“Milady,” a voice calls as the door opens just a crack.
I freeze, before slowly turning in a circle to face the doorway. Jasmine’s head peeks around the door’s edge and her eyes find mine.
“I don’t mean to disrupt, but you cannot dress yourself, milady. We have to help with your ribbons.”
Ribbons.
I can only think of one type of clothing that needs ribbons and that’s a corset. Blinking, I nod my head woodenly as the three women quickly hurry into the room. They go about their business, ignoring my existence. Until one of them brings a thin white fabric toward me.
“Your undergarment, milady,” she offers, her voice quiet and soft.
Taking the fabric in my hand, I pull it on over my head, allowing it to fall to the floor. Only when it’s covering me do I release the linen towel wrapped around my chest. I step away from the towel and bend down to pick it up, but Jasmine swoops down and snatches it before I get the chance.
The neck of the undergarment is cut extremely deep, I reach for the ties to close it, but Jasmine appears and bats my hands away. “Arms up, milady,” she gently orders.
Lifting my arms up straight, I hold my breath when the dark gold and black dress is lifted over my head by the other two ladies and slowly lowered. Slipping my arms into the long sleeves, I bite the corner of my lip as it drags over my body to touch the floor.
The inside is so soft, as if there is some kind of fur lining. I wish that I could look in a mirror, I’ve never worn a gown before and this seems like something that I need to see.
It still feels like a weird dream, but as something is strapped around my waist from the inside of the dress, my breath hitches and I know that it is still not a dream.
“What’s that?” I ask on a wheeze as it’s pulled tightly.
“It’s your inner stays, milady, your ribbons,” Jasmine announces, pulling it tighter. “It’s a bit small for your… erm… endowments,” she cautiously explains.
In other words, I’m a fat ass with big boobs. I also have a big booty, but I guess it doesn’t matter in this full-length skirt. Once they’ve pulled and groaned, I’ve gasped and moaned, they finally stop and I feel them tugging on the outer part of the dress.
I’m panting, short of breath as this dress is so tight that I’ll be lucky if I don’t pass out in the next five minutes. Sliding my palms down the skirt of the dress, I moan at the texture, velvet. It’s so soft and supple. The arms are tight to my elbow and they thankfully bell out to deep points at the bottom, edged in gorgeous black lace.
“Your shoes, milady,” one of the girls offers, crouching down in front of me.
Grasping my dress, I tug it up and hold out one foot, she slides on a slipper that is at least half a size too small, then helps me put on the other.
“Please, have a seat so that we can pin your hair,” Jasmine says, pressing her palm to my back.
Nodding, I walk over to a small vanity and sink down on the bench there. The good news is that I can sit in this too-tight dress, the bad news is that I may pass out at any second. One of the quiet girls takes a step up behind me and I look at myself in the very small, rustic mirror.
The dress is a straight slash across my chest, but my breasts are barely contained. They are practically exposed for the world to see. So much so that I have to glance down to ensure that there is no areola showing.
Once I’m satisfied that nobody can see every single inch of my breasts, I lift my head back and look in the mirror again. Raising my eyes to the girl behind me, I smile in the reflection. She has white-blonde hair and green eyes, she’s simply beautiful.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Katrina, milady,” she whispers.
“And the brunette?”
“Ellyn, madam,” Ellyn answers.
“I’m Sybilla,” I offer.
They all dip their chins but don’t say anything else. Katrina fiddles with my hair and when she’s finished, my lips part in awe. From what I can see, it’s fantastic.
There are twists and braids all over that come up to a high ponytail. The pins that hold it all in place are gold with little black accents on the ends.
I open my mouth to thank them, but there is a loud pounding on the door. Jasmine hurries over, and I hear her whisper, then she opens the door to one of the hot guys and the woman with the white hair.
Chapter Three
SYBILLA
The woman, a witch is what they called her, eyes me warily. She takes a step forward. Hot Guy at her back doesn’t move, but he’s watching every single moment and it’s clear that he’s on the alert.
