Page 109 of No One’s Daughter

Ah, so this was about a woman. “Shouldn’t be a problem,” I said with an almost smirk.

“This is serious, Leofwin.”

Fucking hell, I hated it when he used my full name like that. Everyone knew to call me Leon. But I wouldn’t rise to it, wouldn’t show my annoyance because that’s what he really wanted. A reason.

“I understand.”

“Good, because I’d hate to kill her. She could be useful for the breeding program. You know as well as I do how our numbers have depleted in the last few centuries.”

Oh shit, this must be that true born the officers had been whispering about these past few weeks, and the one that’s got Davien—the prick—in hot water. There’d been rumours of a true born, unregistered and unknown to us. Which wasn’t just rare, it was unprecedented. It didn’t happen.

Ever.

And it was a woman, of course he’d want her for his father’s twisted breeding program. The one where female true borns were sold to the highest bidder and forced to breed. The problem being that almost none of the pregnancies ever resulted in healthy live babies. The truth was, true borns were dying out. I had my own theories and opinions on that, but I held my tongue.

I nodded my understanding.

“Excellent,” he exclaimed, a sudden shift in his demeanour, and history told me this wasn't a good thing. “Now,” he said, pausing to make some gesture to Brandon. “Take this one down to be dressed for the show. Denise will know what you mean. I expect you to greet our guest in the red room at seven pm sharp.”

Brandon retrieved a terrified looking woman from the adjoining suite. His pudgy fingers dug into the soft flesh of her upper arm, causing it to whiten, as he dragged her. She was bruised, with a glassy eyed look. She was clearly human and compelled, but the scent of her fear still permeated the air around us.

She wasn’t fully present, her focus drifting somewhere just beyond the room, caught between awareness and whatever command had been forced into her mind. She wore what was probably once a nice outfit, but it was dirty and stretched in places now.

Her hair was tangled, falling loosely around her lightly freckled face in uneven strands, like she’d run her hands through it too many times, or not at all.

She looked so… ordinary.

Painfully so.

The kind of person who should have been anywhere but here.

I fucking hated this shit.

Valerius was known to hurt people for shits and giggles, and it enraged me. He liked to do it in front of people to remind them of their place.

I scratched at my stubble to stop my jaw from flexing as I stood and made my way to the door. This was as much a test as everything else. If I rebelled now, he’d kill her on the spot and I couldn’t take that chance, so I played along.

I wrapped my arm loosely around her back, to guide her away from Brandon and Valerius and I could feel the coldness of her skin through the thin layer of fabric. Curiously, she didn’t have any visible bite marks like they usually did, but that only deepened my suspicions. I shuddered at the thought of what she’d likely been through. “I’d love to make you promises that this all ends here. But, I’m in no position to make such promises,” I whispered into her ear. I wasn’t sure if she’d even hear me, no one knew how far Valerius’s compulsions went. But I wanted to give her some sort of comfort. Give her something so she’d know I wasn’t like them. Not by choice, at least.

I let my magic flare to the surface ever so subtly, Valerius wouldn’t take kindly to me using my magic like this, but I had to do something. Anything, to at least give a smidge of comfort. The fire in my veins coursed from the tips of my fingers and into her body, warming her.

The goosebumps that littered her bare flesh soon receded and I sighed in relief that at the very least I was able to do that for her.

Who was I kidding? I was just as bad for being a coward.

We walked in silence down a narrow corridor that branched off from the main suite. I pushed the door open and ushered her inside. The room was beyond bright, almost offensively so, mirrors lining the walls and racks of clothes—expensive, curated—lined one side, while a team moved about with practiced efficiency.

Denise’s eyes swept over the girl with what looked like pity at first glance, but knowing Denise, I knew that it was mockery. Like she was already calculating how much she’d have to waste on the girl to make her presentable.

“Well,” she drawled, circling slowly, her heels clicking against the floor in a rhythm that grated. “Aren’t you a mess.”

The girl didn’t respond. Didn’t even seem to hear.

Denise hummed under her breath, reaching out to tilt the girl’s chin this way and that, inspecting her like an object, rather than a person. “We’ll fix you up,” she added lightly, but there was no kindness in it.

My jaw tightened.

“She’s to be dressed for the show, you don’t have all night to play dress up,” I said, my tone flat.