Dirty Lovely Broken

by Emmy Chandler

  “No, brother, I don’t think we’ll have to resort to such barbaric acts,” Jude declared. “I think Maari is going to give herself to us. Willingly. As she’s already agreed before the council that she will do.” He allowed her a heartbeat to process what he was saying. What was expected of her. Then, “Take off your clothes.”

  “I…please. I can’t. Please.” The rapid rush of her pulse made the beautiful room look unsteady. “I know what I agreed to, but we’re not in any rush, are we?”

  Jude stepped forward, and when she tried to retreat, her thighs hit the mattress again and she found herself sitting on the edge of the bed. He slid one hand into the hair at the back of her scalp and fisted it so tightly that she whimpered from the sting. Then he pulled her upright and she scrambled to stand, to keep him from tearing a bald patch in her skull. “You belong to us,” he leaned down to whisper into her ear. “You will do everything we tell you to. So take…off…your fucking…clothes. Show us what the council has given us. What currency Stead Delayne has used to buy peace.”

  Her brother’s face flashed behind her eyes. Not Jaarod’s. Not that coward who now sat on her father’s throne. Who now wore her family’s ancestral sword, yet had refused to wield it in her defense.

  She saw Gareth’s face, in the moment before that collar had clicked home. Before the laser had severed his head from his body.

  The man who’d killed her brother stood in front of her, demanding she strip for him. That she become his whore. She couldn’t stop him from taking whatever he wanted from her, but Maari would be damned if she was going to give it willingly.

  She glared up at him, doing her best to shoot fire from her eyes. “No.”

  Fury narrowed Jude’s focus as a growl rumbled up from his chest. The sound rolled over her, and she had to fight a sudden foreign and overwhelming urge to drop her gaze. To fall to her knees. Instead she braced herself, knowing full well what was about to happen. What he was about to do to her, while his brothers watched. While they cheered him on.

  But instead of ripping her clothes off—instead of shoving her down on the bed—Jude jerked her forward by her hair and marched her toward the door, his grip burning her scalp.

  Orlann opened the door so Jude could force Maari into the hallway, and she stumbled, struggling to keep her feet under her as he drove her too fast for her to get a look at her new surroundings. He shoved her through another door into a spiral stairwell built of ancient stone, yet illuminated by an unseen modern light source. She couldn’t see the steps beneath her feet, because his grip forced her to look up. She clung to him, terrified that she would trip and that his grip would rip her hair out by the roots, leaving her to fall to her death.

  Instead, her bare, stumbling feet managed to keep her upright. At the bottom of the stairs, he forced her to the left, into another dark corridor, and the footsteps pounding behind her told her that Malac and Orlann had followed.

  Jude pulled Maari to a stop in front of a nondescript metal door, which he pushed open. He shoved her into a dark room, then he slammed the door at her back.

  Alone, Maari stumbled forward and tripped over her own feet. Her knees slammed into the ground, and the impact snapped her teeth closed over the end of her tongue. Blood poured into her mouth. She hunched forward, her hands on the cold stone floor, and spit the blood out. And that’s when she realized she couldn’t see a thing. There was no light in the room. No unseen ambient source. No archaic candle or bulb. No window leaking moonlight.

  She was alone in the dark, on a cold, hard, uneven stone floor.

  At first, Maari fought tears, determined to be strong until they came back for her. Because of course they would come back for her. What they wanted couldn’t be had while she was alone in that room. So she felt out her surroundings. She crawled forward until she hit one wall, then she stood and followed it carefully, her right hand trailing along the surface. The wall wasn’t made of stone, like the floor. It was something colder and smoother. Some kind of metal, maybe.

  She walked the perimeter of the space and discovered that she was in a cell. A prison, empty of all comforts. Empty of everything except a bucket in one corner, the purpose of which was brutally obvious.

