CHAPTER THIRTYݍONE
A LEASH & A BITE
assimir’s hand pressed against the small of my back as we approached theK grand doors to the feasting hall.
Music spilled from within, harps and flutes playing a melody I recognized from relatively happier times, the sound now twisted into something obscene by context. Beneath the music came the murmur of voices, laughter, the clink of glasses and cutlery. The familiar sounds of court life continued as if nothing had changed, as if my father’s head hadn’t rolled across these very floors, as if my siblings’ blood hadn’t soaked into the stones beneath our feet.
I inhaled deeply, gathering what remained of my dignity around me like armor.
“Remember,” Kassimir murmured, his lips close to my ear, “it’s a performance. Play your part, and the night will end. Fight, and it becomes something else entirely.”
Before I could respond, he nodded to the guards. They pulled the massive doors open with a synchronicity that spoke of rehearsal. The noise within faltered, then died completely as light and warmth spilled out around us.
Kassimir’s fingers pressed more firmly against my back, propelling me forward into the sudden, terrible silence.
The great feast hall of Vareth stretched before us, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow above the warm glow of hundreds of candles. The long tables were arranged in a U-shape around a central space for entertainers, laden with gleaming platters of food and carafes of wine. At the head table, elevated on a
dais, sat Valen in my father’s throne-like chair, his lean form draped in his usual black and crimson, a distinct contrast to the polished wood and golden placeware before him.
And all around him, watching me with expressions ranging from shock to pity to barely concealed enjoyment, sat the nobles of Vareth—those who had survived the slaughter, those who had bent the knee to their conqueror rather than join their king in death.
Valen rose slowly from his seat, the movement drawing every eye in the room. His face displayed its perfect mask—handsome beyond mortal rights, with that preternatural stillness that betrayed his true nature. Only his eyes revealed anything, and what burned there made my stomach clench.
Hunger. Anticipation. The patient cruelty of a predator who enjoys playing with his food.
Those eyes, those depthless black eyes, fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. As Kassimir led me toward him, I watched a slow smile spread across Valen’s face. Not the quick, frightening grin of promised violence, but of something deeper. Hotter.
“My queen returns to court,” he said, his voice carrying in the hushed hall. The title was a mockery—we both knew that. “How kind of you to join us.”
I said nothing, holding his gaze as steadily as I could manage. The dungeon hadn’t broken me, and whatever performance he had planned, I
would endure it.
Just as I had endured everything else.
Valen descended the two steps from the dais with deliberate slowness, never taking his eyes from mine. As he approached, I noticed he carried something in his hands—a band of black leather, ornately tooled with silver designs that caught the candlelight. From it dangled a silver chain, the links
gleaming like water in moonlight.
A collar. A leash.
My steps faltered, but Kassimir’s grip gave me no choice but to continue forward.
Valen stopped in the center of the open floor, waiting for me to be brought before him like a gift. His eyes never left mine as I approached, his smile growing incrementally with each step I took.
We halted before him, Kassimir’s hand finally dropping away from my back. The God of Chaos stepped aside with a deferential nod, leaving me
alone before Valen, before the entire court of what had once been mine.
He stood directly before me, close enough that I could smell the familiar scent of him—mountain air and metal, undercut with something darker.
Something that made me think of the dungeon.
“Will you be good for me tonight, my queen?” he asked, his voice a velvet murmur meant only for me.
I stared back at him, letting my contempt show plainly on my face. My jaw clenched so tightly I could feel my teeth grinding together. The nobles watched, breath held collectively, waiting for my defiance, my outburst, my
tears.
I would give them none of it.
My head moved in the barest nod, a gesture so slight it could have been missed if not for the absolute stillness of the hall. Not surrender, but a momentary concession in a war I hadn’t finished fighting.
“There,” Valen breathed, satisfaction threading through his voice like poison. “Was that so difficult?” His fingers brushed my cheek. “Such a clever
girl. You’ve learned quickly.”
Inside, fury coiled.
Then, he lowered his voice, so low and quiet it was barely audible.
“Kneel for your king, Mireille.”
The words slithered through me like ice. My pride, the last tattered remains of it, screamed in rebellion. For a moment, I considered refusing… forcing him to physically compel me, taking the choice of surrender from me.
But Kassimir’s warning echoed in my mind. Play your part, and the night will end.
Slowly, feeling every eye in the hall upon me, I sank to my knees before him. The marble floor was cold through the thin silk of my gown. I kept my back straight, my chin lifted, refusing to bow my head even in this position of subservience.
Valen’s smile deepened, satisfaction evident in the slight relaxation of his shoulders. He held the collar before me, letting me see it clearly now. Black leather lined with crimson silk, the silver fittings engraved with strange symbols. The leash attached to a ring at the front, the leather braided into a complex pattern.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice pitched to carry now. “Crafted by the finest leatherworker in my domain, specifically for you. The silver is mixed with an alloy from the mountains of my homeland. Unbreakable once
sealed.” His fingers caressed the leather almost lovingly. “I had it made before we were wed.”
