“Halt! State your business.”
The courtesan swayed as he blinked at the guardhouse’s burning torchlight. “I… I've been summoned by the Queen.” His voice was harsh, his throat dry.
Snorting, one guard glanced at his partner. “Right, sure. Get off that horse. Where'd you steal her from? Hurry up, get down!”
His limbs were stiff, and he moved too slowly. The guards yanked him off his mount. Shoved onto the ground, he lay flat, dirt and gravel digging into his palms as they searched him. Hedidn't struggle. He said nothing. They would find the note in his pocket. In the past, talking to guards only provoked them.
His memories were odd. Hazy. He knew the guards were cruel, but couldn't remember specific instances. He knew how to find Coriante Castle, but not when he'd learned the route. And the last time he'd been here… all he could recall was fear. Fear, chains, and urgent but incomprehensible pleading in a corner of his mind.
One of the guards pulled the scroll from his pocket. A few murmurs were exchanged, then laughter. What they said wasn't important. What they did to him, how their hands wandered and beat him when he didn't react, what they made him do before they let him go wasn't important.
He was home.
—
Pale morning light streamed through tall, stained-glass windows. Castien groaned, the sound rasping through his parched throat.
He was on the floor, lying on a thin cot. His skin felt clean. Someone must have bathed him. Beneath a silk sheet, his clothes were gone.
The note was gone.
His head flipped side to side, his hands patted the cot, the pillow, the floor. He needed that note. It was the only way to prove the Queen had summoned him. She'd be so angry if he didn't return to her.
Something about the room seemed familiar, though he wasn't certain where he was. The last thing he remembered was following a guard down the streets. Now he was on the floor at the foot of a sprawling bed, in a large, ornately decorated bedroom.
He needed that note.
Moving was painful. Bruises spotted his ribs and legs. No bleeding, nothing broken. He vaguely catalogued his injuries as the sheet slid off his body, and he crawled to his knees.
The click of footsteps advanced from around the bed. He went still.
Amber eyes and red hair framed a smirking woman's face. Her lips were a dark, dark red. She leaned down, curling her claws beneath his chin.
"Hello, toy. Did you miss me?”
The prickle of her claws tingled against his skin. The purr of her voice sent a thrill low in his stomach. His pounding heart calmed. In the back of his mind, fear crept like a fog through his slow thoughts.
"Yes, Mistress."
His voice croaked. He hadn’t said those words in so long. Too long.
Under her piercing regard, the voice in his head was silent.
Finally.
Her smile was as radiant as the sun.
"Good toy."
Mistress’ gaze raked his body. Shame bloomed hot on his cheeks. He was too thin, he knew. He should have looked better for her. He wanted to please her. He needed to please her.
Shivers raised his skin as her claws scratched his neck, traced his collarbone, and trailed down his sternum.
"Did you do as you were commanded?" she purred.
Her hand climbed up his arm, her fingers weaving into his hair. He leaned into the motion. It was soothing. It was wrong. It felt so right. "Yes, Mistress."
Pain jolted the roots of his hair as she yanked his head up. "Tell me what happened."
