My ears are buzzing—from the dream-ridden night, the bloodbath Valen had caused to protect me again, and Della’s warning.
The dark picture it painted. The realization that I might have thought myself prepared for anything, but I might not be. Despite the past. Despite my distrust and acceptance of the situation here.
She all but told me not to be hopeful. But how can I keep going if not?
It seems to me that being a woman is a constant battle—for small freedoms, for behaviors and activities men take for granted. Occasionally, society will relax its net over us and allow some equality, but sooner or later, men will strip that away and shove us back into the box with the other dolls, the puppets, and lesser beings.
We create life. Therefore, they want to control us, afraid we may become too strong. They don’t understand that we simply want to be as free as they are, to run like the wild horses in the plains, love and be loved on equal terms.
The fae society has gone through phases when males treated women like their slaves. And human society hasn’t fared much better, despite the crucial role women played in defeating the fae king and wrestling back control of our world.
Living in this manor, far from the towns and high society, allowed to be lost in books and hiding in my room, I had thought the world outside was better. Fairer.
“My husband won’t be like that,”I tell myself.“He’ll understand me. Feel me.”
He will be like the men in epic stories, chivalrous and generous. He has to be. That dream can’t die. It’s all that keeps me going.
I stand at my bedroom window, gazing outside. The ongoing rain lends a dream-like feel to the day. Stroking the locket resting against my collarbone, I look down at the cobblestone yard. I should go and break my fast. I bet everyone is already gathered in the great hall, but I hesitate to step outside my room.
The carnage. The blood seeping into the floor. The stink of it. It wrenches the fear deep inside of me, that deep-rooted horror that shapes my dreams and dictates my everyday actions.
Della said it was all cleaned up.
It’s clean. Hear that? Gone. You can leave your room.
Gods, I hate how the past controls me, how my heart is racing for no reason, as if I need to flee.
Even the scars on my body pull and ache, though that might be due to the cold and rain. I reach up and rub the one at the corner of my mouth. The smallest one, yet the only visible one. The rest I hide under my garments, just like I hide the ones in my mind.
But then movement catches my eyes. Someone is being dragged out of the manor and into the pouring rain, a familiar tall frame, only clad in torn pants, barefoot, his pale hair uncovered. His wrists bound with ropes. A black muzzle over his mouth.
I slam my palm against the thick glass, then open the window and lean out, not caring about getting wet.
Valen.
He’s tied with long ropes, held between four men. Wait, is this the washing Della promised? Just throw him out into the frigid rain?
A small crowd has gathered under the covered porch. As it turns out, no buckets are needed when the rain keeps pouring down.
No embarrassment is needed when a non-human is tormented, either.
It shouldn’t matter to me. He’ll be fine. It’s just… Just that I can’t look away. Even from up here, the deep grooves and hard planes of his body snag my attention, as does the way his wet hair clings to his strong neck and his biceps bulge as he fights the pull of the ropes.
I don’t think I’m the only one staring at Valen. He possesses that impossible physique, those sculpted muscles humans rarely develop, that magnetism that has my body clenching inside with desire. Even tied up and muzzled, he looks powerful.
He’s meant to be a spectacle, to be ridiculed, but nobody is laughing.
Closing the window, I open my door and hurry down the corridor to the stairs. As I come down, I find the hall is only half-full. The guests have gone outside to witness Valen’s humiliation, and I rush past the tables set with cooling platters of food to exit into the pouring rain.
“My lady,” a man says as I shove past the gawking crowd, “you’ll get wet?—”
“I realized,” I snap and slam into the wall of water. Instantly, my dark green dress becomes drenched and heavy. I wade through the puddles, making my way toward the group of men holding Valen. “Let him go!”
The silver studs in his leather collar glint, and the leash attached to it swings as he turns around. I swear, for a moment, his eyes widen when he finds me there.
“You can leave,” I tell the men, my voice colder than the rain. “And take the ropes with you.”
“But my lady?—”
