Page 39 of The Sacrifice

My skin tingles from all the hands touching my naked body. Multiple servants take measurements of everything from my thighs to my breasts, but it’s more difficult due to the flaming flecks on my skin. I can hardly tear my eyes from the figure in the mirror. Curves have formed where there were skin and bones. No ribs show anymore. A soft flattened stomach accentuates my smoothly rounded thighs that grow to strong legs thanks to all of Drago’s activities. After a few days, it’s impossible, but any time I ask, the kings avoid the question and start touching me until I forget.

Drago simply grins at me and winks. “For such an occasion as the solstice, you will not show at court looking like a bedraggled urchin, sweet pet. It won’t do you harm to wear something more...regal for the Solstice.”

"I thought I was a pet. Not a princess,” I bait him, smirking at his reflection in the mirror.

He rumbles a familiar rich chuckle. “You will always be our pet. But tonight, you will look like a princess.”

My smirk curves into a frown. “Your clothes are more comfortable.”

“Oh, sweet pet, you will wear something much closer to me.”

Like two small suns have nestled under my skin, my cheeks turn hot from the humiliation. I gush at the gown the servants slide onto my body. Closer to him was an understatement. The bodice is formed of dragon scales, Drago’s scales—black and luminous in the firelight and studded with tiny bones like pearls. Almost backless, except for the thin spinal cord curving a few inches and stopping just above my bottom. From my waist down, long swathes of the thinnest crimson fabric, transparent enough for anyone to see my ink designs, cascade to the floor.

With the black flaming designs decorating my eyelids and swirling outward and my hair gathered into intricate braids to crown my head, I look nothing like the gray girl of the Borderlands. For a few minutes, I’m left alone. Nothing but my reflection and Jinxy who has grown tired of chasing his tail and occupies himself with the firefly embers drifting off my skin. And Qora strays closer to me where I stand on the little pedestal. Awed, I clasp my hands in front of my waist, knotting my fingers, wishing I could steady my breaths. Nothing feels quite real. As if I could wake and find myself back in my meager, attic bedroom, prepared to face another day with Pater commanding me to shed my blood and heal whichever noble would fill his pocket most.

“Don’t, Quintessa,” Qora warns me, and I flick my gaze to her, to those smoldering eyes and her black vapors curling across me like cold, crawling friends. “Don’t think about it. You don’t do well to dwell on such things or anything for that matter. You belong to the present. Never the past, nor the future. They will only lead you to fear and flight. But here, in this moment, you are happy.”

More than happy, I don’t bother to say because there’s something I want to know, need to know. “Are you...happy, Qora?” I turn to my Shadow, leaning toward her.

She opens her mouth, then promptly closes it. A heaviness settles inside me at the sight of her shades growing darker. Before she may respond, Drago strides into the room with Mayce in tow. My lips part, jaw dropping at the sight of them. The Fae king wears high-waisted gray breeches and a long black robe with silver cuffs and gold epaulets bearing curved edges. Open on each side, the robe cascades to the floor and exhibits his feline frame of sculpted muscles beneath a tunic of pure gold latticework that gives the illusion of tree branches. The high collar only accentuates his predatory beauty from the blade-sharp cheekbones to the long lashes gracing his rich hazel eyes.

On the other hand, Drago is a masterpiece of power and prowess in a robe of black furs and a crimson cape like a blood spill behind him. Gold epaulets, far grander than Mayce’s, and gauntlets for his arms, his chest bared to reveal his armored scales. The black breeches and high boots he wears intimidate due to the gold knee-braces forged into the same dragon demon mask he wears in Court.

At first, I blink, half-tempted to shake my head in a whirl. My cheeks, my ears, my whole body grows hotter than hell. Drago and Mayce share a comical look as my mouth grows warm and damp, my tongue an utterly useless and limp extension. Somehow, I force out the rasp, “Dammit!” And rock on my heels.

Already predicting my urge to flee, Drago reaches out and snatches my hand, tugging me off the pedestal and into his arms. As easily as plucking a petal from its bud. “Now, now, Tessie, we’ll have none of that,” he scolds, but his tone is far too amused.

“You look quite lovely,” agrees Mayce, toying with a few flyaway tendrils while I bury my face in the scales on Drago’s chest.

“Please, Masters, I look ridiculous. I think I’d rather go to court naked than try to pass myself off as some sort of princess in the presence of kings who are gods.”

The two of them chuckle, and my stomach churns, until Drago touches the sides of my jaw and urges my face up, forcing me to meet his eyes. Their intensity and supremacy disarm me before I may blink.

“Perhaps your wish will be granted at some other time, pet. But tonight, the god-kings will escort you to the Court where you will be our guest of honor. Is that clear?”

I nod but chew on my lower lip, tensing when Mayce leans in to kiss my cheek from behind. Not from the touch but from his sight and smell of rich, spiced fruit and undertones of cedar and moss. I heave a sigh and narrow my eyes upon the Fae king. “I could never be as beautiful as you.”

Drago smirks to one side while Mayce chuckles and lifts my hand to kiss the backs of my knuckles. “Sweet pet, no one is as beautiful as me.” He winks at me, a fervent gleam in his eye while a muscle bounces in his flawless cheek.

With an agreeing shrug, the dragon king gestures to his partner and says, “It’s true. I’ve inevitably learned to live with such excruciating perfection.”

“I can’t fathom how you’ve managed, Master!” I guffaw, playing into the banter.

“Come now, Tessie...” urges Drago, coiling my arm around his. “It is time for your Solstice debut.”

Once the kings escort me into the grand court, my breath stutters because I’m certain the entire Waste has gathered as witnesses. On each side of me, Mayce and Drago have donned their masks as usual. At some point, they will give me the story behind them.

I stop in my tracks. Not because of the hundreds of Waste folk, who are comical and macabre and captivating all in one. A kaleidoscope of colorful gowns and robes and suits decorate their wizened frames, each bearing some animalistic features. It’s a mosaic of tattered bird wings, bony tails bereft of fur, wolf skulls, broken stag horns, and more. The Waste may be cursed, but its twisted beauty touches a deep place in my heart that hearkens to my scars and ink.

I don’t get a chance to tell the kings what is wrong. Instead, my heart skips a beat when the masses kneel before us. Limbs heavy with the effort, I follow Mayce and Drago to the dais where all four thrones rest, two already filled by Kyan and Merikh. Over the past few days, whenever they’ve done Court, I’ve watched from the shadows, lingering in the corners of the outer halls.

Now, all I want is to rush into those shadows and shield my burning face since I am the only one without a mask in the Great Hall. Drago shatters my resolve, shatters my breath in my lungs when he draws me to the center of the dais, places his hands upon my waist to turn me to the onlooking crowd, and proclaims, “Bow before Quintessa, Queen of the Ash Court!”

29

"We're going to play a little game, sweet pet..."

DRAGO

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