by Eve Bradley
“How did Glend come to be here when he was young?” Catryn asked before anyone else could speak.
“Our father sends out recruiting parties. Well, slavers to the other kingdoms. They smuggle them back. Either that or they utilize the underground slave markets. The Rose Hills just so happened to be a stop that was made. The slavers brought our Glend back to us as a gift. He was so beautiful even the slavers decided he would be a good friend to us...” Setora explained. “And he was. But he was never a slave.”
Catryn’s anger swelled. He could feel it palpable in the air.
“The underground markets?” Catryn stepped forward towards the women.
“Cat,” Glend warned her. He could only hope she could contain her wrath.
“Of course! Is that not where most kings accrue their slaves?” Sasha snickered delightedly.
“Yamar will no longer take slaves from the underground markets, as they will be stopped fully within the year.”
Catryn’s voice was riddled with shakiness, though the edge of her tone was like a blade to both girls' throats. Sasha and Setora grew quiet and uncomfortable.
“I’m fine, Catryn,” Glend muttered.
“That does not matter now. What matters is the market of beings being sold and bought like cattle. Believe me, I know what it is like. I know exactly, and dear princesses...this kingdom will no longer supply the underground with the gold its given thus far.”
“Father the Sultan will have much to say on this,” Setora smirked prudently.
“I count on it,” Catryn nodded stiffly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I was enjoying speaking to my Guardian. Alone. I’d appreciate it if you dismissed yourselves.”
Glend wanted to laugh loudly. Somehow inside of him felt even more relieved. He didn’t know what it was, but the emotion brought him a feeling of cleanness; of freshness in every part of his body. When the two women had left, he felt even lighter.
“The Sultan won’t be too happy about that little interlude,” he chuckled, turning back to Catryn. “In fact, I’d say it seems like you want an enemy of him after everything that was said at the banquet.”
“No,” she shook her head, her countenance more relaxed with just the two of them again.
“But I will not be wielded like a sword. Now I know where the underground is receiving all of its gold.”
“There are more places than Yamar that revel in debauched markets,” Glend said. “Raspandar. Malavash. Catharsa. There are bad people everywhere.”
“I’m sorry...I didn’t know you were taken as a slave,” Catryn ignored him, staring fiercely into his eyes. Her severity undid him. The moonlight shone like a milky gleam in her eyes, highlighting every fine feature of her face. Her plump lips, her dark lashes, her smooth skin. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know,” he was awkward and shifted towards her. “I think I was trying so hard to keep everything contained that I just...didn’t let anyone know. It’s been so long ago now it doesn’t really seem real.”
“Tell me, then,” Catryn was breathless, her eyes glassy.
Glend grinned and let out a giant sigh, wrapping Catryn in his arms.
“I lived in the Rose Hills. You know that,” he bent down to peer into her eyes, and kissed her chastely. “I was young. A boy. My father was a bastard that liked his ale too much. There was a man who liked to touch me. I told my father, and he did nothing. He laughed, actually. He did do that. I ended up running away to get away from the...situations. A few slavers caught me and then sold me to a few of the Yamarians. They brought me back through the underground till Malavash. We popped up and headed to Yamar.”
Catryn held around his waist, locking her hands at his back as if she didn’t want the warmth of their skin to ever part.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered into his chest. “I will make them pay.”
“We both did what we had to do to survive, didn’t we?” he said darkly. “We both fucked for money and safety.”
“And now we don’t have to,” Catryn said, voice firm, and then she perked up, staring into his eyes.
Glend couldn’t help a small, shy smile from blooming.
“And now we don’t have to...” he repeated.
That night Catryn awarded her servants payment and told them that they were employed, not owned. They could choose to leave if they wished. Only two left. The rest set about preparing her chambers and making sure she and the others were as comfortable as possible.
In the chambers where the giant warm bath beckoned them all, he could only think of the Djinn and how it had mentioned a dark drought. Whatever that meant. He blew out a breath and Valryn caught his eye.
