Jessamine
I’m screaming bloody murder, because what the hell is going on?
Before I can ask Darrock what he meant by presentable enough for the king, I’m pulled into the biggest bathroom I have ever been into, and hurled into a bathtub by maids. They don’t bother taking my clothes off before dunking hot water inside the tub.
“I can bathe myself—” Soap flies into my mouth, and I choke, coughing.
“Don’t touch me—” Someone rips my clothes and I yelp as my head is pushed underwater.
A maid yanks my hair out of the ponytail and I whip my head around to growl at her, only to have shampoo thrown in my eyes. Something cracks on my skull. Eggs. Slurp. The thick liquid slides down my head and…Oh, Goddess.
They’re not washing me. They are trying to murder me.
With each strand of hair that is plucked from my skin, I condemn Darrock to the coldest and hottest parts of hell. This is the second time in my life that I feel this…vandalized. They pluck off hair everywhere. I mean…everywhere. When they grow tired of my screeches and threats to drown them in boiling oil, they hold me in place and start to floss my teeth, proceeding to brush my mouth until everything feels raw.
I’m so mad, I start to sob, and then, they begin to laugh at me, insulting me in Dawn.
They pull me out of the water and then, the real torture begins.
“Hurry now,” Raya tells them as she leans against the door, filing her nails. At least two maids hold me down as they start to flit around, holding up fabric against my skin to decide what color suits me best. Someone is clipping the nails on my foot, while another coats the nails on my fingers with glittery paint.
A lavender dress is held up in front of me and Raya tsks her displeasure. “Boring.” Her black nails extend to another fabric of midnight blue. “That one.” Her red eyes drop to my waist and a brow arches. “Tighten that corset.”
“There’s no need—” Raspberries are shoved into my mouth to shut me up. I rarely ever need corsets. My waist is tiny enough, and if they keep pulling so hard, I won’t be able to breathe. At all.
Several minutes later, I’m being pulled down the steps by Caspian, and another guard whose name I don’t know, because well, everyone has decided I am a hellcat who needs to be escorted before she burns down the manor. Add controlled to that list because my wrists are bound behind my back and there is a gag in my mouth.
Darrock waits at the base of the steps, his back turned to us as he converses with his sister. My heels click against the marble and he turns, just as I take the last step down. He blinks. Twice. And then his lips part and close.
I know. My gown flows around me like still, blue waters on a dark night, it’s fabric a luxurious blend of silk and velvet that swishes left and right with every move I make. It takes counting my steps evenly to keep from tripping on it. The bodice, adorned with intricate silver embroidery, forms a corset that pushes my breasts rather high, making them seem much bigger than they actually are, and my waist is almost non-existent. I look like an hourglass.
My hair is in curls and braids that cascades down my shoulders, tickling the swell off my breasts and my bare shoulders. Pearls and filigree hairpins are woven into my hair, the latter’s lapis lazuli stones gleaming in the light.
Unlike the drama going on everywhere else, my makeup is soft, innocent. It is unlike what I would go for if I’d been the one with the paint brush. I look like a naïve princess getting sold off to the Alpha King.
Darrock claps, a delightful sound slipping from him. “There now.” He leans in, his weird eyes dropping to my breasts. “You’d fit right into court.”
I growl, the gag preventing a string of curses from leaving my mouth.
“Promise not to scream and I’ll remove the gag.”
Another growl ripples from me, but I nod. He plucks the cloth from my mouth and I snarl, “I hope you fall from your horse and impale yourself on a sword.”
He snickers, rolling a lock of my hair around his finger. “I’m not the one who can’t sit still on a horse for five minutes.”
I grit my teeth, fighting against Caspian’s fingers. “I refuse to be taken to your King. He may have a taste for younger women but I do not want to be mated to a rotten, old man.”
Raya chokes on a laugh. “She has a mouth on her.”
“I’d keep those thoughts to myself if I were you,” Darrock says, and his eyes close as he breathes in my scent. “If you’re good tonight, I’ll grant you a boon. What do you say?”
My gaze holds his directly. “How about you just die?”
He chuckles, singeing me with a look that is pure smolder and shove the cloth back in my mouth. Turning almost immediately, he hooks his arm with his sister’s and they start towards the carriages that await by the entrance. “You ride with her, Caspian, and do not take your eyes off her.”
Caspian shoves me forward when I start to dig my heels into the marble, refusing to move. “Remind me why we’re bringing this one along again.”
“You’ll see.”
Ours is the last carriage—more like an overly decorated chariot—and when the guard on my left steps forward to get the carriage door and I kick my foot forward, pushing him into it instead. Caspian snaps his teeth in my face and I shuffle back. Why does everyone have to be so violent with me?
I bat my eyelashes prettily at Caspian, and he looks as affected as a stone. He shoves me into the carriage and shuts the door.
********************
The bumping stops and the back of my hands clutch the edge of the seat hard. I am not leaving this carriage.
Caspian releases a ragged sigh and slips out. The door creaks shut behind him and soft footsteps approach my door. It is pried open and Darrock peeks inside. “You can walk in like a lady or risk embarrassment while I carry you in, and I promise, it won’t be anything pretty.”
“Fuck off,” I let my eyes say.
Darrock sighs. “You refuse everything I offer, Violet. It hurts my pride.” His wrists snap without warning, and the gag is suddenly off my mouth, the ropes that bind my wrists loosened. Huge hands grab me, hurling me out of the carriage, and firm lips crush against mine.
