Before I could ask what he meant, a heavily pregnant, statuesque woman emerged from the front doors in a swirl of silk and gold. “Asher!” she cried, and kissed the captain’s cheeks. One after the other, a swirl of midnight locks spilling down her back. “So good to see you darling. And with such a rare creature in tow!”
A heavy shadow emerged over her shoulder.
General Tilcot.
The naked elite who’d stayed to watch me in the baths. Whose eyes had seen everything beneath these flimsy scraps pretending to be clothing.
“Let the poor man get a foot in the door before you throw yourself at him, Tyra,” the general said. And then, daring to reach out with a curled knuckle, he caught me under the chin and tipped my head into the light. “My God. Asher, tell me this isn’t our filthy little wildcat?”
“Myfilthy wildcat, sir,” the captain returned with an easy smile and a possessive hand on my shoulder. His finger twisting in the hair at my nape, he pulled me back a few inches. Enough that I stumbled into his chest. “This is Mila, my Tritan priestess. Say hello, pet,” he said, and squeezed the meat above my clavicle.
Instead of obeying, I let my head drop, offering only a tiny, stiff bend at the knee. Avoiding eye contact and affecting an air of subservience in one, defiant action.
“Mila,” the general hummed, taking liberties with my silks. Adjusting what did not need fixing, his fingers left a trail of sticky cold disgust in the wake of his touch. “Well, I must say, you look lovely in Caledonian colors, girl. A true prize claimed in the name of the empire.” He stooped, leaning in close enough that his breath warmed my cheeks, though his gaze remained fixed over my shoulder. On the captain, a dangerous glint sparkling in those murky depths, his eyes laced with more brown than what was present in the captain’s ebon glare. “A prize I’m not sure the young master Rawlings can possibly keep… given all the challenges sure to come his way now that you’re bound. And without permission, I might add.”
I swallowed,hard. Sweat blooming on my brow, the back of my neck—where the captain’s touch had grown tight with a nip of biting pain.
But he laughed and said, “I’m sure I’ll find a way to manage, sir.”
Without another word, the general hummed, slipped his hand around Tyra’s waist, and turned to escort us down a long, richly appointed hallway.
Under my breath, I tipped my head in the captain’s direction, and asked, “How was that, Asher? Have you any performance notes?”
At the sound of his name on my lips, he went stiff. Skewering me with a glare that promised retribution, he pressed his lips to my ear. “I wonder if you’ll enjoy these little rebellions half as much as I’m going to enjoy breaking you of the habit? Do let me know, won’t you?” he cooed, then sent me stumbling down the hall. A mess of fear and fury tangled behind my ribs, veins thick with the urge to sink my teeth into the back of Captain Asher Rawlings’ thick neck.
The general guided us down a long hall that opened into a massive dining room. In the center, a heavily laden table dressed in black and gold drapery stretched the length of the room.
One step inside, and I faltered. Shocked still by the sudden onslaught radiating off the forty or so people already seated.
Power.
It struck me with the force of a falling tree. Buried me beneath an avalanche of wet spring snow, trapping me where the air was frozen solid. Where panicked flight was the only reasonable response to such a confrontation.
The Caledonian elites. Gathered together, sipping from crystal goblets, chatting and laughing amongst themselves.
A virtual army of unstoppable killers at rest.
Propelling me forward, a familiar, hated hand settled on the naked skin of my lower back. “Where’s your bravado now?” the captain whispered, and sent a shiver racing through my blood as his lips rasped against my ear. The heat of his chest cloaking the naked skin of my back.
I took another step—and found horror waiting around a towering pillar of white stone.
Bound and gagged, there was a woman spread over a cross. Her limbs a lewdXthat left her exposed to a sea of powerful men who thought nothing of such a heinous display. Men who sipped wine and nibbled cheese, sending only the occasional appreciative glance toward an expanse of pale flesh laced with angry red stripes.
As if drawn to my presence, she turned her head and my heart leapt into the back of my throat.
The Head Priestess.
Brought low and strung up.
Appearing at my side, the general chuckled. “You’ve a fine eye for tonight’s entertainment, I see. My Sasha is being punished for withholding your identity,” the general explained, stepping forward to stroke one long finger down Sasha’s back. Tracing the marks, he grinned when she whimpered and squirmed. “You lied to me, Sasha,” he murmured. “A few more lashes should cure you of that nasty habit, I think.”
She turned liquid blue eyes back, begging for mercy from a man who’d never give it.
I could feel it. The distant echo of fear pouring off her in suffocating waves. The hopeless, desperate plea for help that might never come.
And before a single rational thought could flick through my head, I staggered forward, and cried, “I’ll take her punishment!”
Silence fell over the elites, and as one, they turned dark eyes upon me.