Val was shirtless in the corner, washing his face with water from a bronze basin. The hair around his face curled into tendrils. Glend approached him, heart aching from his realization and flashbacks when Sasha and Setora had practically assaulted him outside.
“So? I saw you went off with her,” Val spoke low. “I couldn’t feel much. What did you decide?”
“She’s fine,” Glend rounded. “If she didn’t want to engage, she wouldn’t.”
“You know she was a whore all her life up till now. She’ll never trust us as men. We have to help her realize that not all men will take advantage.”
Glend sighed, scrubbing his face, and then letting his hands drop to his thighs. He shook his head stubbornly.
“She did say she thought you and I more lovers than she and I,” Glend admitted as if it pained him. “No offense, but I have stronger feelings for her than you. You’re more like...a piece of ass. A delicious bite that I like to taste. She’s the full meal.”
“None taken,” Valryn drawled as if he was fighting amusement. “I think that’s true for all of us. So don’t be too down on yourself.”
Glend did love Valryn in a way. He just hid this feeling well. Catryn mattered more to him. It was a frantic, unsettling emotion when he thought of her. Like she could slip out of his fingers and never been seen again. Valryn was constant. He’d known him for years on end, and he was a rock, unchanging and unbending. Cat was wild, and he could never know what she thought or would do.
“Glend…” Valryn stopped before he stepped away, fixing him in a salient gaze.
His face was shadowed, and the iron depths of him caused Glend’s stomach to turn.
“I don’t want to lose her. But I also don’t want to lose you. If you want to forget everything that happened...”
“No,” Glend cut him off, raising a hand to nearly touch his mouth. “No. Don’t. What was done is done. We’re lovers. Nothing can erase that.”
Valryn slowly nodded as he pieced together what Glend said.
Without thinking, Glend leaned forward, snaking a hand behind Valryn’s neck, and drew him in for a kiss. His lips were moist from the water, and he tasted fresh. Glend planted a few sweet kisses on his lips before drawing back. He could tell that Valryn was shocked and dazed.
“Val...” Glend felt awkward because what he was about to say would be a lot for his friend to stomach. “I wanted to tell you exactly what happened before...”
Valryn let out an emotional breath.
“About fucking time,” he lurched forward and grabbed hold of Glend, kissing him fully and deeply. “No walls. No more walls.”
Glend was shaking. Would Valryn be disgusted with him? Would he hate him for the things he’d done? The worries mounted again, but once he’d finished telling him his story, about his asshole father and permissive mother, his siblings who were all dim-witted and foolish, who all lived separate lonely lives, the abuse and then finally the enslavement...he felt like a new man. By the end, he was no longer shaking, but smiling because Valryn was holding him and the expression on his face only expressed love.
Margaret
The Westroads, Near Raspandar
Margaret Terrowin, courtesan to Prince Lucarian, rubbed her bruised wrists. Her mouth was chapped unattractively, her eyes now dull. Once she’d prided h
erself on how youthful and pretty she looked. After a few months with Luc, her age now showed.
She glanced up from her horse as they came out into a clearing. The green fir trees receded to expose the winter land and white-capped turrets of the gothic styled castle that housed the Raspandian royals and courtiers. They’d been traveling for weeks, stopping only in Evanona briefly for Lucarian to admire the devastation he’d wrought upon the people. The clunk of the horse's hooves in the snow beat in her mind even after they’d stopped.
She sniffed, the cold numbing her nose and causing her skin to ache. Prince Lucarian was at the head of the procession, and she watched as he let out a long sigh. The silence of the forest was unbearable. The squeak of leather and metal armor was nearly absent, as if the men did not want to disturb the Prince in this moment.
“We’re home,” Lucarian said finally, and Admiral Peltyre laid a hand on the Prince’s shoulder.
“Your mother and sisters will be waiting.”
