I try to seek hope in my small silver linings. Like how after my timid mention of boredom, Gemini brought in a large bookcase, then stocked it full of books. I’m still confined to the guest bedroom—except when he wants my company, which has been quite limited in the past few days. Though when he demands my attention, dresses me like his doll, and asks me a never-ending parade of asinine questions, he appears distracted.
I find solace in my time alone. Sometimes, I even catch myself feeling somewhat relieved for the small interruption of not having to fend for myself. Here, as his captive, I’m no longer burdened with struggling to lift a few dollars out of strangers’ pockets just so I can eat that night.
I fear that humans are far too adaptable, and now that my initial shock of being kidnapped has worn away, Gemini is slowly lulling me into a false sense of security.
But he’s a snake.
And any day now, he will devour me whole.
If I needed a reminder of my fate, Gemini certainly succeeded tonight.
I pretend not to feel his scorching gaze against my cheek. He’s facing me, sitting on the seat across from me in the town car, while I stare out the window as we head deeper into the city.
When he announced that we were to go out tonight to celebrate the beginning of Tithe Season—a weeklong festivity honoring the six heirs—my heart fluttered with excitement. I was relieved to know there was no way he could have witnessed my body’s reaction to the news.
I shouldn’t be this delighted just to leave his property.
He carefully chose my outfit before we left, picking out a black pleated skirt, white knit thigh-high socks with delicate black bows at the thighs, and a black buttoned shirt so tight that it can barely contain my small breasts. My initial excitement, however, quickly evaporated when he added the last touch to my outfit—a black leather collar, connected to a chained leash.
I nearly balked. Nearly shrieked in defeat.
But the hard glint in his eyes had me pressing my lips together instead. Something about his expression conveyed clearly that if I complained a little too loudly, he would throw me back into my room and leave without me.
So I acquiesced. Because I’m desperate. And it seems like I have no dignity left.
I feel a small tug to the collar and hear a subtle clink of metal against metal. My gaze flicks to Gemini, but I don’t grace him with any kind of reaction.
He tilts his head, a mocking grin spreading across his lips as he toys with the leather handle of the leash, the chain long enough to hang limply between the gap of our seats.
Everything about his body language conveys casual power. From the way his knees fall open to the relaxed way he’s stretched his free arm over the back of his seat. The silence coils dangerously, but I choose not to shy away from his attention, staring right back.
His hair is yellow today. It’s hard for me to ignore how it matches my nails, which he so carefully painted while we sat by the water a few days ago. There’s a fresh smear of black eyeliner under his eyes, and the two thin upside-down triangles he drew just under his waterline make him appear like a jester even more than usual. The black mesh button-up under his trench coat is unbuttoned halfway down his chest, tucked into tight black-and-white striped pants.
Yellow, black and white.
My outfit matches his.
I’ve unwillingly become but a mere extension of Gemini Foley. The leash connecting me to him sure seems to solidify that unnerving feeling.
“We’ve left your neighborhood,” I state for no other reason than to cut this daunting tension between us in half.
“And?” he asks. He haughtily raises an eyebrow, his gaze still steady and piercing, watching me with hooded eyes.
I try to act unperturbed, but my heartbeat unexpectedly doubles, as if everything about Gemini is somehow a trap. I shrug and look back out the window.
There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again, and I’m surprised when he actually entertains my observation.
“We’re heading to the Vorovsky estate.” Then he mutters almost to himself, “Technically, we’ve agreed to stay within the limits of our neighborhoods due to the threat to our lives.” Hemakes a small, dismissive wave, then pins me with his stare, his grin turning lascivious. “But I’ve never before missed the first day of a bacchanal, and I certainly will not be missing one anytime soon.”
My attention snags onthe threat to our livessaid in sucha casual manner. It must have something to do with the bombing we heard when I was trying to escape him on the day of the inauguration. I want to press him further on the subject, but my words die in my throat when he adds what feels like an innocuous statement.
“A return to where it all started,” he declares as the car makes its slow turn around a looming fountain with carved statues of naked bodies holding large pitchers spilling over with water.
I realize then that there’s a reason this route felt vaguely familiar.
The Feast of Fools.
He’s brought me back to the maze. My first instinct is sudden and paralyzing fear. My vision blurs, and I recoil, pushing myself as far away as possible from him. He tightens his grip around the leash, shushing me gently, as if trying to calm down a spooked horse.
