His Father's Mate

A

ge lurches

ooding the space with the cool morning air. My fingers tighten arou

s nothing li

es, cold and unwelcoming. The high walls stretch endlessly,

o

a sharp reminder

carriages, carrying trunks of belongings that do not feel like mine. My dresse

movement ca

vers of moonlight. I follow its path as it dances through the air, weav

ass. Birds perch on the twist

I have. But now... now they feel differ

pulls

re st

ed over his chest. There is something in his ga

ing. He do

res to the figure

with the same sharp features, the same dark hair. The oth

ays, nodding to the

"A pleasure,

feels like a collar tigh

im. "And my co

, his eyes skimming over me o

er presence s

a Za

larger than any man I have ever met. H

eet me. Does n

d, he

e, he mutters, "Follow the guard

ike that,

ough the pal

ssly, lined with high windows and flickering torches. But i

warmth her

en I s

ma

ast, their steps quick and practiced. But it is not their

ow they are

in private. Some wear nothing but sheer skirts, their torsos expos

ight. Where are their proper un

they can escape. No one else seems disturb

hard and k

wing of the palace, the t

ing me further from the world below. Whe

open, and a gust of

room, it i

sits against the far wall, the blankets thin and unwelcomin

s not

ly. "If you need anythi

t another wo

e empty spaces with dresses and trinkets. But it does n

hey lea

m a

g if I can see Varethorne from here. I barely have time to settle before I am being escorted back down, my dress

er than any room I have ever seen. At its

ep inside, all

of the table. He gestures to

hair feels too large, too unfa

ats, serving trays of food, pouring goblets of w

ing their backs bare. Their skirts barely re

k. My stomach twists.

ing. All movement ceases. Goblets stil

head slowly. His eyes-d

stantly but I

d like this?" I ask, my v

lls over

h

n la

grinning. "We ha

A woman with a v

e looks at me, concern

. Thickens. His voice is thunder.

lin

holds i

hrough steel. His voice gro

bellows. "Who gave you the

my nails biting into my palms. I should not

ver me, each word s

t speak unle

le

ses down on me

t o

slice thro

ot let them see me break. Lifting my chin, I turn and

th's glare burn

hear footstep