Margaret’s chest tightened. What would become of her here? She was afraid. Tears bundled in her lashes, and she swallowed the lump forming in her throat. Would her father come to see her? Would anyone of her siblings? The Snow Lily company headquarters were close. In the city of Larr. Perhaps she could ask for a personal day...if the Prince would ever allow her it. She could go into hiding. She could leave and start her own business in a different city. Catharsa, the land of her birth, would be her first choice.
Dreams of escape seized her mind. When the procession began once more, she gently nudged her horse and continued to plot.
Lucarian took Margaret's hands and led her into his chambers as if he were escorting a bride into her new rooms. His smile was delighted and innocent.
“What do you think?”
Winter white skies lit every black piece of furniture in an ugly clarity. The giant bed was fourposter with the black wood carved to resemble a twisted tree trunk. Copper accents brought minimal warmth to the frosty dark room. Even the fireplace struggled to provide heat.
His touch tensed her, but she pretended to smile earnestly.
“My Prince...it is glorious. I’ve never been inside chambers as lovely as these.”
It was a lie. King Ludrogan had kept her in his for nearly a month before they’d gone on the road. But she didn’t think Lucarian knew how long his father had used her services. In fact, she was no whore. She was a courtesan. All beauties employed by the Snow Lily company were courtesans. Escorts- payable but not slaves. Something that Lucarian always seemed to forget.
“I hope you come to see them as your home,” the Prince told her. “You’ll stay here with me. Keep me company as you did during our travels.”
His snow blonde hair was braided down his back, and a silver crown rested on his scalp. She thought about her time with him. The way he loved his ropes. How he liked to look and sometimes touch. The degradation. How she had to pretend, always pretend that she enjoyed it. She was afraid he’d hurt her if she did not comply.
“Of course,” she smiled peachily. Her cheeks ached.
“I thought this evening when I rejoin my mother and sisters you could accompany me...” Lucarian’s brows rose, causing him to appear nearly vulnerable. “I want you to wear this.”
He went around to a chest in the corner she’d yet to observe, and noticed that it was ornate and encrusted with amber jewel flowers. The insides were laden with gowns for her, she assumed. The Prince drew out a nearly black dress, anointed with thick velvet and little seasons of shimmering sapphire. Margaret let out a breath, knowing that this was nicer than anything she’d ever worn. It was a dress for a princess, not a courtesan. But she guessed that this was one of the many perks his abuse would hold for her.
“Wear it with pride, my mouse,” Lucarian urged her.
Mouse? She swallowed and lowered her gaze. Is that what he thought of her? She never thought of herself as a mouse. Silent, maybe. Nothing else.
“Come.”
Lucarian reached for her breast and tugged her to him.
Margaret had seen the Queen Dedreia once before, and her five daughters, Angeliva, Lorraina, Ansephria, Ryndal, and Elvensa a handful of times. She doubted they’d remember her. She had kept to the shadows then. In this sparkling velvet getup she would be unable to sink away.
The audience hall was filled with courtiers and nobles of all statuses; soldiers, wise men, and middlings alike. They’d packed into the hall like a vat brimming with sour milk. Her stomach turned at the scent of the sweat and perfume, and her left breast throbbed painfully. She’d seen the dark bruise left there by Lucarian’s merciless fingers when she’d changed.
The crowds were restless. The death of King Ludrogan was long left unspoken of. Lucarian had thought it necessary to survey the blood and rubble of Evanona before returning home. Even with the warning of the Peacequeen, Yamar, and Malavash, and a, albeit, shakily stable Athos, the Prince didn’t care. Margaret knew that in his eyes he was untouchable.
“King Ludrogan III, my father, is indeed passed,” Lucarian was standing boldly before them all, pacing the stage. “We mourn him deeply. I am sure you have heard rumors...rumors that tell of the witchdoctor of Evanona being the murderess. I am here to assure you that this is true. This is why I laid waste to Evanonan villages. If their blood were water, my thirst would be unquenchable. Now the kingdoms are against us in this, making demands of Raspandar that far exceed their own weight. I promise you all, we will achieve vengeance a hundred-fold...”
