Page 24 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
Now it’s the Cat’s turn to stare at me. “What were you in the human world? A lawyer? A judge?”
“A caretaker of children.”
The Rabbit straightens his cuffs. “Abominable creatures.”
“Quite,” adds the Cat. “I despise human children. You’re little more than a child yourself, aren’t you? I should have asked you that earlier, I suppose—it’s always best to be sure.”
“I’m twenty years old. Not a child.”
“Oh good. Well then, since you talk entirely too much…” The Cat stands, his long tail writhing behind him. He stalks over to me and toys with the top button of his pants. “I should give you something to put in that pretty mouth. A gag, you might say.” He leans down, a lascivious smirk on his face.
When I don’t respond, he adds, “Do you know what I mean, human?”
“I know what a gag is,” I reply, frowning. “A cloth wedged in a prisoner’s mouth so they stay quiet.”
He narrows his cat’s eyes, then sinks to one knee between my outstretched legs. He’s almost kneeling on my skirts.
“I think we have a virgin here, my friend,” he says softly to the Rabbit, with a wide, wicked smile. His hand trails along my shin, pausing at my knee before continuing upward, along my thigh, to the hem of my skirt.
At the slow brush of his fingers, something ignites inside me—coals burning low down in my belly. A gentle, buzzing, awakening sensation.
He’s right—I’m a virgin. But I know about sex. I’ve seen animals copulate, and once I glimpsed my parents coupling. It was much the same as the animals—Mam lay face down on the bed with a bored expression while Pap humped and grunted. It looked unpleasant.
“What does virginity have to do with gags?” I frown up at him.
His hand pauses, just beneath the hem of my petticoats. “This is too perfect,” he breathes. “She has no idea, does she?”
This close, I have a much better view of him. His cheekbones and jawline could lacerate flesh; he is all edges and bones and glittering pointed teeth, with that rictus grin and a bladed lust shining in his eyes.
He sniffs delicately near my cheek, and I cringe away.
“Best of three,” says the Rabbit in a strangled voice. “You have to give me another chance. You know how valuable the essences of a human virgin are. I need her. Remember what’s at stake, what we’re trying to accomplish.”
“Oh, very well.” The Cat gets up and goes back to the table.
The two of them continue to play, while I shrink against the wall, more frightened than ever. I sink into a vague, despairing stupor, replaying the Cat’s approach, his touch, over and over in my mind.
He didn’t hurt me. Not so much as a scratch from his claws. In fact, his fingertips felt—good. And that horrifies me.
Pretty things are poison,Mam says.Can’t trust what you feel. Good sense is the only sense you should ever listen to, because your eyes, your nose, your tongue, your ears, and your skin can lie.
Her advice served me well when the Rabbit tried to lure me into that room and lock me up. If he wins the game, I have no doubt he’ll take me right back down those steps, shove me into that room, and bolt the door. But if the Cat wins—I shiver with dreadful anticipation at the thought of him touching me again.
He wants to rut with me. Like the animals in the barn, like Mam and Pap. Like married couples do.
Pap got marriage offers for me—several of them, ever since I turned sixteen. Men want me because I have a pretty face and a nice body; but when they speak to me, they discover I’m strange. Different. Too curious, too full of words.
For four years I avoided marriage by being “odd,” and by making myself useful at home. Another year and I probably would have had to accept somebody’s hand, or resign myself to life as a maid.
Now it looks as if I’ll meet a different fate.
Rabbit wins the second game. The third game is short, and when the Cat lets out a blood-curling yowl and hisses at his opponent through his teeth, I realize it’s over. Rabbit has won again, two out of three, and I am his.
The Cat runs off into the house. Seconds later, sounds of shattering glass and crunching wood reach my ears, along with shrieks and howls of rage.
I raise my eyebrows at the Rabbit, who shrugs and says, “He is not a good loser.”
The Rabbit removes my leather manacles, unhooks my leash, and leads me back into the study. Shards of the dungeon door, which he broke down to chase me, are still lying on the rug. I smile a little as we walk past them. They are evidence that the questions in my mind can be weapons, too.