Specifically for me. Unbreakable once sealed.
A ripple of murmurs passed through the watching crowd—some amused, others uncomfortable. I remained silent, my eyes never leaving his face.
“You see,” he continued, addressing the room now, “my people and I, we believe in marking what belongs to us. And make no mistake—“ his gaze swept the room before returning to me, “—the former princess of Vareth belongs to me. By right of conquest, by right of marriage, and by right of the blood spilled to claim her.”
He stepped behind me then, his movements unhurried. I felt his fingers at the nape of my neck, brushing aside the intricate braid Kassimir had fashioned. The leather was cool against my throat as he positioned the collar, sliding it into place with slow precision. The silk lining whispered against my skin, a perverse luxury that only emphasized the collar’s true purpose.
There was a faint click as he fastened it, the metal somehow molding itself closed without visible seam or lock, similar to the manacles in my cell.
He tugged lightly, testing its security, the action pulling me slightly off- balance. Not tight enough to choke, but snug enough that I would never forget its presence.
“Rise,” he commanded, loud enough for all to hear. As I struggled to my feet, hampered by the clinging silk and his grip on the leash, several Nocthar and Vareth nobles laughed appreciatively. The sound burned in my ears, stoking embers of rage I’d thought extinguished after my time below ground.
Valen’s hand settled at the small of my back, the same spot Kassimir had touched earlier, but with a possessiveness that branded me through the thin fabric. He led me up the steps to the head table, the leash draped casually over his wrist, each step measured to demonstrate his complete control.
Instead of guiding me to a chair, he indicated the cushion beside his seat with a small gesture. “Your place,” he said simply.
My head jerked toward him, eyes narrowing into silver daggers as I met his gaze. The chain clinked softly with the movement, drawing another ripple of laughter from the watching nobles. My nostrils flared slightly as I drew in a controlled breath.
“A cushion?” I whispered, voice low enough that only he could hear.
“You truly wish to make your point with such... predictable theatrics?”
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes—a flicker of genuine anger
through the perfect mask. For a heartbeat, I thought I’d pushed too far.
Then his lips curved upward, a smile that held no humor, only the promise of pain. With a subtle flick of his wrist, he tugged the leash—not hard enough to hurt, but with enough force to make me sway forward, the collar pressing against my throat.
“Sit,” he commanded, the single word carrying the strength of all the power he held over me.
For a heartbeat that stretched like eternity, I stared into those black depths, letting a flash of my true feelings reflect in my gaze.
I would not break.
I remained standing for another heartbeat, letting the silence stretch thin as a blade. Every person in that hall watched with bated breath, waiting to see the last daughter of Vareth crumble before their eyes.
Instead, I lowered myself onto the cushion with as much grace as I could summon, arranging the silk of my gown around me like liquid darkness. The position placed me at Valen’s feet, below the table, below everyone—a living ornament to his conquest.
Valen’s satisfaction radiated like heat from a forge, warming the space between us with his victory. He settled back into my father’s chair, one hand casually draped over the armrest, fingers still curled around the end of the leash. With his other hand, he lifted a goblet of wine, the liquid dark as blood in the candlelight.
“Let us celebrate,” he announced to the hall, his voice carrying easily over the renewed murmurs. “To conquest and... domestication.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd, and the feast resumed as if a momentary pause in a familiar dance had concluded. Servants appeared with wine and platters of food as conversation gradually returned, though many glances still flicked toward me with morbid fascination.
Valen’s hand came to rest possessively on my head, fingers threading through the intricate arrangement of my hair, subtly destroying Kas’s careful work. The touch was both reward and reminder… I had obeyed, but I remained under his control.
No food was offered to me. No wine. I sat in silence as the meal began,
acutely aware of every glance, every whispered comment. Valen ate and drank with apparent enjoyment, engaging in conversation with those nearest him as if nothing were amiss. Occasionally, his hand would drop to stroke my hair absently, the gesture both possessive and distracted, as one might pet a dog while focusing on other matters.
From my position on the floor, I had a unique vantage point. I could see beneath tables, notice the nervous shifting of feet, observe which nobles leaned toward each other to whisper comments behind their hands. I let my gaze drift over the assembled court, cataloging the survivors, noting the faces that were missing.
Almost half of those present were Nocthari, their dark clothing and pale faces marking them as citizens of the Blood Kingdom. They watched me with undisguised curiosity, some with open amusement, a few with something that might have been pity if I believed them capable of such emotion.
But scattered among them were faces I recognized—Vareth nobles who had somehow survived the night of slaughter. Their gazes slid away from mine when I looked at them directly, shame or fear making them unable to meet the eyes of the daughter to their former king.
