Page 3 of Ruled By Magic

A petty insult. My Academy was the best in Dexia for non-mages, staffed with teachers who excelled in their fields. I fought hard to get a junior teaching post there. Almost all the faculty possessed magic. I’d spent the last two years dealing with constant bullying from the rest of the staff—arrogant mages like him.

Exposing their hypocrisy on my news site had been one small way to fight back.

“Of course,” he went on, “this will mean the end of them allowing non-mages to teach there. From the information I have, you were an experiment. Which failed.” His face gave nothing away as he seemed to weigh the impact of his words.

Guilt lanced me in the stomach. Was it true? Had I cost the other non-mage teachers their jobs?

“It’s for the best,” he added.

My sense evaporated.

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Get on with it.” The crowd gasped. Even the Lord Commander’s eyes widened.

Where did that come from? Hex was the mouthy one, not me.

Shit.

The big guard started forward, but the Lord Commander raised his hand.

“Oh, I’m glad you said that.” His voice was softer, full of dark humor. It chilled my blood. “It’ll make this next part so much more fun.”

He stood and walked to me, inches away. My cheeks flushed at the proximity of his body, and I assessed my options. Stare down at his polished shoes, or crane up to see his face? Knees aching, I gritted my teeth at the indignity of it and leaned my head back.

He spoke in a voice designed to carry. “In this case the law is clear, but I have discretion in such matters. I am going to offer this prisoner a choice.”

Confusion seized me. What could he offer besides prison? He didn’t seem the merciful type.

“Option one is fifteen years in prison.”

I looked down. Nausea rose, and I struggled to control it. I wouldn’t disgrace myself in front of him. Fifteen years? On my release I’d be forty-one. Middle-aged. My youth wasted.

“Option two...” He leaned down to me, too close. An intimidating presence. I shuffled back. Photographs of this bizarre tableau would appear in every single circular. Didn’t he care how this would look? A small smile played on his lips, and he emphasized each word. His eyes burned into mine. “Option two is six months. As my consort.”

My mouth fell open, and the crowd erupted into chatter.

He spoke to me alone. “Do you understand what this option means?”

I stared, tongue frozen in shock. Had I heard it right?

He leaned a little closer, amusement growing more pronounced as his lips curled up. In a low voice, almost a whisper, he said, “Shall I explain a consort’s duties, in detail, for the entire room?”

My cheeks flamed. I shook my head.

“Good. You’ve got three minutes to decide. Tick tock.”

Consort. A word from back in history. A rich man’s whore, bound to keep him entertained in bed. Illegal now. The priesthood would be outraged. Though from what I’d seen of him so far, he wouldn’t care. He was the Lord Commander, he did what he liked.

I kept my gaze fixed on the floor as my thoughts tumbled. Freedom in six months. But six months of what? Why did he even want me? Panic clutched my chest. The noise of the audience faded to a buzz as my breathing sped up. He’d take me to bed. Of course he would. Why else would he use the word consort?

But it made no sense. He was a mage, rich and powerful. By his age, he should be married. I risked a brief flick of my eyes up at him, skimming his features before returning to the safety of the floor. Good looking, in an arrogant sort of way. Women came easily to men like him. It couldn’t just be about sex.

What else did he plan to do to me? If I took the deal, I’d be powerless, a vessel for his depravity. Could I risk discovering what drew him to me?

The image of my prison cell materialized, and with it, a flood of crushing misery. Fifteen years in a place like that, or worse. Too long. Whatever he planned for me, I’d cope with six months of it. Wouldn’t I? Heat rose in my face, a scalding flush, as I faced the reality of my choice. The shame of it.

What would everyone think? My friends and cousins? Even the neighbors I’d chat with, the colleagues I’d meet for an occasional cup of coffee. Faces flickered through my mind, the people in my life. On each, I pictured disappointment and disgust.

“One minute.” He wore a smug expression, as though he sensed my internal struggle and found it entertaining.

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