Not a single person is blaming aliens, and I, for one, am very disappointed.
The room slowly empties, but a handful of men hang back. They’re the same ones that looked happy when they saw my seating arrangement. Leon rises to join them, leaving me kneeling on the bench.
I watch as they grin and give Leon knowing expressions. One claps him on the back, and another nudges Leon with his shoulder. Funnily enough, their appearances are shockingly similar.
They all look like they’ve never found the clitoris.
My observations are cut short when a shadow falls over me. I look up through my lashes, recognizing the silver dress.
“What an interesting era you’re ushering in, Vivian,” Ragna notes. There’s a rhythmic cadence to her words, the accent more pronounced than when we spoke earlier. Her voice is barely audible when she adds, “I do wonder, though, why you obey someone who is weaker than you.”
Chapter 10
Vivian’s Point of View
Rule ten:Play dead.
Immortality low-key sucks.
Earlier, when Leon announced we were attending a dinner party, I thought tonight would be a reprieve from his chauvinistic monologuing. My relief lasted right up until I saw the guests. They’re the same men he spoke with after court yesterday.
As usual, I’ve been ordered not to speak. And because clearly, his pride needed the extra validation, he’s also ordered me to keep my head bowed.
It’s totally fine. In fact, I’m making very effective use of my downtime.
For the fifth time tonight, I hold my breath for as long as possible, trying to make myself pass out.
Anything to avoid listening to the support group for insecure masculinity.
After repeated efforts, I concede that blacking out may be a mortal affliction.
Tragic.
Leon’s fingers tighten over the back of my neck. He likes resting his hand there. I’m not sure if he’s doing it to reassure himself that I won’t escape him, or if it’s just another way he can show the world that he’s dominating me.
Right now, I’m leaning toward option B. I think in his twisted mind, if he makes me as small as possible, people will give him the creepy devoted looks instead.
It isn’t working.
I’d count my blessings and focus on the fact that at least he hasn’t tried to touch me, but I have a feeling his patience is already running out. My skin has been crawling all day, and every time I turn around, I find him looking at me with a leering, hungry look.
I have a feeling I’m on averyshort clock.
The meal is long over, and the men are lounging back, drinking what I assume is hard liquor. I can’t tell for sure, though, since I’m only allowed to drink water.
Two of the men start talking about trading their teenage daughters so that they can swap their wives for a younger, more pliable model.
Bile rises in my throat, and I tune them out. Otherwise, I’m going to attack someone, and that won’t work for my new and improved(?) plan.
Sure, the plan is more of a Hail Mary, but if I succeed, I think it could solve everything.
Rosie said that Irena, the Destroyer she’s bound to, is locked deep within the Council’s castle. Leon and Sin going head-to-head sounds like a recipe for apocalypticdestruction. But if I can find a way to free Irena, her added power might be enough of a threat to convince Need to step down, permanently.
No war. No casualties. It’s perfect.
Except, of course, for a few tiny details. Most notably, my odds of finding Irena are completely nonexistent with Leon breathing down my neck. He’s been parading me around like a pretty little trinket and doesn’t leave my side during the day.
It’s like having my very own diseased tick.
