Page 24 of The Jester

Chapter Ten

ALANA

Isee his face. Except, it is not his face. It is his mask.

I see him looking up at me, and I feel his fingers inside me. My body warms under the heat of his gaze. Warmer, warmer, so warm I can hardly breathe.

The stranger in the mask grabs hold of my hips and pulls me towards him. I want to feel his tongue between my thighs, but instead I feel the cool, smooth texture of his mask and my pleasure begins to fade.

He stands. He grips my shoulders this time, but his grip becomes harder, stronger, more vicious. His nails dig into my skin. I try to pry his fingers away from me, but I cannot make him move. I try to scream, but no sound comes out.

He pushes me hard, slams me against the wall of the cave. But then we’re not in a cave anymore, we’re in the forest. And the forest is burning.

The heat is back. I writhe against it, murmuring.

“Alana...” A voice I recognise bleeds through the smoke and the screaming. “Drink this.”

I feel something cold and wet on my lips. I open my mouth and swallow as someone holds my chin steady. Then everything goes dark again.

The next time I open my eyes, the heat is gone and I’m shivering. Briony is sitting at the end of the bed, her fingers laced together, shoulders hunched with worry. Her concern washes over me like waves of nausea.

“I’m all right,” I whisper hoarsely, sitting up on the pillows. Somehow, I’m now in a robe instead of a towel. But my gloves are still on. She didn’t remove them.

Smiling, Briony exhales loudly and holds her hand in front of her stomach. The relief she feels is palpable, and makes me feel a little lighter in response because someone here is concerned for me. Someone genuinely wants me to be okay.

“I’m sorry,” she says, taking my elbow and helping me sit up. “But we don’t have much time. The tincture I gave you isn’t a fix, but it should treat your fever long enough for you to get through this evening. When you return tonight, I’ll have our healer come and see you. Eldrion mustn’t know. We aren’t supposed to...” Briony trails off, shaking her head. “I’m saying too much,” she tuts at herself. “For now, the most important thing is that you’re expected at the banquet and we need to get you dressed.”

Without really thinking, I swing my legs around and plant my feet on the fur rug beside the bed. I wriggle my toes into its softness and try to stop my head from spinning. Lifting the robe, I assess my thigh. Still red, but less angry and less painful.

“You’ll feel a little lightheaded for the rest of the night.” Briony has crossed the room. She disappears into the dressing room, then returns holding a long, black dress on a hanger. She lays it on the bed, then sets some underwear beside it; a corset that looks horribly uncomfortable and some lace panties.

“Do you need help?” she asks when I don’t move.

I shake my head and rise shakily to my feet, retracting my wings so I can change. Turning away from her, I remove the robe, step into the panties, then fasten the corset as far as I can.

Taking the hint, Briony laces it the rest of the way for me, then steps back while I put on the dress. It is far more form fitting than anything I would usually wear. It clings to my hips and my stomach and, with the corset beneath, accentuates my breasts in a way I haven’t seen before.

Briony smiles when I turn around. She fetches a brush from the dresser and tends to my hair, then steps aside while I unfurl my wings and stretch them wide.

The sensation releases some of the tension in my muscles, and I flex them several more times as Briony watches. “I love the purple,” she says, tilting her head. “More of a violet, really.”

She moves once again to the dresser and opens the top drawer. “Perhaps that’s why he asked you to wear these instead of the gold.” Holding out her hand, she nods at the object she’s holding and a twinge of jealousy spikes in the air between us. Examining her dour uniform, I understand why. It seems awfully unfair that I am being given dresses and corsets and she is not permitted to wear such things.

I hold out my hand before I realise what she has in her grasp. When I do, I blink hard and swipe a nervous hand across my forehead.

Briony is offering me a pair of purple gloves.

My stomach twists violently, and another wave of heat washes over me. This time, not from the fever.

I take them from her, fingers trembling. Because I’d know these gloves anywhere. They are not just any pair of purple gloves. They are mine. The gloves I left in the bottom of my trunk, in my cabin, in the forest.

I hold them up to the light to be sure, and there it is – the burn mark on the left thumb. From the day I pulled chestnuts from the fire and they almost caught light. The day I begged my parents not to make me wear them anymore and my mother sobbed and my father told me I had no choice.

These are my gloves.

I slide them on. Staring at them, turning my hands over, transfixed, I mutter, “Eldrion gave you these?”

Briony nods. She is confused by my reaction. Confused and worried. “He insisted you wear them tonight with the dress.” She steps closer and looks up at me. “Is everything all right, my lady?”

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