I tied the bow and took a step back. “It’s a classic.”
“I suppose that depends on your perspective.”
He was a vision, an Adonis who had no business looking twice at someone like me, much less being in love with her. But he was. He loved me, and knowing that somehow made my annoyance with our situation fade. Everything was better with him. I would do good to keep that in mind.
“And how is your perspective, Abram?” I asked coyly.
He gave me a long look, drinking me in with his gaze.
“At the moment, it is unparalleled, Ms. Bellamy.”
“You haven’t called me that since we’ve arrived here.” I smiled, taking his hand. “I’ve missed it.”
The door flew open again. The taller guard was alone this time. Apparently they didn’t see us as much of a threat anymore.
He gave Abram a curt nod. “You are to be seated for dinner immediately.”
Without hesitation, Abram moved toward the doorway, though he dropped my hand as he did. I followed, reminding myself about the poor bastard now lying at the bottom of that cliff. Abram had to pretend to be this person in order for us to ensure that sort of thing didn’t happen again.
And I had to go along with it.
We swept through the hallway, and I didn’t look around much this time. Whatever magical illusion this place held before had quickly vanished in the time I had been objectified, held captive, and treated like a second class citizen. When I was a little girl, I used to dream of meeting a prince and spending the night in a castle. Now that I had done both, I had no desire to repeat the process.
I would hold it together, but only because I had to.
Abram and the guard were a few feet in front of me when I heard the noise. It was a moan, as if a woman was in pain, coming from an open door on the left. Though a piece of me said it was a bad idea, I just couldn’t walk by. If someone was being hurt, I needed to stop it.
I hesitated toward the open door as the moaning grew louder. The room I found myself looking in was large and carpeted in lush reds. A bed, huge and circular, sat in the middle. And on that bed, displayed like a trophy in a case, was a woman.
The breath caught in my throat. The woman lay flat on her back. Her hands were tied together and bound to the headboard. She was blonde and bare chested. Some kind of small metal…jeweled bobby-pin type things…clamped her nipples, and her breasts bounced as she arched her back, moaning again.
What I had once thought of as a painful exclamation, I now saw as an expression of ecstasy. Her body language suggested she was in fact writhing in pleasure, and much to my dismay, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.
This was disgusting. Certainly, it should be. This was chauvinism at its finest. Binding up a woman and leaving her there to writhe, sweaty and half-satisfied, door thrown wide open for anyone to see… It was insane. But the look on her face left no doubt: She enjoyed this. She wanted this.
And something about that piqued my curiosity.
Her eyes met with mine, and I flinched away.
She laughed loudly, her body jiggling with the movement. “Don’t be so shy,” she said in a thick accent. “You should join us. We only bite if you’re very bad. Have you been bad, girlie?”
A blush crept up my cheeks, and I turned tail, nearly stumbling as I raced after Abram and the guard. I thought I was going to trip on this damn dress, but I caught up with them before they even realized I had been gone. Apparently they hadn’t noticed my short absence, much the way you might not notice an old lipstick you haven’t worn in months was missing from you spare make-up case.
“The king will join you shortly,” the guard said.
Tapping his heels together, he motioned for us to enter a large room with a giant oblong table. Then he left.
Abram moved forward, and I followed. I wanted to tell him about the woman, about the ties and the clamps, about the look on her face. But something stopped me. What would I say even? The fact I was still thinking about her was ludicrous. I had no ties to this woman and, no matter what that tingling in my stomach might imply, the whole thing left a bad taste in my mouth.
“Maybe we should look around,” I said, my voice shaky. “You know, while we have the chance.”
“Haven’t seen enough?” he whispered huskily, turning to me and raising an eyebrow.
Heat flared in my cheeks, and I couldn’t even look at him. “You saw?”
His hand snuck to mine just long enough to graze his finger along my pinky. “I saw your reaction,” he whispered, then he dropped his hand away. “It was very telling.”
I bristled, part of me wanting to deny whatever he thought he saw in my reaction, and part of me knowing Abram probably knew me better than I knew myself.
“What would you know?” I whispered back anyway.
But before he could reply, King Archibald’s voice drifted into the room. “And what would you suggest I do about that?”
Abram shot me a look and then moved toward an air duct, the origin of the noise.
“Old castles don’t hold many secrets,” he whispered to me.
“Tell that to Sleeping Beauty,” I muttered.
“Of course it’s an issue, and of course I’m looking into it.” King Archibald stopped short. He must have been on the phone, because there were a few seconds of silence followed by a more fierce nature in his voice. “Months!” he yelled. “It has been months since it rained! Of course I know what that means!”
Another lull. Then: “I thought this was a done deal.” … “Yeah, well, it didn’t work. Do you think I would still be here if it worked?” … “Who do you think you’re talking to? The crops are the least of our worries. Do you have any idea how long this could stretch?”
The following silence was dotted with furious huffs from the king. “Blame hardly matters at this point. Lay it at whoever's feet you wish. I paid you, and I certainly didn’t make that agreement for fun. Fix it!”
Silence filled the air again and, as soon as we realized what was happening, Abram and I darted back to the center of the room.
