"That was entertainment," Lord Tamiel agreed. "This is just... sad."
Briar bit into the fruit with perhaps more force than necessary. It tasted of bitter herbs and honey, with an aftertaste that numbed her tongue slightly. At least it didn't fight back. Around her, the fae continued their meal, discussing her between bites with casual cruelty.
"The marks are fascinating," one observed. "Look how they pulse. Like they're feeding on something."
"Or being fed on," Lady Sarelle suggested. "His majesty's magic is notoriously hungry."
Through it all, Eliam's hand remained on her shoulder. Not comforting, she doubted he knew how, but present. A reminder of ownership that somehow felt like protection.
The fourth course was wine that sparkled with captured moonlight. One sip made her dizzy, two would have had her on the floor. She set the glass aside, earning more whispers about human weakness.
"Perhaps it's the stress," Lord Tamiel said, voice laced with feigned sympathy. "After all, it's had such a difficult time. The garden, the marks, and now dinner with its betters. Poor thing."
"Indeed," Lady Sarelle agreed. "One almost pities it. Almost."
"Pity suggests it deserves compassion," Lord Tamiel countered. "It's a thief. It stole from our king."
"Stole?" Briar said before she could stop herself.
Absolute silence fell. Every eye turned to her, and she realized her mistake too late. She'd spoken without being addressed. Broken the cardinal rule Thaine had warned her about.
"It speaks," Lady Sarelle said with venomous delight. "How novel. Tell us, do you deny your crime?"
Briar glanced up at Eliam, but his expression gave nothing away. His hand on her shoulder neither tightened in warning nor relaxed in permission.
"I asked a question," Lady Sarelle pressed impatiently. "Or has your master not taught you to answer when spoken to?"
"I didn't steal anything," Briar said quietly. "I was promised to him before I was born."
"Exactly." Lord Tamiel smiled. "Your life was his from your first breath. Yet you spent twenty-five years living it as if it were your own. That's theft in any realm."
"I didn't know—"
"Ignorance doesn't erase debt," Lady Sarelle interrupted, twirling her wine glass, the remaining contents swirling lazily within. "You used years that belonged to him. Loved with a heart that was his property. Made choices with a will that was never yours to wield."
"That's not fair!"
"Fair?" The bark-skinned fae laughed. "When has fairness ever mattered to a contract? Your mother made a bargain. You are the payment."
"She thought she was trading her own life," Briar protested. "Not mine."
"Her misunderstanding doesn't void the agreement," another fae said. "Our lord was quite specific in his claim."
"Enough." Eliam's voice cut through their conversation. "She's answered your question. Continue your meal."
"Of course, my lord," Lady Sarelle said with a bow that mocked submission. "We wouldn't want to overtax your pet's limited comprehension."
The rest of dinner passed in strained silence. Briar managed the fifth course, something that might have been dessert if dessert could scream, by copying Eliam's instruction’s exactly.
When the final plates vanished, the fae began to disperse. When only a few remained, Eliam finally removed his hand. The absence of weight made her feel oddly vulnerable.
"Come," he said, his voice calm in a way that made Briar feel uneasy.
She rose, legs trembling, and followed him from the hall. Behind them, Lady Sarelle's laughter rang out sharp and cold, following them down the hall.
They walked in silence through the twisting corridors. Briar's face still burned from the humiliation of being hand-fed like a child. Each fae's amused whisper echoed in her memory, their mocking observations about the human who couldn't manage a simple meal. Anger coiled beneath the shame—at them for their cruelty, at him for his public display of control, at herself for needing his intervention at all.
When they reached a section she recognized, she finally spoke.
