Fucker.
“Good. Good,” the king praises.
The vines of his throne cry out when his weight shifts, and with rolling force, he stands. His shadow reaches out to her. With each wobbling step down the few stairs, he encroaches on her little by little.
She looks small when she’s finally there just in front of his thick black boots. He’s three times as wide as she is. He could smother her out with just the weight of his body on hers.
Vomit stings the back of my throat, and that chaotic urge to pull her away from this fat fuck is growing stronger by the second.
The tremble of her breath is consuming. It’s louder than the slamming of her heart even.
Don’ move. You’ll be okay. He won’ touch you. Jus’ don’ move.
I don’t know why I’m still talking to her.
The king has over three hundred living Promises. This girl is just one more.
“Why’s she dressed like this?” The king’s narrowed eyes fling to me.
Christian’s shoes shift ever so slightly at my side. He doesn’t speak for me. But he’ll always protect me from his father. He vowed that the day this fucker killed my own father. When I was only seven years old. We were just boys then. I trust Christian with my life entirely.
They say best friends hold many secrets between them. The secrets between Christian and me are so dark, it’s vile. If I could, I’d bury them in an unmarked grave and never think of them again.
Unfortunately, I have to carry them with me for the rest of eternity.
“It’s the clothes she arrived in, my king.” I don’t lower my head. I hold his gaze, and just like myself, the girl resiliently holds her place before the king.
“She’s wearing too much! She should be dressed as a Promised!” It’s more of a tantrum than a command. He’s more of a child than a vampire king.
Someday he’ll die the same way the king before him died.
And I just hope it’s me who finally does it.
“She isn’t a Promise.” The voice echoes out to the silent crowd, and a gasp of surprise flutters through the room from the viewers no one acknowledges. “Yet,” Seven adds boldly, his chin lowering so his eyes are focused on the ground rather than the king who now sends glares like knives toward my friend.
“She will be! And she should be dressed as such!” His scream holds a tremor at the end, but it doesn’t stop his big hands from gripping the thin material of the girl’s dress. Long black nails slide out and rip over her soft flesh. Fabric tears viciously. The dress is torn away from her, leaving deep red lines in the wake of his fury.
Pain strikes through my jaw, and I fist my hands at my sides, determination desperately keeping my feet planted where I am.
I will not show him what he knows lies beneath my calm obedience. Not yet.
Not for a random girl I don’t even know.
She shivers at his feet; her bloody back and the curve of her ass is well exposed to the room of watchers. Unlike his hundreds of other Promises, a lacy line of a black thong covers her sex. She isn’t naked. Not entirely.
Not yet.
The heavy curl of his lips remains in place as he looks down at the now trembling girl with deep disappointment. Blood runs along her back and down her sides. The heavy scent of it alone kicks up a hungry murmur of voices from the shadows. No one would dare touch the king’s property though. Her sob is smothered down in her chest, and she seems to refuse to release it to him.
“I’m late for my nightly shaving,” he finally says, his hand peacefully resting on his round belly despite the thin layer of blood that I can see beneath his jagged nails. “Get her cleaned up. Next time, she is to be presented to me like a Promise.” Beady eyes slice up to me. “Or else.”
It’s the squandering unevenness of his footfalls that truly annoys me. He snuck up on my father like a true challenge. And now, he can’t even waddle down the hall without waking the maids who sleep on the third floor below.
He’s barely out of the room before I’m walking toward her. My hand reaches over my head, and I grab the back of my button-down. It lifts against my abdomen. I pull it off and slide it over her head while she’s still kneeling.
“He’s gone,” I whisper against her messy crimson hair.
“Get up,” Christian orders on a tone that’s a bit too similar to his father’s in this moment.