We settled there and acted nonchalant as King Douchebag entered the room. He looked equal parts angry and constipated as he took us in.
“I would apologize for your containment, but we would all see through that, wouldn’t we?” He circled the table toward us. “It was a necessary precaution while my men took the time to verify your story.”
Verify our story? The words sent chills down my overdressed spine. A quick Google search probably would have verified Abram wasn’t Prince Made-up Name and that the island nation he claimed to come from hadn’t sent us at all.
My body went rigid. King Archibald was about to accuse us of lying to him, or sneaking into his castle under false pretenses. Which, of course, we had done. What would be the “antiquated” punishment for that?
So long as we were trapped here, this castle’s enchantment made Abram about as fierce as Snoopy on Sunday morning. We had no defense and, should they attack us, no chance of survival. They would throw us in a dungeon or, worse, slice off our heads. At least I wouldn’t put it past them. This place seemed adequately mired in the Dark Ages to make that seem plausible.
My eyes slid to the dinner table. There were knives and forks sitting there, slightly out of reach. Sure, they wouldn’t do much when the guards started pouring in, but nobody would be able to say Charisse Bellamy went down without a fight. And hell, maybe I would even get to show them what a real woman was capable of while I was at it.
“And I take it everything checked out?” Abram asked from my side. His voice was steady and betrayed none of the nervousness he was likely feeling.
“You wouldn’t believe how many people lie to us, try to pass themselves off as someone they aren’t to gain access to our home and our lives. I don’t have to tell you what becomes of people like that,” King Archibald said. He was close to us now. My fingers were itching, and just as I was about to reach for the salad fork, he added, “
It’s a good thing you were telling the truth.”
My entire face dropped.
“What’s that now?” I mumbled.
The king shot me a look, as if to shut me up, then turned to Abram. “I apologize for whatever discomfort you might have felt last night. I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course.” Abram nodded, again free of emotion. He was good at this. Better than me, obviously. I needed to work on my poker face.
“As an act of contrition, I would be pleased to offer you another companion. Variety is, as they say, the spice of life.” He gave me another look. “And I’m sure I can find some way to keep your current traveling partner occupied.”
Bile rose into my throat, and my whole body tensed as I braced myself for Abram’s reaction, my mind racing with thoughts so quickly I couldn’t pick one from the next. This couldn’t be happening.
“A generous offer,” Abram said, “but it won’t be necessary. At least, not tonight. I have my mind set on being the one to mold her into what I wish, and until she’s properly trained, she won’t be leaving my sight. She is, after all, my first gift. I’m sure you know how that goes.”
The king grinned widely. “Ah, indeed I do. I was a young prince once, too, and I remember the days of my first as well. They are always the most challenging, but often one of the most rewarding. I’m sure you will teach her to serve well.”
“Of course,” Abram replied curtly. “And I’ve too much pride to share that challenge. Now, shall we eat? The business of contrition can certainly wait until our bellies have been filled.”
King Archibald nodded. “Let us eat then.”
Abram pulled out my chair, and I sat, my head spinning. How was this possible? What twist of fate had just saved us? Abram had pulled this alibi out of his ass. I watched him do it. How on Earth had King Archibald actually found proof?
My eye caught a shimmer in the far off drape. A woman’s face—no, Satina’s face—glittered in one of the folds. She winked, then faded into nothing.
“Of course,” I mumbled.
There might have been a time where I would question why she couldn’t find some other way to help us out—some way that didn’t involve us being trapped here—but knowing Satina, our situation to her was some afterlife reality show. She probably only helped us to make things more interesting for her.
I turned to Abram to see if he had noticed what I had, but instead I was met with the chest of a servant who was attending to the dinner.
“Your hands, Princess.”
I looked up at him, a bit stunned by the title, and he looked back at me equally stunned, but by what I didn’t know.
“Place them behind your back, please,” he said, then quickly he added in a low voice, “Mind your attention. No eye contact during dinner.”
“Is there a problem?” King Archibald said, pulling out of small talk with Abram to look at me.
The servant smiled thinly. “The Princess is nearly settled.”
The King glared at me, and I was too confused to ask any questions. I placed my hands behind my back, and the servant deftly tied them together with what felt like a piece of silk or a satin ribbon of sorts.
What the hell kind of dinner custom was this? How was I supposed to eat?
I looked over to Abram, horrified, hoping for some kind of unspoken explanation.
But he didn’t even look at me.
Chapter 7
“You’ll have to excuse her,” Abram said to the King. “To be honest, our kingdom no longer follows the dinner custom, and I have failed to prepare her on how to attend one as a guest.”
He better damn have failed to prepare me because he didn’t know himself, or we were going to have it out later.
The king tilted up his chin ever-so-slightly. “This should be a good learning experience for her, then.” He leaned a little over the table. “A word of advice, if I may. I find it best not to go easy on them in the beginning. They tend to spend the rest of their time in service trying to get that soft side out of you again.”
Abram gave me a sideways glance. “I can see how that might happen,” he said, sliding his attention back to the king. “I certainly appreciate the guidance of my elders, and will keep that in mind.”
