“No. But she is sufficiently docile for you to bring that pretty little collar you showed me,” she says.
I spent my life wearing harnesses… but acollar. Even through my chilled shivers, a new sickness pierces my empty stomach. I wonder if Rholker knows about how eager they were to help me escape.
Remember when you called Svanna a monster? You deserve to feel pain for every cruel second you inflicted on those you yearn for.
The voice in my head pops back up to poke at my wounds.
I take a shuddering breath.
Rholker, however, visibly relaxes. “That is good enough for now, I suppose.”
“Since we have achieved this for you, we expect payment on our doorstep this eve,” one of the other women says.
Dahlia nods.
Rholker purses his lips. “In good time. Your job is not finished yet, and we agreed upon a lengthy visit to Zlosa—at least until the Winter Feast.”
My ears prick up, as a memory swirls. I was taken from the under mountain on the Winter Solstice. If Rholker is having his feast now, it’s likely to celebrate something like a victorious battle, or perhaps, an actual wedding.
“Your coronation will not be misssed,” Dahlia’s snake hisses at Rholker.
It takes effort to conceal my shock. Rholker is not the official king yet.
Everything makes sense all at once—Sure, hekilled his father and brother and replaced the coronet with a bejeweled pinnacle of a sovereign, but that never meant the others accepted him.
My eyes trail between the Six and Rholker, wondering what their relationship truly is. Are they elves?
They must be.
Or, maybe they are something else entirely.
King Erdaraj hated all humans, despite using them for his pleasure and service. He would’ve never worked with one of us, even ones with magic that we callBrujas.
Rholker has done something dangerous to forge this alliance. And, like the bumbling Second Prince who once pursued me relentlessly, he has done it poorly. From where I stand, it looks like he’s drowning.
For the first time, hope blossoms in my chest, despite the shredded memories and the aches that keep me shivering even in front of a fire.
The Six leave for good, but Rholker remains, looking at me with unveiled conviction.
I meet his stare with unflinching strength.
“Estela,” he says softly and reaches out to brush his hands against the bars of my cage. “I’m sorry I’ve treated you poorly. I promise to make it all right.”
Then he turns and I am left staring at the spot he occupied seconds before the door reopens. The prince playing king returns, this time with a much smaller, curvier human form.
I stiffen. This woman is familiar to me, from the silkiness of her dress that hugs every pleasantly round part of her frame to the plush furs draped across her bare shoulders. Her hair is raven black, a popular preference among human men, and it is clear she has eaten recently and often.
Her smile is saccharine sweet, something men love and never detect any irony in.
This is a comfort woman, but not one of the royal ones. She was given to a lowly lord or, perhaps, a human slave foreman.
And she’s carrying a bundle of fabric and a wash basin… and a collar hangs off her arm.
“Your Majesty,” she says with a slow, dipping bow.
Her painted red lips curve up at the sides into a demure smile. A woman very practiced in her craft.
Rholker nods and watches her as she approaches my cage. She withdraws an iron key and slips it into the lock. I feel each click of metal as she turns the mechanism and the bar slowly slides out.
