Page 61 of Vicious King

19

Elias

The Artemis Festivalhad begun four days ago in a riot of music and color, everyone hyped up on whiskey, beer, molly and coke.

I’d been to a few of these week-long festivals before. All in all, they weren’t much different than Crown and Dagger’s other events—places of unrestrained fun and debauchery. There were drinks, drugs, feasts, nightly parties, hunting trips for those who were into collecting trophies, and constant entertainment in the form of shows.

Oh, and sex. Endless amounts of dirty, loud, hardcore sex.

Now, I knew it was more likely rape. Tatum wasn’t here willingly, and that meant any number of the women at the Lodge could also be trafficked victims, pretending to be eager and willing out of sheer terror. That wasn’t true consent. Just because a woman said yes to fucking these men didn’t mean she truly wanted to. Not if she was beaten and frightened into it.

Bile rose in my throat at the thought.

I still couldn’t believe how blind I’d been. Couldn’t believe I actually once thought the Lodge was no more than a pleasure palace built to cater to the mega-rich and all their wild demands. It was so much more. Beneath the extravagant surface was a nest of vipers, poison and pure evil lurking in every corner.

One day, I was going to burn every single one of them.

I sipped at a glass of scotch as I watched Tatum out of the corner of my eye. She was sitting at the end of a long wooden table in one of the biggest courtyards, holding a golden goblet while a middle-aged man regaled her with a story about one of the previous festivals. She looked beautiful, as always, and her skin glowed golden-brown in the early afternoon sun.

She’d been picked as the festival hostess, which afforded her certain privileges and opportunities. For one, she was allowed to attend and eat at all the third-level dinners and parties—events even I wasn’t allowed at yet—and she wasn’t expected to service her master or anyone else during the festivities at any point, like the other girls were.

Her task was to entertain the men with tinkling laughter and friendly conversation during the feasts. While performing these ‘duties’, she was required to wear a flowing white gown and an elaborate gold filigree mask which wound around her eyes, flawlessly framing them. A fairly simple and cushy job, all in all.

Still, I knew the idea of speaking to these guys made her want to stab someone right in the face. Fortunately, she was handling it well, behaving graciously and easily pretending to give a shit about anything they had to say to her. The perfect hostess.

I knew why she wanted to get picked for the position, and I understood her reasoning, but I was still disturbed at the thought of what might come about if she didn’t start trusting me within the next few days. If that happened, she’d go home with another man at the end of the week, and I had no idea what the fuck he’d do with her.

I couldn’t allow that.

As promised, I’d given her space to think about what I told her the other night, but I needed to get through to her soon, because time was running out, and I knew she’d never leave with me if I couldn’t get her on my side. She wasn’t easy to reach, though. She didn’t trust me. For good reason, too. I could only hope my admission of love was enough to make her try.

I hadn’t even realized the extent of my feelings until I blurted out the words. But as soon as they were out there, I knew they were true. I didn’t just care for Tatum. I fucking loved her. I’d do anything for her.

I tried to catch her eye from the balcony I was standing on, but she didn’t notice me. She’d focused her attentions on the show going on behind the table, some sort of musical theater performance.

The costumes on the actors, singers and dancers from the shows marked the beginning of spring, as colorful as a gardener’s paradise with bold reds, bright yellows, emerald greens and garish magentas. There were sequins sparkling in the sun and feathers in every color, along with painted faces and masks. Music filled the air, festive beats lifting everyone’s spirits.

Everyone except me.

The man closest to Tatum slung his arm around her shoulder and ran his fingers through her long shiny hair. Other than that, he didn’t make any moves. Still, the idea of another man touching her in any way at all made me want to run down there and beat him black and blue.

I almost did, but in those few seconds of fury, I finally caught Tatum’s eye. She looked up at me and shook her head, her eyes widening as she mouthed something to me. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I got the impression it was something along the lines of ‘don’t do it’.

I swallowed hard and breathed deeply, uncurling my fists. She was right. If I was ever going to get her out of here, I needed to stay calm and act like I had no idea what was really going on. I had to act like I thought Tatum was here of her own volition, a highly-paid escort, until I had everything I needed to plan her exit.

It wouldn’t be much longer.

Today was my birthday, which meant my final third-level trial was happening very soon. If I passed, I’d be trusted with the society’s deepest, darkest secrets, and once I had all the information I needed from that, I’d be able to start planning Tatum’s escape. Eventually I’d also figure out a way to take Crown and Dagger down for good and let all the other women go free too.

I had no doubt I’d pass the test and make it into the third level today. The last two weeks had involved more interviews and so-called trials in the Catacombs, and I knew I’d performed well. After discovering that the society was happily condoning sex trafficking, I realized exactly what they wanted from a third-level prospect. They wanted someone who shared their values and vision, as dark and sinister as they were. Someone who’d happily participate in all their sordid shit.

So I lied. I pretended to be one of them.

During the last few meetings in the gloomy chamber beneath the Lodge, I told them exactly what I thought they wanted to hear. The interviews were similar to the first one, only the questions were darker now. Much darker. They wanted me to tell them my deepest, most depraved fantasies. Not the stuff I told them before which was basically vanilla child’s play to them (though it wouldn’t be to anyone else in the world).

I made up the sickest, filthiest shit imaginable. Lies upon horrifying lies. I told them I fantasized about beating and raping women. Choking them till they gasped for mercy and vomited. I even told them I jerked off to the thought of killing people sometimes. Women in particular.

That should be enough to make the council want me within the third-level ranks. Or so I hoped.

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