Page 7 of A Kingdom of Pleasure and Torment

“If you like the feeling of your finger, why not the feeling of a cock?” Luthian asks. “I know you’re untouched. It’s not the prize humans make of it. We’ll deal with that, in time.”

We? I imagine him between my legs, crushing me down in a silken bed, holding my hands above my head as he drives into me again and again. His name is on my lips in my fantasy as I throw my head back, mouth open in a cry drowned to silence in a sea of pleasure.

“Keep your eyes open,” Luthian says. I’m so lost in my reverie, I didn’t realize I closed them.

Everyone in the audience is captivated by me now. They no longer speak amongst themselves, but their breathing is audible, as is the rustle of their clothing as they indulge themselves in their own self-pleasure.

I whimper. My toes curl and pop on the stage. My calves ache as if I’m physically climbing toward my peak, and I’m there, nearly there, fingers rubbing inside and out, picking up frantic speed, ready to break. I’m going to come. I’m going to come in front of everyone. They’re going to hear my moans, see me shake, watch me in my most vulnerable moment. I’m going to… I’m…

“Stop.”

The theater around us disappears. We’re in Luthian’s parlor again, and I am dressed in the fine robe and nightgown. Only the throbbing that screams through my denied body is proof that anything happened at all.

“That’s enough practice for tonight.” He waves a hand at me.

A cry sticks in my throat and emerges as an outraged croak.

“I know, I know. You were so close.” He feigns pity to mock me.

“I don’t understand.” I ache, still teetering on the very precipice of release. Why have I been denied?

He turns away and flicks a hand at the hearth, instantly dousing the silver flame there. “You’re not allowed to come tonight. Don’t try. Even should you give into temptation, you won’t be able to finish.”

My mouth drops open.

“I told you, torment, as well.” He shrugs elegantly. “Now, you’ve had a very difficult day, I presume, with your mother’s funeral and your stepfather’s lechery and your stunning performance a moment ago. You should sleep. Fortify yourself for the task ahead, honey flower.”

“I—” I begin to protest, still wanting to plead for relief from the agonizing need burning at my core. But I stop. “Why do you keep calling me that? Honey flower?”

His smile is almost tender. He touches my cheek, takes my chin in his hand to tip my face up. “After the blossom of the honey flower bush, of course.”

“That flower is poisonous.”

“Indeed, it is. But so beautiful, no butterfly, nor sprite, nor dragonfly, nor daisywing can resist its allure. They drink of its sweet nectar, but if they drink too deeply, the poison does its work.” He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. “That’s you, Cenere. They’ll taste you, and you’ll be sweet, but beneath that sweetness runs the poison of your desire for revenge. And that… that makes you irresistible.”

His words are a spell over me. He’s been cruel and cold, but gentle at turns. And I think perhaps what makes me irresistible to him, what makes me his honey flower, is that he and I are the same. Cruelty lies in wait beneath my gentle exterior, and I long to loose it upon my enemies.

I think he might kiss me; his lips are so close to mine. “From now on, you are my ward. You’ll call me Guardian or be punished. You’ll be grateful for all I provide to you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

He bites my bottom lip hard, and I cry out. “Try again.”

“Yes, Guardian.” I taste blood on my lip.

He whispers, “Sleep,” and passes a hand over my face.

Suddenly, it’s morning. I can tell from the weak white light peeking around the edges of the drapes. I am rested, in the softest bed I’ve ever touched, warm and safe in the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen.

I am alone, and I have no idea where I am.

Chapter Four

“Wake up!”

I startle at the sight of a small, hunched figure waddling to the drapes in the muted gray dimness. When it throws the curtains open, the figure itself remains muted and gray, in a plain, slate dress buttoned all the way up to her chin and dull silver hair scraped back severely beneath a stiff-looking snood. “I said wake up!”

“You’re a human,” I breathe in wonder, not caring at all about her scowl or the way she keeps barking at me.

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