent me from breathing, I couldn't tell. I felt strange, disconnected.
I sagged in the guard's arms, and then my hand was released. I could suddenly breathe. I desperately sucked air into my ravaged lungs again.
"Now then, Aelia. You will not struggle," the necromancer said in a deep, resonant voice that made the insides of my ears vibrate and itch. "You will not scream. You will walk behind the guards and be a good girl."
I felt my feet hit the ground, but I could not move to fight them. I willed myself to strike, to run, to do anything, but I could not. I was enthralled. I had no will of my own.
Helpless rage coursed through me as the guards turned to lead me away down the hall. My feet began to move on their own. One of my slippers was gone. I heard the intermittent slap of one bare foot on the tiles as I walked, like a good girl, down the hall.
I woke up on the floor of a dark chamber, my head sore and raw.
The last memory I had was of standing in the chamber after the necromancer commanded me to stay on my feet until he returned.
"Perhaps you will manage to learn a bit of patience while you wait, Aelia."
I wanted to snarl at him, wanted to lash out, but all I could do was stare. I could not even lift the tongue that felt so thick and heavy in my mouth—or swallow the bile that gathered in the back of my throat.
I remembered the shame of my own urine coursing down my legs at some point, stinging skin scraped raw from the scuffle with the guards, and then only endless, helpless, rage.
But when I woke, my body was mine again, heavy and aching, but mine.