Margaret was shaken by the bellows and applause that followed. The crowds hushed as if a wave of silence washed over them as Queen Dedreia stood.
“My son,” the Queen kissed his cheek in a strangely sentimental way in front of the populace. Margaret squirmed.
“The beauty of his strength is no doubt admirable,” she commented.
Margaret admired the middle-aged woman’s fine features. Even with the soft wrinkles at her eyes and lips, she was pleasing to look at. She was, collectively, a benevolent-looking woman. No doubt with the hard edges of the north. Ice, copper, and iron filling her veins.
“I mourn the loss of our King. He was a glorious man. Now we have another to stand in his place. The crowning ceremony will proceed at nightfall in the mountains during the full moon, as it always has. Prince Lucarian will rise again as your King.”
Margaret heard a minor groan from behind her. She didn’t dare turn around but knew it was one of his sisters. They sat behind her in a row of five, silks flowing over the black stones, their blonde heads shining like halos in the gothic schematics of the Raspandian palace.
The speeches went on, blending into a monotonous harmony in Margaret’s head. She could see from the heavy rise and fall of Lucarian’s chest that he was moved, nearly emotional. When the populace began to filter out of the audience hall, she saw Queen Dedreia say something to him.
As they rose to be escorted from the hall, Lucarian came to stand beside her, and she thought she noted a hint of a wry smirk on his face.
“Come, dearest,” Lucarian whispered in an inky tone. “My mother wants us for a private dinner.”
Margaret’s stomach clenched. She was uncertain and felt as if she were a sheep in wolf’s clothing. She was not fit to be among them, no matter how many times she’d been taught the art of conversation or how to sway a man. No matter any of it. She did not belong, and she felt a lump rise in her throat. Discomfort was like a worm wriggling in her heart.
She was lead to a smaller private receptacle in which a carved ebony table was laden with cream and copper dishes. A few sprigs of northern fir tree branches were set like bouquet’s along the center, along with a few dripping candles. The dinner smelled of gamey venison and spicy potatoes, a delicacy of the Raspandar, its aroma cloying on the air.
The daughters looked like quintuplets if not for their age differences. Each one glared at her with rigid brows. The queen had yet to arrive.
Margaret noticed a man sitting across from her s
eat, one she’d never seen before. He was oddly rugged when compared to the northern fairness. He had a thick black beard and brows that swelled over brooding eyes. Dangerous. He reminded her of a clansman, one like those of the rogue tribes in Catharsa. The clans of Catharsa did not answer to the king’s reign, and it was known. None cared to challenge them because of their brutish and impudent nature. They stayed in their allotted lands and gave no issues to others.
“Your grace,” the man rose, and she knew.
He was Catharsan. He had the same slight accent as she. As he rose, she noticed the robust build of his body. It was apparent even with his cover of dark thick embroidered leathers.
“I am honored that you give me this private audience. And I get to meet the royal family,” his brows rose a bit, but he showed only stone on his face. “Thank you.”
She saw his eyes roll over towards her. She looked away immediately, scared Lucarian could sense her fascination with the man.
“I was surprised when I heard,” Lucarian seated himself, leaving Margaret the seat right in front of the wild man.
“I’ll introduce Margaret Terrowin. She hails from the same lands as you.”
“Ah,” the man looked at her again with his dark eyes, a shank of wooly black hair falling into his face. “A friendly face.” He said this in the lower Catharsan tongue, and she fought the smile from showing on her lips.
“Friendly?” she responded in her mother tongue, the one that flowed so naturally. “It appears I’ve come off all wrong.”
“What did you say?” Lucarian questioned.
“She said it is good to meet me. All the polite things,” the man interjected before she could speak. “And I am Zothar. Warrior of the Drunscar clan.”
“Perhaps you should keep a translator on hand, brother. Maybe it would help you connect with your foreign courtesan in...deeper ways.”
