Page 32 of The Manticore's Human Queen
Over my dead body.
But I need an opening—just one moment when that blade moves from her throat. I take a step forward, hands raised in apparent surrender. “Please. Don’t hurt her. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“That’s better.” His grip on her hair loosens slightly as his confidence
34
ANNELISE
The ballroom pulses with the opulent chaos of the wedding feast, goblets clinking and dark elf nobles laughing, their voices a grating cacophony against my racing heart. Lord Renlir’s grip tightens on my neck, his silver fingers bruising my skin, wrenching me uncomfortably as Tarek freezes across the hall.
His manticore eyes blaze with fury that mirrors the fire in my soul, his massive frame straining against the chains binding him to the cage, a prisoner in this cruel spectacle.
“You dumb bitch,” Renlir snarls, his silver eyes glinting with sadistic delight as he yanks me toward a banquet table laden with crystal and gold. “You’ll regret killing my son—your defiance ends tonight.” His voice is a venomous blade, but I lock eyes with Tarek, drawing strength from the unyielding resolve in his gaze, a reminder of the naga he tore apart to protect me.
He shoves me forward, my palms slamming against the polished wood, the table’s edge biting into my hips as I stumble. “Stay bent over and lift your skirts,” he commands, his tone cold and commanding, promising violation before the leering crowd.
Tarek roars, a primal sound that shakes the chandeliers, his chains rattling as he strains, his muscles bulging with barely contained rage.
I shout, “Run, Tarek—forget me!” my voice cutting through the din, but Renlir’s fist crashes into my cheek, pain exploding hot and sharp.
I stagger, catching myself on the table, my body instinctively bending forward, a position that stirs a dark, familiar thrill despite the terror coiling in my gut.
The humiliation burns, but I cling to my defiance, my mind racing for a way to turn this moment into my own.
My fingers tremble as I lift my skirts, the heavy silk of my bridal gown whispering up my thighs, the cool air kissing my exposed skin.
Each rustle of fabric is a thunderclap in the silent chamber, amplifying the frantic beat of my heart against my ribs.
The delicate lace trim, usually a source of comfort, now feels like a tangled web around my wrists, a subtle trap.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror across the room, my eyes wide and dark in the dim candlelight. The gown, meticulously chosen for its ethereal beauty, now feels like a shroud, its intricate embroidery a cruel mockery of my predicament.
A shiver, not of cold but of profound dread, courses through me, raising goosebumps on my arms. The weight of the moment presses down, heavy and suffocating, each breath a conscious effort.
The crowd’s murmurs, once a low hum of anticipation, grow hushed, their eyes a hundred greedy pinpricks fixated on me, eager for my imminent shame.
They want to see me break, to witness my humiliation, but even as their judgmental stares pierce me, my hand, almost on its own accord, brushes against the cold, familiar weight of thedagger hidden securely in my garter. In that instant, a spark ignites within me—a tiny, defiant flame.
Things click into place, a sudden, crystalline clarity emerging from the murky depths of my fear. That fear, which threatened to consume me, alchemizes, transforming into a fierce, exhilarating power that surges through my veins.
“Show them your whore’s ass,” Renlir sneers, his voice dripping with contempt, a cruel smile twisting his lips. His hands, thick and clumsy, fumble with his obsidian-adorned belt, his fingers clumsy with anticipation.
His arrogance, thick and suffocating like a fog, completely blinds him to the subtle shift in my demeanor. He sees only the victim he intends to create, not the storm brewing beneath my outwardly composed surface.
I bend lower, deliberately slow, the act a calculated performance, my heart hammering with a dangerous resolve that feels like freedom. Tarek’s growl vibrates through me, his manticore strength a beacon, urging me to seize this moment.
My fingers tremble as I lift my skirts higher, the heavy silk of my bridal gown sliding slowly up my thighs, the cool air kissing my exposed skin amid the ballroom’s chaos.
The cold weight of the dagger in my garter presses against my leg, a hidden spark of rebellion that clicks into place, transforming my fear into a fierce, calculated resolve. I lock eyes with Tarek across the hall, his manticore gaze blazing, fueling my courage as I prepare to turn this humiliation into my triumph.
Renlir’s breath quickens behind me, his sadistic excitement palpable in the way his fingers dig deeper into my hips, his body pressing closer with a hunger that twists his features into a mask of dark lust.
He savors the moment, his eyes roaming over my bent form with possessive greed, his voice a husky whisper ashe commands the exposure, reveling in the power of my vulnerability displayed for all to see.
The guests lean forward in their seats, their murmurs turning to heated whispers, eyes wide with forbidden arousal, the air thick with their collective tension as they drink in the sight of my pale skin revealed inch by inch, their breaths hitching in anticipation of the violation to come.
One noble licks his lips, his silver gaze fixed on the curve of my ass, while another shifts uncomfortably, his arousal evident in the way he adjusts his robes, the room pulsing with an erotic undercurrent of dominance and submission that feeds their cruel desires.
