Page 17 of Ruled By Magic

“Sorry, Lord Commander.” I hurried to the bedroom. A single dress hung in the wardrobe. Deep green with a structured bodice designed to display my cleavage, it flowed down into a long skirt which shimmered in all the colors of the sea. Not as shocking as last night’s attire, but bad enough.

I stepped into it, stretched my arm back to pull up the zip, got halfway, and it stuck.

Perfect.

I struggled to unpick the fabric, but it wouldn’t move. The dress locked tight around my waist, and I couldn’t shimmy out of it. I leaned my forehead against the cool wall and took a deep breath. Trapped, and out of options.

I braced myself and pushed open the door. “Lord Commander, can you give me a hand? The zip is stuck on my dress.”

He approached, a frown on his face. When he saw my predicament, he glanced at the floor, lips tight, then laughed. A real, unselfconscious laugh that lit up his eyes, shattering the neutral mask he maintained.

He got himself under control, but a smile remained, and the warm, open expression transformed his features from cold beauty to something human and joyful. I clutched the front of the dress to cover myself. My hands shook as he approached.

“If you want me to see you naked, there are easier methods. No need to go to these lengths.”

Retain some shred of dignity.

I straightened my back and tried for a dignified tone. “Could you fix my dress please, Lord Commander?”

“Oh, I get a please, do I? You can be polite when you want something.” His voice had dropped low and gained a darker quality. My mouth went dry, and my pulse quickened. We locked eyes. The silence stretched. The smile had fallen from his face. He walked behind me.

His hands pressed into me as he unpicked the fabric. I forced myself to remain still, though turning my back on him felt wrong. Dangerous. He drew the dress closed with exaggerated slowness, one hand resting on my hip. A tiny gasp escaped me when, process complete, he trailed his fingers up my spine and rested them on my neck. He leaned in and whispered, “Now what do you say? As we’re being polite.”

“Thank you.” It came out meek and docile. When had I ever sounded like that? He was so close, I could smell his cologne with an underlay of clean, male scent. He slid his hand around my neck and, with the lightest touch, traced a line down the front of my throat. I shivered at my total vulnerability in his hands.

“Good girl.” Again, that phrase. My stomach twisted, a confused mixture of desire and shame. Part of me enjoyed hearing those words from his lips. It made no sense. I stepped away from him, breathing hard. When I faced him, cold amusement greeted me.

“We’ll be late. Are you ready?”

I looked down at myself. Far too much tanned cleavage. The dress transformed my modest curves into a dramatic shape, pushed up and on display. “I suppose. If this is how you want the territory to see me, Lord Commander.”

Acid flowed into my words. I had to fight the meek compliance, the strange pleasure his approval gave me. Even if it meant trouble.

One brow rose. “This dress is conservative, don’t you think? No sense wasting one of the more daring options when we’ll be tucked away, hidden from prying eyes.” His voice dropped. “We’re going to an art gallery tomorrow. Walking around for hours, in those shoes I know you love. And your outfit is really something. Behave well today, and it might persuade me to keep the visit short. Mind your manners.”

I lowered my gaze. He wielded my humiliation as a weapon. If only I could stop caring, shut off the part of my brain that minded what others thought. But I couldn’t.

He held out a hand. “Time to go.”

Just like the previous evening, we arrived in the middle of a packed chamber, and everyone stared. Why did other mages seem so surprised when we teleported in? Didn’t mages teleport everywhere?

I took in the room. Bright and modern, with abstract prints on the walls and twisty metal chairs designed for looks, not comfort. Atonal music droned from hidden speakers. The place reeked of pretentiousness, and the crowd here were younger. The high-fashion end of the mage social calendar?

A server brought over a selection of drinks on a silver tray. The Lord Commander took two glasses of sparkling wine and handed one to me. The server caught my eye and offered a friendly smile. My heart leapt, and I smiled back. Such an insignificant gesture, but it showed I wasn’t universally hated for the bargain I’d made.

A gong sounded. The chatter quieted, and the guests drifted toward double doors at the far end. No time for small talk today, then. Good. A man in a black, silver-trimmed outfit bustled up with a respectful nod. “Lord Commander, if you’d be so good as to follow me, I’ll show you to your box.”

Our private box. A flutter of nerves ran through me. He’d claimed he would make this evening memorable. What did he mean? The usher led us down a dim corridor, through a small door into a compartment overlooking center stage. The best seats in the house. A squashy sofa with deep red velvet cushions took up most of the space, and a table already laden with food and wine accounted for the rest. The usher waved his hand with a flourish. “All to your liking, Lord Commander?”

“Yes, thanks. Please ensure we aren’t disturbed. I’ll call for service if I require it.”

“Of course, Lord Commander. I’ll see to it.” He backed out of the door and closed it behind him.

Alone. My nerves ratcheted up another notch. A stringed instrument struck a long, plaintive note, and I jumped. More music followed, a haunting orchestral melody, and a single dancer took the stage. She wore traditional garb, a full-body white costume with colorful strips attached. Tight enough to allow freedom of movement, but flowy to preserve her modesty. A series of high leaps, a daring spin, and then three more dancers joined her.

“Sit.” The Lord Commander’s voice brought my attention back to him. He waved an arm at the sofa. I perched on the edge of the seat, eyes locked on the stage as his weight settled next to me. As the minutes passed, a little of the tension drained from my limbs. I leaned back.

His hand slid under my skirt to my thigh, as I’d known it would. I didn’t even flinch. My lack of panic shocked me more than the motion of his fingers as they traced lazy circles on my skin. A memory pressed forward. A school excursion to a farm on the edge of the forest, where wild charris horses were captured and tamed. The trainer had explained the process as he stroked the mane of a skittish creature. “We spend a lot of time with them, first—get them used to us. They need to know we won’t hurt them. Then, when we slip the bridle on, they don’t fight it.”

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