But it was not to be. Kingsley rose from the bed and stretched and yawned. He felt no ill effects from last night’s erotic encounter. In fact, his body felt better than it had since before the mission that had put him in the infirmary and sidelined him for the better part of two months. He took full breaths. Nothing in his chest creaked or cracked. His muscles idled like a well-tuned engine, ready to take off at top speed any moment. His head was clear and his vision sharp. The snow always did this to him, made him feel more alive.
In the bathroom, he found clothes waiting for him. Black trousers and a white t-shirt made of the softest cotton. Someone had also left him a razor, a toothbrush, and everything else he needed to make himself presentable.
He took a quick brisk shower, shaved, and dressed. The pants were loose on his waist. They must have belonged to a man a little thicker around the middle than Kingsley. Maybe if he stayed here long enough he’d put on some weight. Wouldn’t hurt to bulk up a little more. Maybe he’d be able to take punches better when he had more padding on his ribcage.
Thought of food made his stomach grumble. He went to leave the room in search of the kitchen, but when he came to the bedroom door, he found it locked from the outside.
He tried it again, just in case the door was stuck, but no. Locked. This sent alarms off in his head—he hadn’t signed up to be a prisoner. Or had he?
Kingsley tried the balcony door. It was unlocked. He still had his shoes, if he wanted to put them on and make a run for it. As much as the snow invigorated him, however, he didn’t particularly want to go out in it unless he had to. If this door was unlocked, then he wasn’t technically being kept prisoner, right? He decided to wait it out before going out in the cold and in search of open doors and answers.
He didn’t have to wait long. Someone must have heard him up and moving about because ten minutes later, after Kingsley had cleaned up the bathroom and made the bed—he was here to serve after all—he heard the doorknob rattling.
Instinct, training, and a dash of paranoia sent him to the corner of the room behind the door. He’d pulled the blade from the razor and he held it now secreted between his fingers and palm. It might just be Polly. It might be someone come to kill him.
It didn’t seem to be either.
A man walked into the room carrying a silver serving tray in his hands. He was young, not much more than a teenager with pale brown hair and a face Kingsley had seen before.
“Leon?” Kingsley asked, and the man turned his head immediately toward the sound of Kingsley’s voice.
He looked startled at first to find Kingsley where he hadn’t expected him. But then he gave a little laugh and smiled.
“We’ve met?” Leon asked.
“No. Just guessed,” Kingsley said. Now that he was seeing him close-up, Kingsley noticed that Leon definitely took after his uncle the colonel. Same high forehead, same line of the jaw, same crook in the nose.
“I brought your breakfast. Hungry?”
Kingsley narrowed his eyes at the young man. “I thought the men served the women here,” he said, letting his guard down enough to step out from his corner and inspect what was on the tray.
“I am serving the women. Madame told me to bring you breakfast. I serve her by serving you.”
“But why bring me breakfast here? I could have come downstairs. Why was the door was locked from the outside?”
“Midwinter,” Leon said with a grin.
“What is Midwinter? The solstice was last month.”
“There are local legends that the Germanic tribe that used to live in this region celebrated a festival in winter that involved fertility rites and sacrifices, all that good old pagan fun. Madame is an old-fashioned lady. She’s brought it back.”
“Old-fashioned is supposed to mean she wears her skirts long and goes to Mass on Sunday. It’s not supposed to mean you’ve brought back human sacrifice.”
“There’s no human sacrifice,” Leon said.
“You sure about that?”
“I think they would have told me,” he said. “Or not. I’m still new here.”
“Still doesn’t answer my question. What’s going on?”
“A party. That’s all. And you’ll be one of the guests of honor at Midwinter. It’s important you stay hidden from the other guest of honor.”
“Who’s the other?”
“Colette. She’s the youngest lady here.”
Kingsley nodded. Madame had said that name last night. What had she said exactly? I’m thinking he’s the one for Colette.
“And I can’t meet her until the festival?” Kingsley asked.
“Right,” Leon said.
“This is all very strange,” Kingsley said. “And a little stupid.”
“What’s wrong with being a little strange?” Leon asked as he put the tray on the bedside table and sat on the made bed. Kingsley glowered. Colonel’s nephew or not, he was messing up Kingsley’s crisp hospital corners. “We live out here in the middle of nowhere. We have to make our own fun. Nothing stupid about that.”
Kingsley pondered this. He was more than a little skeptical.
“If you don’t eat your breakfast, I will,” Leon said.
Kingsley pulled up a chair to the bed and inspected his breakfast. Croissant, eggs, coffee. He picked up a fork and started in. “Why did you run away? You’re nineteen. Nineteen-year-old men don’t run away from home. You tell someone where you’re going when you go. Your mother’s worried.” Kingsley would have killed to have a mother at home worrying about him.
“I didn’t run away. And it’s not easy to talk about, you know? Especially my father. He’s… He doesn’t approve of this place. Or me being part of it.”
Kingsley nodded. He could imagine an older man disapproving of the idea of his son being used as a plaything by older women. Although if Kingsley had an adult son and found out he’d become the plaything of a beautiful older woman, he’d probably shake the boy’s hand and say, I’m proud of you, son.