The maids, I assume that’s what they are, disappear. I’m now alone with Hot Guy and the witchy lady. She continues closing in on me. I don’t move, my legs somehow stuck to the stone floor beneath me.
“I’ve cast a simple spell to keep you in your place while I do what’s been asked of me.”
Gulping, my eyes lift from the woman to Hot Guy, but he’s glowering at me so I decide that the witchy woman is a better view in this moment. She circles me, murmuring unintelligible words beneath her breath.
Stopping in front of me, I watch as she lifts her hands and then gold sparks fly from her fingertips and swirl around me. Something washes over me, my back arches pushing my chest out, and my head snaps back, causing me to cry out in pain.
Then, as quickly as it started, it disappears and my knees give out, my entire body falling to the hard stone floor. Nobody comes to my aid, and I’m okay with that as I attempt to catch my breath.
“The enchantment is in place. If she has any magic at all, I have suppressed it,” she states coolly.
Hot Guy nods his head once, then takes a step to the side. “Back to your cell, witch,” he growls.
She stares at me for a moment, unmoving, her eyes focused on me. Something flashes in her eyes but she shakes it off and turns around, walking right out the door. I stay frozen to my spot, feeling too weak to move when the door opens again.
Thankfully, it’s Jasmine who enters. She hurries over to me and helps me stand to my feet. “Oh milady, are you injured?”
Shaking off my strange feeling of exhaustion, I look to the woman. “No, I’m all right.” I nod.
“His Majesty would like to speak to you in his chancery, please, follow me. We must hurry without delay.”
I don’t know what the hell a chancery is and this whole thing is freaking me the hell out. I bite the inside of my cheek, praying that it isn’t a sex room. I can’t handle medieval sex. I don’t even know what these people would want and all I can imagine is a bunch of rudimentary torture devices.
Her hand is in mine as she quickly leads me out of the room. I stumble as soon as the two other hot guys close in behind us. I can hear their heavy boot falls with each step that they take, but they don’t say a word or make a move to restrain me, so I guess there’s that.
Jasmine stops in front of a closed door and knocks before stepping to the side. There is a long silence and I clasp my hands together in front of me, wringing them with a flicker of apprehension that fills my entire body.
“Enter,” a deep voice rumbles.
I don’t move. I can’t. I know that it isn’t because of some weird witch lady this time, no, this is because I’m terrified of what will happen to me beyond those doors.
One of the hot guys leans forward and pushes the door open with a grunt, while the other one places his hand on the middle of my back and pushes me into the room. Before I can spin around, I hear the door slam closed behind me, the noise echoing all around me.
“Sybilla,” a voice rasps.
Turning to face the direction of where I heard the voice, I lift my eyes to find him sitting behind a desk. My face heats because I realize that we’re in an office, not a sex chamber. He stands slowly, moving around his desk almost elegantly.
I take a long look at his clothes, something that I didn’t do the first time that I saw him. He’s wearing what looks to be t
hick black tights, man tights. He has a burnished gold sleeveless tunic on, the hem brushing just above his knee and has a cut on each side, all the way up to his mid-thigh, I assume so that he can walk easier.
He’s wearing a long-sleeve tight shirt of some kind beneath the tunic, again in black. We look super matchy and I’m completely confused by this. His vibrant steel-blue eyes scan my entire body, lingering at the exposed cleavage for longer than should be acceptable before he takes a step toward me.
“You look lovely in my colors,” he murmurs.
Taking a step back, avoiding his advance, I shake my head. “I don’t even know what that means,” I breathe. “Take me home, please. I’m scared.”
He doesn’t stop his advance. Instead, he continues until I slam against what I can only guess is a bookshelf. He lifts his hand, immediately wrapping it around the front of my throat. My eyes widen and my breath hitches.
“You cannot leave without my permission. Your powers have been blocked until I give an order to unblock them,” he rumbles. “Including any powers of seduction that you hold.”