  Fine. Yes, she was cold and hungry. Yes, she was alone in the dark. But Maari would rather be cold, alone, and hungry than with Jude and his psychotic brothers. So she sat, determined to wait them out. To treasure solitude, considering the inevitable alternative.

  Yet as the hours passed, tedium did what fear never could, and she grew bored. Angry. Furious.

  With nothing to do, Maari had no distraction from her thoughts. From memories of her brother’s death and her stead’s defeat. From fears about what would happen to her when Jude came back. Surely any inclination he had to be gentle with her had passed, now that she’d angered him so thoroughly.

  Those thoughts chased each other around her head over and over, until she was sure she was going insane. And that was when she began to scream. To demand to be let out. To be fed.

  But no one came.

  After a while—an eternity?—Maari fell asleep on the cold, hard floor, and when she woke, she was still alone. She had no idea how much time had passed, but there was still no light. No food. No water. Yet now, the only physical need she could do something about could no longer be ignored.

  Miserable, she made her way blindly to the bucket in the corner, where she did her best to make sure her skirts were out of the way while she emptied her bladder. Praying someone came for her before her bowels made the same demand.

  There was nothing to cleanse herself with, so she blotted herself with the hem of her skirt, and that was the straw that broke her. That indignity—blotting urine on her own clothing—brought on her first tears since she’d seen her brother’s head hit the floor.

  And still no one came for her.

  Maari slept again, and she woke up screaming from a dream that she was holding Gareth’s head in her lap. Cradling it like a baby. She was so thirsty that it hurt to swallow. Her stomach was one big cramp from hunger. And she could no longer put off another visit to the bucket.

  Afterward, she crawled into the opposite corner and curled into a ball.

  By the time the door opened, she would have cut off her own finger for a bite of food. She would have lapped water from a puddle on the ground. But neither of those were offered to her by the huge, backlit silhouette hulking in the doorway.

  It was Jude. This time he was alone.

  “Maari,” he said, and she cried at the sound of her own name. At this proof that she still existed. That she hadn’t been forgotten. “Take off your clothes.”

  Sobbing, she complied with shaking hands. It took a long time, because her fingers were cramped from the cold. Because she was hunched over with hunger and dehydration. But Jude waited, offering no assistance.

  When she was huddled nude on the floor in front of him, he squatted and used one finger to tilt her chin up. “Good girl.” Jude ran his hand over her shoulder and down her arm, stroking up and down her bare skin, and she found herself leaning into his touch, even though she hated it. She hated him. “Would you like to get cleaned up? Have some water?”

  She nodded.

  “Stand, then.” And again, he didn’t help her. He just stepped back to watch while she slowly pushed herself upright, leaving her filthy dress discarded on the floor. “This way.”

  Maari followed him into the hall, where the scent of roasting meat made her mouth water, a feat she would have thought impossible, based on her thirst. She was in the service quarters. The kitchen was near; she could hear pots and pans clanging.

  “Staff, assemble!” Jude shouted, and she flinched, startled. Then, to her utter humiliation, every door in the hallway opened, and people poured out to line both walls. They wore domestic service uniforms, some topped with stained aprons. The women had their hair up in nets. “Ladies and gentleman, this is our new resident, Maari, Princess of Stead Delayne. The council has given
her to my brothers and me to breed. To establish and maintain peace between our two steads by combining our bloodlines.”

  Maari flinched at the thought, and when she tried to shy away from this invasive new scrutiny, he grabbed her arm and held her upright. Presenting her for the staff’s inspection, as if his domestic workers had any right to assess her. To view and judge.

  When she tried to cross her arms over her breasts, to cover herself, he snatched her hands away and pinched her nipple until she cried out from the pain. Then he leaned down and licked it gently, soothing the torment he’d just caused.

  Maari gasped, shocked and surprised by the sudden, bizarre kindness, and he latched onto her nipple, sucking on it lightly. Flicking it with his tongue. Moisture gathered between her legs, unbidden and unwanted, and her face burned from the humiliation as it dripped down her thigh.

