Respectfully, I already have a pseudo-magical muzzle going on, and now a stranger wants to control me too? A small burst of fire lights inside me, and I hold her stare, raising a challenging eyebrow.
Our impromptu staring contest carries on for a few more moments until Leon lets out a slight cough. The corner of Ragna’s lip lifts, like she might smile, before she turns her attention back to him. I don’t miss the way Leon turns to look at me, rather than meeting her eyes.
“I get the feeling that this one is braver than you’re giving her credit for. Do avoid lying to me in the future,” she notes, before winking at me and continuing down the hall.
Well, that was… good?
The other well-wishers might have been dismissive, but they never dared to challenge his answers. Ragna blatantly called him out on being a liar and stood up for me in the process. She is giving major girlboss energy.
Leon is rigid as he watches her stride away, and one of his eyes is starting to twitch. The moment Ragna rounds the corner, he drops my hand. “You will walk a few paces behind me,” he growls, before setting off again.
I roll my eyes. Someone got a taste of their ten seconds of fame and is starved for more.
Sad.
Leon leads us to a massive hall. The décor is pretty much identical to the dining hall where we had dinner last night. But as I take in the golden coats of arms that are carved into the walls, I can’t dismiss the weirdest sense of déjà vu. I’m sure I’ve seen this all before, even though I’m certain I’ve never been in this room.
The hall is crammed with people, but Leon confidently leads us down a path through the center of the crowd. He only stops once we reach a platform at the front of the hall. It stretches over the width of the room, and wide, gold-trimmed steps lead to the top.
I’m not surprised to find Need sitting upon a golden throne, looking bored in her mountain of white silks. But I’m completely shocked by what’s on top of her head. She’s wearing a crown. Only it’s not just any crown. I would recognize the three-petaled symbols that adorn the top anywhere. They’re fleur-de-lis.
Suddenly, I realize why some parts of the castle look so familiar. Honestly, I’m embarrassed it took methis long. I’m a disgrace to all history majors. Everything here is a weird replica of the Palace of Versailles. I’m ninety-nine percent sure Need’s crown is a copy of the one King Louis the thirteenth – or maybe the fourteenth – wore.
What in the actual fuck?
Leon clears his throat, snapping me out of my shock. The room has gone silent, and my cheeks heat when I realize they’re all watching me. Apparently, I’ve zoned out long enough to miss an important social cue, because Leon’s eye is twitching so hard, it looks like it’s trying to threaten me in Morse code. Need isn’t looking much happier, and murmurs are starting to fill the hall.
I frown, trying to figure out what I’ve missed, and the whispers grow even louder.
“Curtsy,” Leon mutters through his teeth.
My brow lifts. Apparently, we’re going all the way with the whole, ‘let’s steal from the monarchy thing,’ and I’ve been standing here blatantly disrespecting the leader of all the realms.
Clearly, my survival instincts have not improved.
Lifting my skirts and dipping, I’m suddenly grateful for all the squats I had to do in the Shadow Realm; otherwise, the weight of this dress alone would probably take me down.
Need gives the slightest nod, and Leon is silent as he leads us up the steps. He takes a seat on an unoccupied chair at the back corner of the platform.
I pause, since there’s nowhere else to sit, but Leon beckons me closer, a smug look on his face. My steps are rigid as I approach him.
I really hope he isn’t going to make me sit on his lap.
He relaxes back in the cushy-looking upholstered chair and tilts his chin, indicating to something behind him. Shifting, I peek behind him and spot what looks like a tiny ottoman. It’s the size of a shoebox. Maybe he wants me to grab it for him? There’s no way I’ll fit if I try to sit on it.
At my lack of action, he gives an exasperated sigh, leaning forward to whisper, “You will kneel on the bench behind me. Keep your head down, and your hands on your knees until I instruct you to do otherwise.”
The mental leash tugs, and I do as he says, once again kicking myself for thinking there was nothing else Leon could do to surprise me.
Alas, the patriarchy is the gift that keeps on giving – just like an STD.
The marble slab has no padding, and the skirts of my dress billow around me like a demented cloud as I kneel. There’s just enough room for my knees and my upper shins. It’s high enough that my feet don’t touch the ground, and the edges bite into my legs. I’m almost impressed by the efficiency – submissiveness and joint pain, all rolled into one.
The entire room waits as I get settled, and though the leash won’t let me lift my head, I can still peek through my lashes. It’s just enough that I catch many of the men in the crowd nodding in approval at Leon.
A few of them have women standing behind them, their eyes glued to the floor. Leon inclines his head slightly, acknowledging their admiration.
Gotta love a room full of men bonding over their shared love of using women as decoration and doormats. Yet another timeless classic.
