The announcement reverberated through the harem wing like a bell tolling doom.
“Grand Convocation,” the guards declared, their voices echoing off the velvet walls as they swept through the dormitory. “All slaves prepare.”
Seren shot upright from her cushions, eyes gleaming.
“Oh, perfect,” she breathed, her smile spreading like spilled poison. “Public humiliation. My favorite sport.”
Ariaxa stiffened.
“What… what does that mean?”
Seren turned slowly, savoring the moment.
“It means the three rulers of the empire gather.” She stepped closer, tapping Ariaxa’s collar with a painted nail. “It means you get to kneel before the most powerful monsters in Nocthara. And it means—” She leaned in until her lips brushed Ariaxa’s cheek. “—you will be shared.”
Ariaxa’s stomach dropped. “Shared?”
Seren laughed, low and delighted.
“You really don’t know anything, do you?”
Before Ariaxa could respond, attendants rushed in, grabbing her arms. Her protests were ignored as she was dragged into the bathing chamber. Steam rolled across the marble floor, perfumed water swirling with crushed petals that stuck to her skin. Two slaves pushed her onto a stone bench.
“Hold still,” one said.
“You smell like fear,” the other added.
Ariaxa jolted when cold hands gripped her thighs, lifting them so perfumed oils could be rubbed into every inch of exposed skin. They washed her hair with jasmine, scrubbed her wrists until the skin glowed pink, and smoothed shimmering dust across her collarbones.
Then came the silks.
Translucent. Soft. Obscene.
The attendants draped a sheer gold wrap over her hips that left nothing to imagination. Another tied a thin strip of crimson silk across her breasts, the fabric barely clinging to her. A final piece wrapped around her throat, accentuating the collar glowing beneath it.
Seren strutted in, wearing crimson so sheer it looked like fire clinging to her skin.
“Oh, darling,” she purred, circling Ariaxa. “You look like an offering.”
Ariaxa swallowed. “I don’t want this.”
Seren smirked.
“Who said desire was relevant here?”
***
The Blood Court thrummed with energy when the harem entered. Nobles filled the obsidian chamber, lounging on cushions, pulling slaves into their laps, using them openly. Moans mixed with laughter. Perfume mingled with sweat and wine. The air was thick with lust, hunger, and cruelty.
Ariaxa’s heartbeat slammed in her chest as she followed behind Seren and Mirel, the collar humming with each trembling step.
Kaedan sat upon his throne at the highest dais—cold, immaculate, carved from obsidian that seemed to drink in the torchlight. Riven stood at his right side, motionless shadow. Seren slid to Kaedan’s left, draping herself at his feet like a trophy displayed for admiration.
A guard shoved Ariaxa forward.
“Kneel.”
Her knees hit marble almost painfully. She was positioned on the step below Kaedan’s throne, close enough to feel heat from his body yet still far enough to be beneath him in every sense.
Kaedan did not look at her.
Not yet.
The Blood Court doors groaned open.
The Triarchs entered.
First came Lord Vaelen, draped in silver armor that gleamed like frost. His white hair cascaded down his back, his eyes the cold blue of a frozen lake. The way he looked at Ariaxa made her breath falter.
“Pretty,” Vaelen murmured, stepping closer. “Delicate. A rare specimen.”
Ariaxa lowered her gaze.
Next came Queen Rhaelle. Her black gown clung to her blood-red skin, her horns adorned with gold chains, her eyes burning with dangerous intelligence. She walked like a storm disguised in velvet.
She paused directly in front of Ariaxa.
“So this is the new collar on Kaedan’s leash,” she said with a slow smile.
Ariaxa’s pulse raced.
Last came Warden Brakus, towering, brutal, covered in scars. His molten-gold eyes studied Ariaxa the way a wolf studies a bound deer.
“She’s small,” Brakus growled. “Will she break?”
Seren let out a pleased hum.
“Oh, most likely.”
Ariaxa tried not to tremble.
Kaedan finally spoke.
“Proceed.”
An elder stepped forward holding a scroll. His voice carried across the chamber.
“By protocol of the Grand Convocation,” he intoned, “when an Emperor acquires a new personal slave, she must be shared with the Triarch rulers as a symbol of unity and trust.”
Ariaxa’s blood turned to ice.
Seren whispered from Kaedan’s side,
“This is where you cry.”
The elder continued reading.
“The Emperor may oversee the ritual, but may not interfere once consent is given by the Triarchs…”
Ariaxa’s breathing grew thin. The court watched with eager hunger, waiting to see the new slave broken in public.
Vaelen took a step closer, kneeling with predatory grace.
“Look up,” he said softly.
Ariaxa shook her head.
The collar shocked her.
Her head jerked upward, eyes wide.
Vaelen smiled slowly.
“There she is.”
Brakus joined him, voice rumbling.
“If she screams, it will echo beautifully.”
Ariaxa squeezed her eyes shut, but a guard yanked her head upright again.
“Keep your eyes open,” the guard snapped.
Kaedan still hadn’t moved.
His expression was unreadable stone.
The scroll’s final line was spoken.
“By law, Kaedan Draven’s slave is to be offered to the Triarchs. The rulers may choose who takes her first.”
The court erupted into whispers. Some slaves moaned from renewed use. Others watched Ariaxa with pity, envy, or fear.
Seren leaned in closer to Kaedan.
“Let them take her,” she whispered. “Let them tear her pride apart.”
Kaedan did not respond.
He didn’t need to.
Queen Rhaelle began walking toward Ariaxa.
Each step echoed on the marble.
Each step made Ariaxa’s heart pound in her ears.
Each step tasted like the end of something she hadn’t even begun to understand.
Rhaelle stopped directly in front of her.
Ariaxa felt the queen’s shadow fall over her skin like cold hands.
Rhaelle leaned down, gripping Ariaxa’s chin between her fingers — firm, unyielding, unforgiving. The queen tilted her face up, studying her as though choosing a gemstone from a merchant’s stall.
Ariaxa’s breath trembled.
Rhaelle’s lips curled. “I’ll take her first.”