“Seduction?” I ask.
He tilts his head to the side, his fingers flexing against my neck, his eyes focused on mine. “If you’ve come here thinking to use powers of seduction on me. You’ve been blocked. Whatever secrets you’re trying to discover about my position, my people, or my crown, you will be sadly disappointed.”
Shaking my head, I narrow my gaze at him. “Look here, asshole,” I snap. “I don’t know why you kidnapped me. I don’t want to play your freaky game. All I want to do is go back to my apartment in Portland.”
He jerks back slightly, confusion clear in his eyes as he studies me. “I do not understand all that you have said, and yet, you speak Bunafian.”
Lifting my hands between us, I place my palms against his chest. “Please, take me home,” I whisper. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do, just take me home.”
ELIAS
Sybilla’s eyes well with unshed tears as I watch her. It hits me in a part of my chest that I don’t recognize. There’s a squeezing sensation and I attempt to blink the feeling away, but it’s there, and as her lips tremble, it grows more uncomfortable for me, almost painful.
Releasing her, I take a step back, never breaking contact with her light-gold eyes. The dress makes them more pronounced, as it does with the gold in her hair as well. She wears my colors from head to toe, and I can’t deny that they look fantastic on her.
“This place you have mentioned, Portland, is it?” I ask.
She nods, breathing shallow quick breaths, no doubt partially because her gown is at least a few sizes too tight around her bodice. Her endowments are struggling to stay contained in the fabric of the dress and I can’t deny that it’s a sight I will not forget easily, if ever.
“Yes, why are you acting like you don’t know where it is. This game is getting really creepy. Use me for whatever you’re going to use me for, then please, please, send me home,” she begs.
Ignoring her, I turn around and walk over to the map shelf. Tugging out my world maps, I take them over to my desk and search the index for the city that she’s insistent she wishes me to deposit her back to.
“I see no city or village with that name,” I say, lifting my gaze to her.
She’s still plastered against the bookcase, but like a scared little foal, she slowly teeters toward me. “You are free to look, then show me. But, milady, I have traveled far and wide and I have never heard of such a place.”
She slides beside me and I can’t suppress my grunt at her scent as it wafts through my nostrils. Eucalyptus and vanilla, it’s incredibly enticing. She points a finger along the index, then turns her head and lifts her wide eyes up to me.
“What the hell is this? Where is the real map?”
My lips press together, and I shake my head once. “This is the world’s map as it currently exists, milady. I’m not quite sure what you think that it should read, but this is no jest, this is the map of the world,” I explain.
She takes a step back, then turns toward the window and I watch as she runs toward the draperies. Normally they would be open, but it’s rather chilly today, so I’ve kept them closed to ward off the cold.
Sybilla wraps her fingers in the velvet material and wrenches them open. I hear her gasp, then she turns around, her eyes wide with what I can only describe as terror.
“Sybilla?” I ask.
She lifts her hand to her parted lips and gasps again right before her eyes roll in the back of her head and her knees buckle. In two wide strides, I make it to her before her body crashes to the floor and I lift her in the air, sliding one arm beneath her back, the other beneath her knees.
Carrying her out of my chancery, I pass Rowan and Henry, who I can feel watching me. Ignoring them, I make my way to my chambers. Slamming my door, I take Sybilla to the bed and gently lower her onto the mattress and pillow before I walk back to the door and lock it.
Then, with little delay, I roll her to the side and unhook the back of her dress until I find her ribbons. Unlacing her, I tug on the thick ribbon to give her room to breathe, but leaving her gown on, just unlaced in the back.
Walking over to the fireplace, unable to stay still, I start a fire to warm her bones. Pacing, I wait for her to awaken. It seems as though hours have gone by, and I am debating on finding a healer, when she finally begins to stir.
Striding toward her, I sit down on the side of the bed, next to her hip. Reaching out, I cup her cheek with my palm.
“You are well, Sybilla?” I ask, trying to keep my voice low.