“It’s not my fault my family doesn’t understand me.”
Kingsley rolled his eyes. “I hope taxpayers aren’t paying for your teen angst.”
Leon smiled. “Not my fault either if they are,” he said. “I’m happy. I don’t want to leave. You can tell my family to back off.”
“They think you’re in a cult. You really are here entirely by choice?” Kingsley asked. “No coercion? No blackmail? No violence?”
Leon stood up and took off his shirt. Kingsley did not complain.
“They don’t even beat me,” Leon said, showing off his unmarked body. He put his shirt back on again.
“No one pumping you for information?”
“I don’t know anything,” Leon said. “What can I tell them if I don’t know anything to tell?”
“I’m supposed to go back and tell your family that you’re happy, you’re healthy, and you don’t ever want to come home?” Kingsley asked. “I’m sure that’ll go over very well.”
Leon raised his hands. “I could have moved to Australia. I could have moved to America. I could have moved to Brazil. They would have been sad, but they wouldn’t have tried to stop me.”
“Brazil isn’t a sex cult,” Kingsley said. “Except during Carnival. I’ll tell them I saw you and that you’re well and here by choice, but I don’t know if that’ll convince them you aren’t being brainwashed.”
“Thank you for trying. If I have to leave, I’ll leave,” Leon said, lowering his head. “If that’s what I have to do to protect this place. But I hope it doesn’t come to that. I love it here.”
“You’re a submissive?”
Leon lifted a hand as if to say, Does it matter?
“I serve,” Leon said. “I black Polly’s boots. I make Madame’s bed. I serve at the dinner table. I serve in Polly’s bed, or Louise’s or Amel’s or whoever wants me that night. I get patted on the head like a prize hound. I sleep like the dead every night and wake up smiling.”
“It sounds menia
l if you ask me,” Kingsley said. “Your family’s old, important, yes?”
“So?” Leon shrugged. “I’d rather sweep floors in a warm happy home than count gold coins in a cold vault. I feel useful here. Valued. They don’t care if my family is important. Are you important?”
“No,” Kingsley said. “I’m nobody. My father ran a small import company, and when he died, he was up to his eyeballs in debt.” Kingsley had learned a new word two days after his parents died—insolvable. In English, “insolvent.” In any language, it was a word a teenager didn’t need to know.
“See? And you’re already adored here,” Leon said.
“Am I?”
Leon stood up, ready to leave. “Must be,” he said. “When I came here the first time, I wasn’t allowed in a bed for a week. Somebody likes you.”
“Nice to be liked,” Kingsley said. Most of his lovers were total strangers for good reason.
“Or…” Leon said with a long exhalation.
“Or what?” Kingsley demanded.
Leon shrugged. “Or…they could be fucking with you.”
21
Someone was fucking with him, but at least it was a painless sort of fucking. Whatever Madame’s motives were for keeping him locked up in the bedroom all day, they didn’t seem all that sinister. He wasn’t being tortured, wasn’t being starved. Around two, Polly brought him a late lunch. She even stayed after to keep him company. When he explained he was bored to tears, she brought him a paperback to read. Though he enjoyed reading, that wasn’t quite what he had in mind to pass the time.
“You have to save your strength for tonight,” Polly said, staying out of arm’s length. She was wearing a clingy blue dress that made it hard for him to make eye contact. She didn’t seem to mind.
“Save my strength? For what?” Kingsley said.
“For Midwinter tonight.”
“Yes, but what precisely am I doing at this Midwinter party of yours?” He reached for her, but she swatted his hands away. No playtime today, alas.
“Didn’t Leon tell you?”
“He told me I would be the guest of honor.”
“Oh,” she said. “That’s not true.”
“So I’m not the guest of honor?”
“No,” she said.
“Then what am I?”
“You,” she said, coming to stand between his knees. “You are the gift to the guest of honor.” She poked the tip of his nose with the tip of her finger.
“The gift?”
She nodded, grinning. Rather maniacally grinning.
“You’re being cryptic to torture me,” he said.
“You like being tortured,” she said, running her fingers through his hair.
“If there’s human sacrifice at this party, I’m never letting you fuck my ass again.”
Polly sighed and shook her head. “Don’t be so vanilla.”
“I won’t be insulted like this,” he said. “You take that back.”
Polly’s head fell back, and she laughed.
“You wonderful boy,” she said and bent to kiss his cheek. She smelled like Madame, like lavender soap. He wanted to bury his face between her beautiful full breasts and breathe her scent for hours. But instead she pinched his nose.
“You won’t give me any idea what’s happening tonight?” he asked as she stepped away to leave him.
“You’ll like it,” she said. “Promise.”
“I’m trusting you. Now go. I have to read…” He picked up one of the books she’d brought him. “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.”
“It’s a classic about a very naughty little boy, just like you.”
“Any sex in it?”
“You’re cute,” she said. “I wish I was Colette. Lucky girl.”
“Will I ever get to meet this mysterious lady?”
“Tonight,” she said.
“I meet her tonight and then we…” Kingsley waited, hoping for Polly to fill in the blank.
