Page 77 of The Kingdom of Flames

When she shut her eyes, she saw that little girl with the collar running through the yard.

No matter what lived inside her, she knew Tristien would not be her choice. Not if it was up to her. Yet, to free the people of this realm would mean so much to them. So she would take their shackles and wear them. She prayed to her mother that a child never took root in her own flesh.

There was a sickness he had created within her. Celestine still desired Tristien for what he could do to her, not for what he was.

If this resentment grows long enough, over the centuries, perhaps I’ll find a way to change things.

It was the clearest thought she had had in a long time. Celestine had earned her place in the Red Banners. It might take eternity, but she could find a way out. And if that path had to be carved in steel once she wed this god of summer, so be it.

Yet the sickness in her still grew. She found herself wondering how she could desire that which she detested, and that very question made her shudder with how illicit it was. When he was inside her, it was sweet poison. The shame of his words was nothing to the shame she now felt. When they dressed her in finery, it was like being coated in sin itself.

She stopped wearing the fine clothes, preferring the homespun tunics the bonded wore. Tristien didn’t seem to mind. It excited him, the reason behind it lost from the stiffening of his cock.

Sometimes in the parlor, they would sit, and he would instruct her on what to think about at that moment. Sculpting places, ideas, philosophies with his words.

In those moments, Celestine knew they were embarking on a very new and dangerous dominance over her, that he sought to control her very mind.

In the evenings, she was his to use as freely as she wanted. Sometimes, she woke with him already inside her, the strong and needful thrusts rocking her like a ship in deep chop. Her entire essence was for his satisfaction. Tristien sought nothing further, and she was grateful for that.

The use of her body was discussed, and she only turned him down once, when her blood was on her, giving him the sign of denied consent.

She saw Captain Aidric often. He appeared more and more as her time to declare a decision came towards an end. The urge to run to him and ask to be taken away was overwhelming, but she reminded herself what was at stake. If slavery ended here in this banner, and Tristien chose the seasons, it would vanish from her own realm as well.

The mirrored mask bothered her.

“Does he ever sleep? Does he stay within the castle?” Celestine asked Tristien one evening as he was lacing her bindings. What had once been exciting was now a raw need. Lately, it felt strange to be unbound in any way, like being nude.

“No one knows, nor do I care. The Mirrored Captain is a flicker, a reflection. Once we are wed, we shall not see him or his like again.”

“Whom does he serve?”

Tristien finished wrapping her ankles. He stepped back to the wall and hoisted her upwards, her wrists and legs moving in opposite directions. She became parallel with the floor, and Tristien walked under her, looking up and guiding her chin so they stared at one another.

“Not all are fortunate enough to serve.”

One thing did linger for her. She had to court every Lord of Summer. She had to leave. Would she have the fortitude to return here? To free those in chains?

“Azure is a good Lord,” Tristien spoke to her one morning over breakfast. “And honorable. He will not force himself on you. A single evening in his realm should suffice, and then Aidric will take you to Calendar. You will declare yourself to me, and we shall return. I will have all the preparations complete for our wedding.” He fed her another spoonful of food. Then dabbed her mouth. “You have never seen anything like it. It will be the greatest celebration.”

Celestine smiled, then swallowed. “I want Lady Lapis to help, and the others.”

“As you wish. Do not worry. At the reception here, I will declare your grand gift. Bondage will be outlawed forever.”

“I see now it is a cruel practice,” Tristien said as he cut up the meat on her plate.

It was likely the first time he had lied to her. Celestine knew it. A demigod did not feel like normal people did, even in his own realm.

Like her changing feelings for him, mixed now with resentment and need to hurt him, she cared what he did, not what he felt or believed. Their union was one of sick need. The need to bind, to be bound. To punish, heal, and then reopen those same wounds.

One lingering fixation continued to grow within her. Power, control, authority, these things were powerful aphrodisiacs. She found herself thinking of Lady Mira more and more. Thinking of her unashamed lust for both sex and power. What was it like to have a barracks full of men serve you?

She wanted to whip Tristien. To flog him. Tie him. Put her ribbon tether on his manhood again. When he was tormenting her, her body writhing with the lightning of his mouth’s attention, she fantasized about flaying him until he died under her lash, only to see him heal again.

Thus this sickness grows, too enticing to even think of stopping its spread.

They were joined now. Their bodies were freely accessible to one another. Sometimes, she woke in the night, and Tristien’s eyes would flutter open as she lowered herself onto him, riding him, using him like the piece of meat he was. It was one thing to be tormented by a Season, another to bring her own cruel lust onto him.

Tristien allowed this, and one night, she tied his arms and legs and left him. He fell asleep as she crept.

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