  Jude groaned. While one hand held her in place, his other had wandered down her stomach and over her mound to explore the result of his uninvited attention. He sucked harder, and she closed her eyes, unable to understand this betrayal by her most intimate parts. His finger dipped inside her, moving gently, and more moisture pooled around his hand as her body welcomed him. As if he belonged there.

  Though he did not.

  Finally, he released her nipple with one last, hard suck and rose to whisper praise into her ear, with his finger still buried inside her. He told her what a good girl she was. The heel of his palm rubbed against her clit, delivering delicious, devastating friction while he told her how pleased he was by her reception of him, now that she’d had time to think about her new position. How certain he was that she would perform well for him and for his brothers.

  How strong and beautiful their sons would be.

  Silent tears trailed down her face while she endured the humiliation, not just of his public abuse, but of her body’s reaction to it. As if this were something she wanted.

  Maari would never want anything from him, except his head rolling on the ground at her feet.

  Finally, Jude removed his finger and stood straight in front of her. Then he took her chin and made her watch while he sucked his finger clean of her juices.

  When he’d finished, his staff watched, gazes roaming over every inch of her as he marched her down the hall, filthy and naked. Humiliated.

  Broken.

  The stairs were a challenge. Her balance was bad, and she felt weak, but Jude offered no help.

  Upstairs, there was only one domestic worker in the hall, her hands folded at her lower back, and Maari sobbed when she saw her.

  “Get her cleaned up,” Jude ordered, and Annah darted forward to obey. To take Maari’s arm and help her through the open doorway. “Give her water, but slowly. I’ll be back in an hour.”

  Annah gave him a nod as she helped Maari into the room she’d woken up in an eternity ago. Whenever that was. “Let’s run you a bath.” The handmaid closed the door behind them, then she helped her charge across the room and through another door into a brightly lit bathroom.

  Maari sat on the edge of the tub, avoiding her own reflection while Annah ran the water. But she couldn’t help looking at her companion. Annah looked healthy. Clean. Well fed.

  “How long?” Maari’s voice sounded creaky, and when Annah heard it, she ran water into a cup from the counter. “How long was I gone?”

  “Three days.” The maid pressed the cup into her hand, and she gulped from it until Annah pried it from her grip. “Slowly. Otherwise you’ll throw it up.” She set the half-full glass on the counter, then she helped Maari into the bath. The water was still running, and it was mercifully hot, after days spent on a cold stone floor. “Lavender or vanilla?” Annah lifted two bottles, and when Maari didn’t answer—she didn’t give a shit how her bath was scented—the maid poured a glob of the lavender into the tub, beneath the flow from the faucet.

  Bubbles bloomed across the surface of the water, and Maari slid down until her face was submerged. She considered taking a breath. Letting water invade her lungs and solve all her problems. But then her chest began to burn, and the reality of death lost its appeal. She didn’t want to die.

  She wanted to kill Jude Camden.

  Maari popped out of the water, sputtering, and Annah didn’t look surprised. She’d evidently known the princess wouldn’t go through with it.

  “What are they like?” Maari asked as Annah washed her hair.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen them since that first night. They let me sleep here, though. I kept it clean, for you.”

  Annah slept here, Maari realized. In that huge, soft bed. She’d bathed in this tub. She’d probably eaten at the table by the window. While Maari had starved in a cell that stank of her own waste.

  “Princess…if I may give some advice…”

  “Speak.” Maari shoved suds back from her face.

  “It’ll be easier for you if you just do what they want.” She stood to retrieve a pitcher from the counter, and Maari tilted her head back so her hair could be rinsed. “Up to a point.”

  “Up to what point?”

  “You have to give them your body. If you don’t, they’re just going to take it. But you don’t have to give them anything else. You don’t have to give them affection. Acceptance. Or…children.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Annah hadn’t seen what Jude just did to her. She hadn’t seen Maari’s body’s betrayal. If she couldn’t stop her body from welcoming his hand, how was she supposed to stop it from making use of his seed? “I’m supposed to be getting married.”