She didn’t.
“Enjoy your book,” Polly said.
“It’s not very long. What do I do when I finish it?” Kingsley asked.
“You could shave,” she said.
“I already did this morning.”
Polly stood at the open door and smiled at him.
“You don’t mean shave my face, do you?” he asked.
“See? You are catching on.”
“I could escape, you know,” he said. “It would be easy.”
Polly shrugged. “Then escape.”
“You weren’t supposed to call my bluff,” he told her.
She smiled and shook her head. She’d turned into his babysitter again, amused by his antics while trying to maintain a modicum of authority over them.
“I’ll leave the door unlocked,” she said. “I’m asking you not to leave the room, politely asking. Not an order.”
Kingsley sighed heavily. “Why did you have to ask politely? Now I can’t escape.”
“You’re so easy,” she said. “If you get to stay, I’m going to chain you to my headboard for a week.”
“What about the footboard?’
“The week after,” she said with a wink. Then she left him alone and, as promised, didn’t lock the door after her.
Alone again, Kingsley collapsed back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. “This house is bizarre,” he said to himself.
He paused.
“I like bizarre.”
Kingsley did sit-ups and push-ups until he’d made himself sweaty enough to earn a bath. He bathed while reading, read while bathing and, because Polly told him to, he shaved. It left him feeling quite breezy and exposed afterward, not that he minded. He finished his bath and took his time with the cleanup, since he had nothing else to do but try to eavesdrop. All day he’d heard voices in the hallway—laughter, whispers, even little Jacques crying a couple of times. It did sound like the household was hard at work preparing for a party, but nothing anyone said gave him any clue about what was really happening tonight.
He was, frankly, annoyed to be left out.
By sunset, Kingsley was nearly out of his mind with boredom. When the knob of the bedroom door finally rattled and turned, he was ready to bolt from the room like a horse from a starting gate.
It was Polly again. She was carrying a garment bag over her arm.
“Ready?” she asked.
“For what?”
“We have to get you dressed. You must look your best.”
“Now, will you—please—tell me what you’re getting me ready for?”
“For Colette, silly. I told you that earlier.”
“Yes, but what am I doing with Colette? Or for Colette? Or to Colette? Or onto Colette?”
“Oh,” Polly said as she lay the garment bag on the bed. “I guess I did forget to tell you that part.”
“You did. So will you tell me now what is happening tonight with me and this Colette person?”
Polly unzipped the garment bag and inside he saw a suit. A beautiful suit. Not just a suit but a formal suit—cravat, tails, vest. In fact in looked just like a…
No.
No.
No.
Polly grinned. “You’ll make a very handsome groom.”
22
“Where are my shoes?” Kingsley asked. He’d had enough.
“In the bathroom. Why do you need your shoes?” Polly asked.
“Because once they’re on, I’m going to jump off the balcony, run across the courtyard, scale the wall and run to the nearest village,” he said. “Or into the nearest body of water to drown myself.”
“You don’t have to scale the wall. The gate’s unlocked during the day,” Polly said. “But you really should stay. You’ll miss the party.”
“I’m not getting married. Hard limit.”
“It’s all for show, Kingsley,” Polly said in a conciliatory tone. “It’s not real. Just, you know, pantomime. Symbolic.”
He dropped his head back and groaned. “Why does no one ever tell
me the important part first?” Kingsley asked the ceiling, the sky, God, as his pulse slowly returned to normal.
“Because you’re so handsome when you squirm,” she said, patting his cheek. “Now behave yourself. I’m here to dress you.”
“I’d rather you undress me.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll do that first.”
Polly gathered his t-shirt in her hands and pulled it up and off of him. He couldn’t believe he was agreeing to this insanity.
“Pantomime, how French,” he said. “Please don’t make me wear a clown nose.”
“Never,” she said. “Unless Madame orders it.”
“That’s it. Goodbye.”
Kingsley took one step, but Polly caught him by the arm and he let her drag her into the bathroom.
Thirty minutes later the result was…
“There are two types of handsome men in the world,” Polly said. “Those who think they’re God’s gift to women.”
“And?”
She kissed his cheek and turned him to the mirror. “Those who actually are God’s gift to women.”
Kingsley surveyed himself. The suit was a classic evening tailcoat tuxedo. Black trousers, black coat, white vest, white collar and cuffs, and a white bow tie. He looked like a young count on his way to the opera.
Or a young count on his way to his wedding.
Not bad. Not what he’d ever get married in. Not that he would ever get married. But if he did get married, he’d wear his dress uniform. If he could find it…
He tried to run a hand through his hair, but Polly stopped him.
“It’s perfect. Don’t touch it.”
“Fine,” he said. “Can we go now? I’ve been cooped up in here all day. I’m bored. I’m horny. And I need a drink. And I’m horny.”
“You already—”
“I’m very horny.”
The kiss went on just long enough he thought it might lead somewhere. Then she stopped. “Kingsley.”
“Yes?”
“Shut up.”
He said nothing, though it wasn’t easy.
“Good boy,” she said. “I have to get ready. Someone will come for you soon.”
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