Page 92 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
Aryana lifted her chin, her eyes flashing in the mirror as she met the other female’s gaze. “I’m willing to play whatever role I need to.”
“The look is one thing.Youhave to sell it.”
Fear spread through her at the thought of Zarathos forcing her to take that potion again.
Vivane let out a disconcerting laugh. “Now you are starting to get it. Wait here. He will come.”
With that, she left Aryana in the room, staring at her disheveled appearance in the mirror. A princess brought to her knees by the great demon arch king.
Even if that was true, it wasn’t in the way everyone thought. He’d never once touched her in a manner she hadn’t allowed. And he’d actually gotten her a damn loom and permitted her to join him in his most private space.
The door opened, and Zarathos entered in his midnight-hued garments, tailored to perfection, exuding quiet authority and strength. “It’s time to go.”
Aryana rose and moved toward him. He scrutinized her, assessing every aspect.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“No, Vivane knows her job. Do you understand your part tonight?”
“Look like the ruined princess you’ve had your way with over and over again.”
“But can you pull it off?”
“No Draught of Corruption?” she inquired about the potion that caused her to be terrifyingly open to suggestion.
“I’d rather not, even though we should be relatively safe with Kingdom Inferna hosting since they bear me no ill will. And yet, it will be good to have your wits about you tonight.”
Relief filled her chest. “I’ll pull it off.”
“Follow behind me and don’t make eye contact with anyone, understand?”
“Yes.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, master.”
Aryana lowered her gaze to the floor. “Yes, master,” she whispered in her most broken voice.
He grunted in satisfaction.
They moved out into the hallway, and she followed Zarathos down several flights of stairs. When he paused at a door, he sucked in a breath. “This is it.”
He pulled Aryana close, his hand snaking into her hair. “We are on, Vampress.”
He shoved the door open and threw her into the room. Her head smarted, but she used the momentum to land harshly on the floor, her knees grating against the stone, her torn, ruffled skirts landing in a heap around her. Anger sparked through her, but she tried to play it off as fear and uncertainty as she thought of the consequences of playing her role incorrectly.
She glanced up at the room. In the shadowed grandeur of a castle hall, a royal feast was laid out beneath flickering candlelight. The air was rich with the earthy scent of cooked flesh and fresh blood. Polished silver platters, laden with delicacies of tender venison, deep red fruits, and flavorful cheeses gleamed on the long wooden table.The demons, regal in their dark finery and flowing black silks, gathered around the table. About half of the seats were filled with the remaining champions. The other half were occupied with demons from Kingdom Inferna. Noctyssa and Lentira, the Inferna twins, sat with their people, their pupiless eyes pooling the light. Tigon from Terra Monstrum took up about three places on his own. The rest of the champions sat toward the front of the table. Zarathos took his place at its head, and the feast began.
The kalators of the other champions, the ones that remained alive, lined the room. Aryana looked at them in horror. Their clothes were nothing but scraps, their faces torn, skin ripped, shoulders hunched, struggling to stand.Her heart twisted for them and the pain they’d no doubt gone through. Even those with healing abilities like Aryana seemed on the verge of collapse, as if they’d been beaten over and over—which they most likely had.
“You, vampire, come here, I’m thirsty,” Balafur commanded in a dark voice. He motioned toward the pitcher sitting in front of him.
Aryana steeled her nerves, climbed to her feet, and walked over to the demon. He watched her with a fierce, violent glare as she tipped the pitcher to pour the blood into his chalice. Without warning, he reached out and grabbed her, slamming her cheek against the table. His body leaned over her, pinning her in place. His grating fingers dug into her skin.
He ran his nose over her, rubbing it along the side of her throat. “I smell Zarathos on you. How does it feel to be hidden safely away in his chambers while the rest of your kalator companions suffer in thedungeons below?”
“Balafur, what have I told you about touching what is mine?” Zarathos glared hard at the other demon, his own chalice resting on the table clutched somewhat too tightly in his grip.
“Just wondering why she should get special treatment over the others, Your Majesty. Perhaps we should give her a taste of what they have endured.” His tongue flicked out, gliding over her cheek and lips. Aryana tensed, trying to hold her breath against his foul air. She twisted, searching for a vulnerable spot, a loose grip. A harsh laugh released from Balafur and he pressed her harder, the edge of the table shoving into her side, his weight on her chest crushing her. Her bare feet grazed the stone floor, looking for purchase, unable to find it. She couldn’t fight. He had his body forced over her, her arms pinned to the wooden table. He knew how to incapacitate someone. Her heart hammered within her.