I snap my teeth together, biting hard on his bottom lip, but he only groans, holding me in place as he assaults my mouth with a tongue that is smooth like velvet. When the Goddess created his mouth, it was to seduce women. His kisses aren’t wild like Kier’s, neither do they raze me with desire and need. Darrock’s kisses are soft, deceiving, thieving. He steals your breath without you noticing, leaving you gasping for more air, leaning into him and begging him for a single breath. Wrong, that is what it feels like.
I hate him. I swear, I do. If I had a knife, I would plunge it in his gut.
When he breaks the kiss, I stumble a step, right into his arms, and I barely have enough time to refill my lungs before he throws me over his shoulder.
“Put me down!” A shrill cry tore from me.
He holds my calves firmly, his shoulder hedging into my stomach as he moves. I see Caspain’s black boots and Raya’s heeled foot. There are steps and then more shoes. I’m yelling and digging my fingers into Darrock’s back, but he seems unaffected.
There is music and the air smells like pastries. Someone greets Darrock and he ignores, moving swiftly across what seems to be a hallway. I can’t say for sure. Dangling from his shoulder upside down makes my view disoriented. A door creaks open, and the air shifts into something unbearable heavy. Conversations die in time for my screams to echo through the space.
“Put me down. I swear to the Moon Goddess that I will kill you, bring you back to life and burn your body before her temple! Then I will make a pie of your bloody ashes and feed it to the crows!”
Soft murmurs fill the space—a hall, maybe?—and the intricate patterns of an opulent carpet meets my view. More polished boots parade by, leather brushing against the floors. The hems of women’s dresses flare in colorful waves. The carpet ends, and Darrock stops walking.
I feel his head dip into a bow.
“Darrock.”
I stiffen. Darrock does too. The voice, it cracks like thunder, but it is soft, like silk. Deadly, yet honeyed. A primal urge to drop to my knees, even if I am physically restricted from doing so shackles my limbs and my fingers ball into fists. I don’t need to look to know I’m in the presence of an Alpha King. No other entity can carry an aura this monstrous—like Kier’s, when he’s mad.
But the owner of the voice doesn’t sound mad. Not even as he adds casually, “You barely missed the archers.” Archers? He’d meant the threat about the arrows? Wow. Even Kier doesn’t speak of death like he’s talking about the weather.
I feel Darrock tremble. The man is terrified. I am too. Sweat rolls up my neck to my ears.
“My apologies, Your Majesty. I—”
“What is that over your shoulder?” The voice asks, an edge of amusement creeping into it. I freeze, gripping the back of Darrock’s knees. There is no way I’m letting him drop me.
“A souvenir from my trip. I apologize, it’s a little shy.” He grips my calves and my hold on his leg only tightens. He grunts as I struggle and expels me from his shoulder with a hard pull, dropping me to the floor with a thud, and my nails rip a part of his pants off as I drop.
“And very violent,” Darrock add, startled laughter settling over the hall. He looks hilarious without the back of his pants, and the front of it is still attached, only by its belt.
He doesn’t even look affected. My cheeks burn as an entire hall laughs at me.
Then, I turn my head forward, toward the fancy dais. There are three people. Two women, of which one looks very familiar, but my attention isn’t on them.
It’s the male whose regal head is propped against his fist that catches my attention. A silver crown sits askew on his light, blonde hair that reminds me of my own hair—wispy, almost ethereal, floating with the slightest breeze.
His pale blue eyes meet mine and he jerks upright, into a sitting position. He cocks his head slightly, and I find myself mirroring the expression. He blinks and I repeat it, unable to stop myself. His nose is perfect, the outline of it smooth and without a bridge. They suddenly flare, and his adorned fingers close around the arm of his throne.
His lips are plump, full, luscious, and I know I have seen them on a more feminine face before. He goes very still, forgetting his eyes on my face, and that makes two of us. Did I call him old and rotten? No. He is impossibly gorgeous.
The Alpha King looks familiar, and his aura tickles something in my subconscious, but I know I’ve never met him before. His face is the kind you never forget and his aura has a signature to it that feels and smells like a blend of black and golden roses. I stare and stare at him. His eyes never leave mine either. There are varying emotions in them. Recognition. Disbelief. Anger. Fear. And then something so soft and powerful it rocks my being. My lips part and my fingers curl against the smooth, cold tile. “Have we…Have we met before?”
Darrock clears his throat and the King of Dawn’s gaze snaps to the man standing between us. There is icy rage glittering in those depths and unmistakable fear. I feel it too, and I don’t understand why.
“After two decades of relentless search, it is my solemn duty to present the long, lost heir, stolen from us by the traitor who has held her captive and concealed her. But the Goddess’s will always prevails and I have returned her home.” A hush falls over the hall, and there is an echo in my head as Darrock turns with dramatic flair.
I pause and turn left, checking intently to see if there is someone else beside me. But it’s just me. Darrock’s hand comes to my view and he waits for me to take it as he whispers, “Your Grace.”
Laughter starts in my belly, bubbling until it is a blown-out guffaw and tears stain my vision. For the next minute, the only sound that can be heard in the hall is that of deranged laughter. I can’t help myself. I always knew I was special, but this…this is simply hilarious.
Imagine me, Jessamine Everhart, the mad woman, as heir to the throne of Dawn. To any throne at all. The whole world must have gone insane.