Mr. Bordeaux shifts behind me, and yet I still don’t expect it; that first strike to my buttocks that stings my eyes. I blink, holding back the pain, and bite down on the gag when he hits me again.
Liam startles with each strike. After the third, he rubs his hands down his face, stricken as he stares at the place setting in front of him. He can’t watch this any more than he could issue such a punishment himself.
But this is worse. The knowledge is instinctual. Liam Castle would never strike me with such force—the kind of sadism that rips apart my defenses until I’m black and blue and too close to bawling for it to stop.
And that only makes me want to smother my reaction more. It’s a stubborn move, full of pride and rebellion, and part of me hopes he’ll hit harder because that will mean my inaction is getting under his skin.
He can make me kneel and avoid eye contact and silence my voice, but he can’t make me cry.
At some point, I detect the agony of Faye’s sobs over the strikes of leather to welted skin. As my fingernails gouge my palms through the thin skirt I’m still clutching, and I turn my head to avoid the sight of Liam’s crumbling composure, I realize Elise is crying, too.
And in the seat next to her, the man with the green eyes—usually crinkled at the corners with a secret smile—watches with an edge of dark fury that intrigues me. He turns to Elise, distracting her as another horrific blow assaults my backside.
He’s protecting her from witnessing the worst of it, and I cling to the hope it gives me as Mr. Bordeaux metes out the last strikes, using excessive force and leaving me weak and boneless on the table.
After it’s over, I return the stares of the eleven men surrounding the table, one by one, and discover reactions ranging from horror to arousal and everything in between.
Movement sounds behind me. Light footsteps, the slide of leather against fabric, and the unmistakable clank of a belt buckle.
“Loren, return Faye to her quarters,” Mr. Bordeaux says. “And deliver the queen’s dinner to her, seeing as how the queen won’t be able to eat with her mouth gagged.”
Faye lets loose one last sob, and a strangled, “I’m sorry.”
And then she’s gone, and I ache at the thought of not seeing her again for a whole month, of not being able to tell her how sorry I am for the harsh way I spoke to her.
“Need I remind you of your place, my queen?”
I let my skirt fall to my knees, covering my punished ass, and stifle a groan of agony when I lower to my haunches. Mr. Bordeaux reclaims his seat, and dinner begins, the aroma of spicy beef shooting hunger pangs through my belly since I haven’t eaten since breakfast.
Is this part of his punishment—forced fasting? Even more disturbing is the thought he has the power to flat out starve me for the next month if I don’t please him.
I’m alone in this, unable to ask for help or leniency. This sadistic man at my side might break me before the month is up, and there’s nothing I can do about it, short of doing something stupid, like trying to escape.
Or towing his line.
And right then I realize where my power lies—in obedience.
Complete and utter, without question, obedience. The rebellious girl in me revolts, claws out and ears steaming with indignant anger. But the smart girl in me knows how to survive.
Halfway through the main course, Mr. Bordeaux calls for Loren again, and the manservant hands his master a velvet bag with a drawstring closing.
“My gift to the queen,” Mr. Bordeaux says, grabbing my attention as he tips the bag and dumps several diamonds onto the table in front of me.
Twelve of them, I’m guessing, and a quick count confirms my assessment.
“As you all know, I’m having her crown designed. These diamonds will go into the final setting…assuming she gets to keep them all.” He scoots in his seat and takes me by the chin, and I stare over his shoulder at the white dinnerware, avoiding eye contact.
“For each transgression you make, my queen, I will take away a diamond.” He pauses, the unwavering weight of his stare making my face flush. “Earning it back will be painful and degrading.”
A collective murmur travels around the table, until Mr. Green Eyes to the left of me—from the House of Gemini—speaks up. “What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t hold her gift over her head like that.”
“I can and I will. It’s my gift to give,” he says, tone soft as his thumb rubs the line of my jaw, “and that means it’s mine to take away.”
Chapter Four
The morning after the dinner with the Brotherhood, Mr. Bordeaux went away on a business trip, leaving Loren to give me a proper tour in his absence.