Her golden eyes look up at me, her gaze is soft as she licks her lips. Her voice is soft, almost timid sounding.
“Where am I?” she whimpers.
My heart, it does that clenching painful sensation again as I search her watery eyes. “You’re in the country of Bunafi, sweeting.”
“What the fuck is Bunafi? Why does the snow outside glitter? What were those giant bird things? Why are the leaves of the trees blue? Did you dye them?” she hisses.
Frowning, I slide my thumb across her plump lip. “What has happened to you, Sybilla? Where are you truly from? What are you?”
She pushes up on her elbows, her face only inches from my own. “My name is Sybilla Collins and I’m from Portland, Oregon in the United States of America. I don’t know what you are, where I am, or what the hell is happening here.” She gulps, her watery eyes meeting mine before she whispers, “I’m terrified.”
My heart shatters at her words. She means them. She believes she is from this mythical land that she speaks of, and I have no doubt deep in my bones that she is indeed terrified.
“Never mind, sweeting. There is no reason for you to fret. You are safe here within these castle walls. Aleida has blocked your magic, but she’s also given an enchantment to keep you safe from outside harm. Naught shall hurt you here, I swear that on my sword, on my life, on my crown,” I vow.
Her hand wraps around my wrist and I feel a jolt fill my body, an energy that I have never felt before in my life. “I don’t know half of what you just said to me. Nobody has swords unless they’re just for display on their walls.
“I’ve never met a witch and I don’t believe in witchcraft, but I can see in your eyes that you promise me no harm and you mean it. I’m probably a huge idiot for believing you right now, but I have no other choice. I must trust you, Elias.”
My name on her tongue sends a surge throughout my body, straight to my shaft. Leaning forward, I’m unable to restrain myself as my lips brush against hers in a chaste kiss.
She doesn’t push me away or scream and yell, and I feel like the victor of a battle when I lift my head and she’s staring up at me, her plump lips parted and her eyes wide.
“Trust me, sweeting. No harm will come to you under my protection.”
Chapter Four
SYBILLA
Elias is so close to me, so damn close that I stupidly wish he would kiss me,
again. How crazy is that? This is some serious Stockholm syndrome shit happening. He jerks his chin, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“How did you know my name?” he demands.
Gulping, I blink. “I heard your guys say it,” I admit.
He sits up and back, the spell broken as he looks at me under a scrutiny that I’ve never witnessed before. Then he stands and I watch him walk over to the window.
I wonder if he’s looking at the dozens of gigantic ostrich type birds that I saw running around. I’ve never seen anything like them before in my life.
They aren’t tropical birds either, I don’t know what they are, but I’ve never seen anything like them. They look similar to an emu or ostrich, but they aren’t. Their faces kind of look like a duck, but with a sharper beak.
Shivering, I decide they’re just as terrifying as the fact that the snow actually glittered. I watch as he puts his hands behind his back, clasping his palms together as he looks out at the terrain.
I try not to think about the trees in the background, either. There was a forest of trees beyond the rolling hills of glittery snow and the leaves of those trees, they were blue. Yes, blue. I freaked the fuck out, and rightfully so.
“I know not what to do with you,” he rasps.
Staying in my spot on the bed, I don’t move. He’s talking to himself, not wishing for an answer, at least not from me. Slowly, he turns his head and those bright-blue eyes focus on my own. My breath hitches. His scar appears almost a bright red, instead of the deep burgundy color that it was earlier.
“I know you aren’t a siren, if you were, your powers have been stripped. And yet…”
“And yet?” I ask when he doesn’t speak right away.
He dips his chin, his eyes never leaving my own. “And yet, I’ve never wanted to strip a woman and bury my cock inside of her more than I do you, right now. It’s quite unexplainable.”
I stare, completely frozen in breath and body from his blunt words. Pressing my thighs together beneath the flowy gown, I wait to see what will happen next.
Bride of the Traitor: A Prophecy of Sisters Novel Page 3
