I’m imagining the clench of Liam’s jaw, the protest that wants to tumble from his beautiful mouth, when Faye’s words make my muscles tense.
“The chancellor is right. She’s not a dog, Mr. Bordeaux. She’s a queen.”
Oh God.
I spring to my feet before he can react and shoot my oldest friend and confidant a harsh glare. “Go to your quarters. You’ll spend the evening alone without dinner.”
Faye’s eyes widen, her expression stricken as the reprimand settles between us. I’ve never wielded my authority over her in such a way, always choosing deference to our friendship and the fact that Faye is more like a sister to me than a subject, but I can’t allow her behavior to continue.
It’s too dangerous.
Pointing to the exit, I stare her down, willing her to obey, and that’s when Mr. Bordeaux rises beside me.
“You’re out of line, Novalee. It’s not your place to punish her. It’s mine.” His ire wraps around me, and I sense the scowl on his face rather than witness it because my attention fixes on Faye.
“Then I’ll take her punishment. Please send her away. I beg of you.”
My words send Faye scrambling from her chair, mouth twisted in outrage. “No!” Her gaze seeks Liam. “Chancellor, please do something. She’s not safe with him.”
I don’t know how she came to that conclusion, since she’s barely spent two minutes in the same room with Mr. Bordeaux, but something about him has pricked at her intuition.
She felt the same way about my uncle when he arrived six years ago.
Liam pushes a hand through his coppery hair, revealing his stressed state of mind. “Your disobedience isn’t helping the queen.” Pausing, his eyes narrow. “For the next month, Novalee is the subject of Mr. Bordeaux.”
The man in question closes the short distance to where she stands, hands on her hips despite the sharp lines of anxiety on her face. He grabs her by the chin. “If you know what’s best for your queen, you will keep your mouth shut while she takes your punishment. Is that clear?”
She doesn’t answer at first, prompting him to shake her chin until the sought-after words fall from her lips. “Y-yes, Mr. Bordeaux.”
“Kneel and don’t even think of moving until it’s over.”
Her legs buckle, lips trembling as she mouths an apology to me from her spot on the floor.
“Loren,” Mr. Bordeaux says with a snap of his fingers.
His manservant materializes from the edge of the room. “Yes, Master Bordeaux?”
“Bring me a ball gag.”
He hurries away to do his master’s bidding, and the room falls silent as Mr. Bordeaux reaches for his belt. “Bend over the table and lift your skirt,” he commands me, sliding that thick strap of leather from around his waist. He loops it in one fist, and I know without a doubt he won’t change his mind the way Liam did four days ago.
Just as I know he’ll make it hurt something fierce—far worse than the bite of Pax’s whip in the dungeon this afternoon. Steeling myself for what’s coming, I lean over the table and lift the skirt of my dress above my buttocks, determined not to cry.
Because I can’t let this cruel man win.
Mr. Bordeaux yanks my panties to my knees, fingers rough against my skin, and my gaze clashes with Liam’s. He’s far from stoic, his hands fisted on the table, his mouth a severe line as he glares at the man lingering behind me.
Thighs rigid, my whole backside tingles, and I struggle to draw in a deep breath.
“If anyone in this room tries to interfere with my authority,” Mr. Bordeaux says, and by the flare of Liam’s nostrils I know the warning is for the chancellor, “the queen will be the one to pay for your disregard of protocol.”
The color drains from Liam’s face. In the month since I’ve known him, he’s never looked so…helpless. It’s an expression I can’t stand on him, because it doesn’t belong. He’s too strong to be so flayed, vulnerability spilling from his being.
Because of me.
Because he feels the need to protect me, but coming to my defense now will only mean more punishment. Unable to confront the defeat in his brown eyes, I shift my focus to Sebastian.
And that isn’t any better.
At first glance, the lion seems bored, and if it weren’t for the unfailing strength of his stare, I’d think he was unaffected. Loren’s return breaks the tense silence in the room, and Mr. Bordeaux pushes a rubber ball against my lips with a clipped order to open my mouth.
“You and your lady need to curb those sharp tongues,” he says, forcing my lips open. He tightens the strap around my head, testing the gag to make sure it won’t slip out. The contraption does more than gag me—it humiliates me on a level I didn’t know existed. All eyes in the room fixate on my degradation as saliva seeps from the corners of my spread lips.