The space is an apartment rather than a simple room. It contains a sitting room with elegant furniture and a fireplace, a separate bedroom visible through an open doorway, a bathroom with a claw-foot tub, and a huge walk-in closet that I filled with clothes for my future bride before I knew I would buy Tressa today.
“This is all yours,” I say. “Your chambers are right next to mine, in case I need you. And I will need you. All the time, day and night.”
Tressa frowns but steps inside. Her eyes take in the rich curtains, the plush carpets, and the fine furniture that is far too luxurious for a servant’s quarters. She looks confused and uncertain about what this means. I walk to the bedroom door and open it wider for her.
She steps inside and gasps.
On the bed lies an old, faded servant uniform. I placed it there myself. I grin at her reaction and retrieve the uniform for her, picking it up. The fabric has become worn over the years. This isthe old style, from when I was a child. These days, the servants wear different, more modern uniforms, and I had to dig through storage to find this particular one. It wasn’t difficult, because I knew exactly where to look.
I hold the uniform out to Tressa.
“This is what you’ll wear,” I tell her. “Take care of it, because it’s the only one you have.”
Tressa reaches for it with trembling hands. Her fingers shake as they close around the fabric. I notice her chin trembling as she fights back tears, refusing to let herself break in front of me. She brings the uniform to her nose and inhales deeply. A flash of disappointment crosses her face.
She looks up at me. Her eyes are filled with pure hatred that sends a pleasant ache through my chest. Watching her detest me is delightful, almost euphoric in the way it confirms everything I believe about myself.
“This is my mother’s uniform,” she says, her voice tight with suppressed emotion. “I recognize it.”
“Now it’s yours,” I confirm. “I thought it only made sense that you would carry her tradition and serve me and my family. Well, mostly me, since my parents have retreated to the north wing. Which, by the way, is not necessarily off limits, but there are other servants who’re assigned to that part of the palace, and I will need you here more.”
I deliver this speech in a casual, matter-of-fact tone, as if I’m discussing something perfectly reasonable rather than forcing her into a role designed to humiliate and isolate her. Tressa stares at me as if my words make no sense, as if I’m speaking a foreign language she can’t comprehend. Then she hugs the uniform to her chest and holds it tight against her body.
“You’re a monster,” she says. Her voice drips with delicious poison that I want to drink until I drown in it. “You’re the worstI’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen the dregs of humanity, believe me. You’re a stain on Alia Terra.”
I let her words wash over me and feel them seep into my bones, settling deep where they belong. A knot forms in my throat, but I swallow past it and force it down. When I speak, my voice is perfectly composed, showing nothing of the way her condemnation fills me with dark satisfaction.
“Is that what you believe?” I ask. “I must say, your honesty is refreshing. Do tell me more.”
Tressa chokes on her words, as if she’s ready to cry. Her voice cracks when she speaks, and I hear the pain underneath her anger.
“You’re a murderer,” she says. “Why did you bring me here? To torture me? Because let me tell you something: I will torture you right back, Altair.”
I step closer to her, closing the distance between us until I can smell the faint scent of her skin. I reach out and touch her cheek with my fingers, brushing her skin in a reverent gesture. She doesn’t pull back or flinch away, and I’m impressed by her courage. She holds her ground and glares at me with those green eyes that remind me so much of Brandon.
She is so beautiful standing here in her blue velvet dress, with her round breasts on display, her tiny waist, and her generous hips that make me want to grab onto them and never let go.
My finger traces along her cheekbone and stops mere inches from the corner of her lips. She is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s filled with fire and hatred; her mouth is ready to insult me at every opportunity. This woman is going to bring me to my knees.
“Torture,” I say slowly, tasting the word. “It sounds like a promise, Tressa. I’m going to hold you to it.” I pause and let my voice shift into something colder and more formal. “But it’s LordAurellion to you, at least in front of the other servants. Do I make myself understood?”
Before I can pull my hand back – though I don’t particularly want to – Tressa turns her head and bites down on my finger. Her teeth sink in hard enough to draw blood. I wince at the pain that quickly turns to pleasure. When she releases me, I see a drop of blood on her lips, red and bright against her skin. She licks it, and I think I will melt right on the spot.
I want to fall at her feet and beg her to punish me, make me bleed, hurt me in any way she wants. I barely hold myself back. Instead, I put my finger into my mouth and suck the blood before the wound closes on its own. Wyverns heal quickly from small injuries. I can already feel my skin knitting back together.
Tressa smirks at me with triumph and viciousness written across her beautiful face. I smirk back at her. I have found my match – the person who will destroy me – and I welcome it with open arms.
I pull out a cuff bracelet made of pure gold with an intricate design etched into the metal, and I grab Tressa’s wrist firmly. She tries to pull away, but I hold her steady and secure the cuff around her wrist, snapping it closed with a click.
“The cuff will burn hot when I summon you,” I explain. “Come quickly, or it will scorch your skin.”
Tressa yanks her wrist free from my grip and stares down at the gold cuff glinting on her arm.
“You want me in my mother’s old uniform, ready to come running when you call, but you put me in this ridiculous room,” she says. “I should be with the servants.”
“No, Tressa. You should be close to me at all times, so I can keep an eye on you. You ran from the palace once; you won’t run again.”
She sneers at me, her face twisting with contempt that makes my chest ache in the best possible way.
