Her claws scraped his chest – a light touch compared to what the previous male in this position had endured.
“Do you love me?” she crooned.
No.
Pain was a rusty knife beneath his nails. If he didn’t satisfy her, the pain would become real and much, much worse.
He said, “Yes, Mistress.”
The cruelty in her smile sparked fear and a terrible longing.
“Love is the most fickle emotion of them all,” she said as her claws scratched his abs, his waist, his hips. “Never satisfied, unpredictable, irrational. Love will make you do anything. But you don’t need to worry, toy. Your love for me will never waver.”
Was that the ache in his chest? Love for her. It couldn’t be.
He focused on what she had said earlier. There was another Escort in Nadraken. In the dungeons just below them.
A hiss escaped his lips as her claws caressed the base of his engorged cock. She laughed softly. Her fingers closed around his shaft. “Say it again. Don't make me tell you to say it.”
His mind remained on task. He wouldn't let Frances do to them what had been done to him.
“I love you, Mistress.”
She made a pleased sound, shifted downward, and licked the muscles of his stomach. He flexed for her. He performed for her.
In a few hours, he would slip away. Guards followed him everywhere, but if he said he was going to train, they didn't keep as close an eye on him. If he had to, he could disarm a guard or two. He could do this.
“I love you, Mistress.”
Her mouth was soft and wet. She licked a painfully pleasant spot. He groaned. Aching pleasure threatened to break his concentration. He willed his body to give in. To accept the sensations and let his mind move beyond them – but only halfway. He couldn’t let his cock go soft.
Mistress wouldn't be happy. He carefully avoided thinking about her reactions. His only goal was to free the Escort. She hadn’t prohibited it. Whatever happened to him afterward didn’t matter.
She rose, laughed, and straddled him again. Her core was slick and hot as she sank down onto him.
“I love you, Mistress.”
If he weren’t alive, Anais wouldn't have a reason to stay.
—
Mistress lay in the bath with servants massaging her. Her last command was for him to get out of the way. He didn't move from the bed until she and her servants had left the room. Slowly, he put on his clothes. Red. Too many people recognized him. He was conspicuous in the bloodred fabrics that was the only color Mistress allowed him to wear.
Draped on a chair and scattered across the floor were the servants' clothes. He reached for a few articles.
His hand trembled. The disconnect between his mind and body wavered. He leaned against a chair and held his breath as his senses crashed together. Laughter echoed too loudly from the bathing chamber. The new scratches on his chest stung. His body returned to him, limbs tingling like they had been asleep. The trance was wearing off sooner than expected.
Mistress hadn’t used him in a while. That was all. He was… out of practice.
After a few blinks, he picked up a pair of pants and walked out of the Queen's chambers.
One of the guards snickered, “Looks like the whore’s doing chores.”
The other guards chuckled.
Only one set of heavy boots followed him. Castien traversed the halls and down the stairs to the first floor. Laundry was on the eastern side of the castle. He trudged with his head down. In the past, courtiers would have accosted him if they found him outside his cell.
The Queen had forbidden everyone from touching her special toy. He had a feeling that prohibition would be lifted soon.
