"And you'll have it." His smile widened. "But first, I thought we might address some concerns my court has raised. They worry, you see, that my new pet isn't quite as tame as I've claimed. That perhaps her earlier displays of affection were... performative."
Ice flooded her veins. "I don't understand."
"Don't you?" He reached out, fingers catching her wrist, and pulled her toward him. "You told me you were tired of fighting. That you'd chosen the winning side. I believed you." His grip tightened. "But belief and proof are different things, aren't they?"
"What do you want me to do?"
The question came out barely above a whisper. Malus's smile turned sharp, cruel, satisfied.
"Prove it." He tugged her forward, off-balance, and she tumbled into his lap. His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her there. "Show my court that you belong to me. Willingly."
The hall had gone utterly silent. She could feel hundreds of eyes on her, could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. Malus's hand splayed across her stomach, possessive and warm through the thin silk.
"I don't—" she started.
"You said you were done fighting." His lips brushed her ear, his voice dropping to something intimate and terrifying. "You said you wanted this. Were you lying to me, Briar?"
The threat hung unspoken. Eliam in the dungeons. What Malus could do to him with a single command.
"No," she whispered. "I wasn't lying."
"Then prove it."
His hand slid lower, fingers trailing across her hip, her thigh. She forced herself not to flinch, not to pull away. The dress's thin fabric hid nothing—she could feel the heat of his palm through the silk.
"Spread your legs."
The command was quiet but absolute. When she hesitated, his other hand gripped her chin, forcing her to look at the assembled court. All those faces, watching, waiting.
"They need to see," he murmured against her neck. "They need to know you're mine. Unless you'd rather I visit the dungeons tonight instead?"
Briar's eyes burned, but she didn't cry. She couldn't cry. Instead, she let her thighs part, just slightly.
"Wider."
She obeyed.
Malus made a sound of approval. His hands found her knees, lifting them, draping her legs over the arms of his chair so she was spread open and displayed. The position pulled her dress up her thighs, exposing far too much. Cool air hit her skin and she had to bite back a sound of humiliation.
"There," he said, satisfaction dripping from every syllable. "Isn't that better?"
His hand returned to her thigh, tracing lazy patterns on her inner skin. Each touch made her want to scream, to fight, to run. Instead, she stayed perfectly still, her body rigid in his lap.
"You're tense." His fingers walked higher, brushing the edge of her smallclothes. "That won't do. You're supposed to be enjoying this."
She couldn't speak. Could barely breathe.
"Look at them," he commanded. "Look at my court while I touch you."
She raised her eyes. The fae watched with expressions ranging from hungry interest to barely concealed disgust. Some leaned forward in their seats. Others whispered behind raised hands. All of them saw her like this, spread and helpless and pretending she wanted it.
Malus's free hand slid up her stomach, over her ribs, until he cupped her breast through the thin silk. He squeezed, testing the weight of her, his thumb finding her nipple and circling until it hardened despite her will.
"The dress was a good choice," he mused, pinching lightly. "So thin. They can see everything."
He was right. She could feel her nipples pressing against the fabric, could see fae eyes dropping to watch his hand knead and shape her. He tugged at the strap on one shoulder, pulling it down until her breast spilled free, bare and exposed to the entire court.
"Lovely," he said, rolling the nipple between his fingers. "Don't you think she's lovely?"