My stomach was doing flip flops, and not the kind I should be wearing on the beach right now. Abram was so convincing that I was starting to question if there was any truth to some of the things he was saying. Did he really feel this way, even if only a little?
As the servants began to cart in elegant trays of food, the king’s attention was pulled from us to a woman who was presenting a bottle of wine. Abram pinched my thigh through my dress.
I spun my attention to him to give him a scowl, but his glare stopped me in my tracks. “The servant said no eye contact. You need to obey their rules.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off.
“No arguments. Please, Charisse.” That last part sounded pleading, and for some reason, it was like a shot of fear had been injected into my veins. “Only speak when spoken to. If you aren’t sure what to do, don’t do anything.”
I dropped my gaze to the table, noticing for the first time there was no plate in front of me. Desperately I wanted to look up again, to take in more details of my surrounding, but I could feel the king staring at me, and I sensed it best to take Abram’s warning.
He’s on my side, I reminded myself.
I could see out of the corner of my eye that Abram did have a plate, and one of the servants were, at present, ladling some kind of dingy gray soup into his bowl.
After a few bites, Abram placed a finger under my chin to lift my face. I kept my eyes toward the ground on the chairs between us.
“Good,” he whispered, and I felt like a child being praised for coloring inside the lines. This was horrifying.
“Here, eat,” he said gently. He fed me a small bite, and I immediately wished he hadn’t.
Had the soup been made with old potatoes and something one might find at the bottom of a washing machine? I would have expected more from royalty. But I forced myself to swallow the bite and sent up a mental prayer that I wouldn’t be offered anymore, or at least not of this dish.
I must have made a face after tasting it, because King Douchebag grumbled something.
“Is it not to your liking?” he asked coldly.
I almost didn’t respond, thinking surely the question was rhetorical since the man almost never spoke to me, but then I remembered Abram’s warning to speak when spoken to. Then and only then. But this was one of those times.
“No. It’s fine,” I lied.
“Typical,” the king hissed, shaking his head. “A woman’s palette is such a primitive thing. Wouldn’t you agree, young prince?”
Abram shuffled in his seat. At least he seemed to be as uncomfortable by this situation as I was. Still, from under my eyelashes, I could see he smiled politely at the king.
“I have found that to be the case, unfortunately.”
The king set his spoon down on the table beside his plate very neatly. Too neatly. It made my skin crawl how deliberately he did it, though I couldn’t pinpoint why that bothered me so much until he spoke.
“Perhaps we’ll just have to give her something that her mouth is more accustomed to receiving.”
I felt myself tense and, though I knew I shouldn’t, I began to raise from my chair.
Abram’s hand found my bound wrists and grasped the satiny ribbon to keep me in place. Besides, what was I going to do? Walk away with my hands tied behind my back?
I took a long slow breath and reminded myself what we were doing here and how important it was for me to keep the charade going.
“She’s a feisty little thing,” King Archibald noted. “And my guard tells me she was less than receptive about the clothing she was provided.” He stared at me again. “I must admit, I don’t see why. It hugs her in all the right places. Please tell me she isn’t the type of female who shies away from her nat
ural attributes. Those types bore me so quickly, and I find they tend to overcompensate with strong opinions and overzealous values.” He scoffed. “Who has the time for that?”
My blood started to boil. Sure, I had never been the type to carry picket signs and boycott establishments. Heck, most other women passed plenty enough judgment on me solely in regard to my career as a model. But I always believed a woman was every bit the equal of a man. In fact, one of the reasons I loved modeling was because I found it empowering, not because—as some believed—it was objectifying.
Women could do anything they set their minds to. We had proven it over and over again. And the fact that this dipshit had his head so far up his own ass that all he could see were tits and ass shouldn’t have been my problem.
Besides which, if Abram was right—if this was the man in the painting—then he had a daughter once. A daughter he loved and valued enough to change his life entirely. But how could that man be the same one who now sat before me? It didn’t make any sense.
“Leave my traveling companion to me, good king. She won’t be an annoyance, I assure you.” He rose a glass of dark red wine and, I assume, took a swig.
“I would hope,” he said, raising his own glass. “I’d hate to think that the newly reinstated royal family of Backus couldn’t do as much as keep their women in line.” He laughed heartily like the drunken slob he was, slapping his knee.
“I think you’ll find the future of Backus to be quite secure,” Abram answered coolly.
This sobered King Archibald, which was likely Abram’s intention. Sure, Abram didn’t give a damn about the connected politics of two shoebox-sized islands off the coast of nowhere. But he knew if he began that conversation, the king would drop the current tirade he seemed intent on. And, given my short fuse on the matter, that was probably a good thing.
The second and third courses—a split chicken with a stripe of sauce and a roast that lacked any vegetables whatsoever (probably thanks to the drought)—followed as Abram and the king went back and forth about trade routes, ancient disagreements, and which country housed the better vineyards. Meanwhile, Abram shared bites of his food as was apparently their “custom” while not paying any attention to me beyond that the entire time.
Sleeping with the Beast: an Adult Paranormal Shifter Romance (The Conduit Series Book 2) Page 4