  “I know.” Annah massaged a fragrant softener into her hair and piled it onto her head to rest. Then she pulled the princess’s arm out and began to wash it with scented soap lathered on a puffy sponge.

  “I’m supposed to have my own palace. A husband who adores me. I’m supposed to give myself to him. Have his babies.” Elan had publicly courted her for two years. He’d sworn to spoil her. To lavish her with jewels and silks. To display her on his arm at all the finest events, on the global stage. To present her with a new retreat home for every son she bore him. Anywhere in the world that she wanted.

  They would have seen Syrus together. They would have ruled Stead Edgar, once his father passed. Her life was supposed to be perfect.

  “I know,” Annah repeated, though she couldn’t possibly know what Maari was thinking. “But all of that is over now. I know this will be hard for you. But I also know that you’re stronger than they think you are. Than even you think you are.”

  Maari sobbed through the rest of her bath, and when she got out, there was a plate of bread, cheese, and grapes sitting on the little table by the window. Any thought she might have entertained about going on a hunger strike had been starved out of her during her three days in that cell, so while Annah combed out her hair, she sat on a chair upholstered with little purple flowers and she ate.

  The bread was freshly baked and still warm. The cheese was something sharp, probably produced locally in Loborough. And the grapes were fat, red, and juicy.

  When the food was gone, she licked her finger and used it to pick up every last crumb from the plate, well aware that her mother would be horrified by her table manners.

  But her mother—both of her parents, in fact—were long dead.

  By the time Jude returned, Maari was clean and fragrant. Her hair had been dried and brushed into soft, dark waves. The bite at the base of her throat and the one at the top of her breast were still swollen and irritated, but they had been cleaned. Her face was red from crying, but no one mentioned that.

  She was still completely nude. There wasn’t a scrap of clothing to be found in her entire suite.

  Jude’s brothers followed him into the room, and at Malac’s gesture, Annah went into the hall and closed the door behind her.

  “Now, isn’t that better?” Malac cooed as he walked around Maari, taking in the view. He smelled so good, but she had no previous association for his scent. No category to put
it in, other than “male.” Very, very male. He didn’t smell like food, yet his scent did seem to be awakening an appetite she’d never felt before. It was compelling, this Malac-scent, like the first whiff of coffee in the morning. Like something she needed to taste.

  His hand slid down her arm, and at his touch, the bite mark at the base of her throat began to throb with her heartbeat. Each successive pulse of sensation traveled farther south than the one before, and she gasped as that odd throbbing made its home in the space between her legs. As more moisture gathered there.

  “She’s wet for us, brothers,” Malac declared with a throaty growl of satisfaction, his nostrils flaring as he scented the air.

  And he was right, but that wasn’t her fault. This was a diabolical deceit perpetuated upon her body. A sexual slight of hand intended to make her think she wanted him.

  The Camden brothers were infamous philanderers, known all across the planet for the way women flocked toward them, in their travels. The way skirts seemed to lift for them everywhere they went, even in cities they’d captured. But no one had ever mentioned to Maari that their charisma wasn’t the simple lure of a handsome face and a pleasant voice.

  “You flatter yourself,” she spit at him.

  “There’s no reason for you to make this hard for yourself,” Malac purred into her ear as his hand trailed over her hip. “Be our good girl. Spread your legs for us, and you’ll have everything you could ever want. Food and drink. Sweets. Games and diversions. More pleasure than you can imagine.”

  “Clothing.” She forced some volume into the word. “I want something to wear.”

  “In time.” Jude watched while his brother petted her like a kitten, running his hands all over her. “If you’re good.”

  And oddly, she wanted to be good. She wanted nothing more than to press into Malac’s touch. Than to let her body beg for more from him.

  “Food, then,” she demanded, encouraged by the fact that Jude hadn’t outright refused her request. “I’m still hungry.”