There, near the center table, sat Lady Elinor, who had once gossiped with Cordelia. Beside her, Lord Talbett, whose political aspirations had always placed him firmly in Ira’s camp. Further down, the Countess of Wesmark, whose daughters had been Cordelia’s closest companions.
All of them had survived while my family had been butchered. All of them now wore the Nocthari colors, their Vareth insignias conspicuously absent, their expressions carefully neutral as they participated in this obscene celebration of their kingdom’s fall.
Traitors… I couldn’t decide if I hated them or envied them.
I narrowed my eyes at them all, but was suddenly distracted by a soft, sultry voice addressing the god who held my leash in his hands.
“Your pet looks hungry, my king,” said the Nocthari noblewoman seated near us. She was beautiful in the way of her kind—pale as moonlight, with hair like spun copper and eyes of such a dark blue they appeared almost black. Her gown was the deep crimson of arterial blood, cut to accentuate every curve of her body. “Perhaps a small morsel? We wouldn’t want her to waste away entirely.”
She leaned closer to Valen, her perfume—something sharp and floral, like burnt lillies—drifting over me. Her painted lips curved in a smile that
held no kindness, only the calculated flirtation I recognized from the court women of my past.
Valen’s hand tightened in my hair, using the grip to turn my face up toward his. His eyes studied mine with clinical interest, as if gauging exactly how much hunger burned behind my carefully neutral expression.
“She’s being trained,” he replied, addressing the noblewoman while continuing to hold my gaze. “One doesn’t reward an unbroken mount with treats. It only encourages... disobedience.” His thumb brushed across my bruised lower lip, the touch light enough to seem almost tender to observers.
Only I felt the subtle pressure against the split in the corner of my mouth, the deliberate aggravation of the wound he’d left there.
“Besides,” he continued, releasing my face and returning his attention to his meal, “I’m breaking her in slowly. Too much, too soon could... overwhelm her delicate constitution.”
His meaning wasn’t lost on anyone listening. A few of the nobles chuckled, their eyes sliding over me with renewed interest, measuring the bruises visible at the edges of my gown, in between my breasts, with fresh understanding. The noblewoman’s smile sharpened, her gaze traveling over me with the detached curiosity of someone examining an unusual specimen.
“I imagine there’s not much left to overwhelm,” she said, her voice carrying just the right note of sympathy to make the cruelty beneath it all the more pointed. “I’d heard she was rather... used up already.”
Several nobles laughed openly at this, their gazes crawling over me like insects. I kept my eyes firmly on Valen’s, refusing to acknowledge their amusement at my expense. The ember of hatred in my chest glowed hotter, fed by each indignity.
“Appearances can be deceiving, Eriseth,” Valen replied, his tone light but undercut with something darker. “The princess has proven remarkably... resilient. Haven’t you, pet?” His fingers stroked my cheek in a parody of affection.
I said nothing, the silence stretching uncomfortably. Valen’s fingers stilled against my skin, his touch turning from caress to grip in an instant. His nails bit into my jaw as he forced my face up to his.
“I asked you a question,” he said softly, dangerously. “It’s impolite not to answer when your king addresses you.”
The hall had grown quieter, the surrounding conversations dropping to hushed murmurs as attention focused on our exchange. I knew this was part
of the spectacle, my humiliation serving as entertainment for his feast. Valen was performing for his new court, demonstrating his absolute control.
I held his gaze steadily, weighing my options. To answer would be to acknowledge my status as his pet, to participate in my own degradation. To remain silent would invite punishment… more than what I already experienced.
My eyes flicked beyond Valen’s shoulder for a mere second, landing on Kassimir standing against the far wall. His eyes were narrowed on mine, and I knew he wanted me to remember his words.
A difference between submission and surrender. It’s a performance. Play your part.
“Yes,” I said finally, the word barely audible as my gaze returned to Valen’s. “I’ve proven resilient.”
Valen’s grip softened, his thumb brushing almost tenderly over the mark his nail had left on my skin. “Louder,” he commanded. “So they can hear you.”
I swallowed hard, the collar shifting against my throat with the movement. “Yes,” I repeated, my voice carrying clearly through the now- silent hall. “I’ve proven resilient.”
A pleased murmur rippled through the watching nobles, Kassimir giving me an almost imperceptible nod of approval. Valen released my jaw, his fingers returning to their possessive stroking of my hair. The softness in his touch made me want to squirm more than his cruelty had.
“Good pet,” he murmured, loud enough for those nearest to hear.
“Perhaps you do deserve a reward after all.”
He plucked a small piece of roasted meat from his plate and held it between his fingers, lowering it to my level. The aroma hit me like a physical force—rich, seasoned, glistening with juices. My stomach cramped violently, saliva flooding my mouth before I could control the reaction.
“Open,” Valen said, his voice velvet-soft.
I stared at the offering, at the fingers that held it. Those same fingers that had taken a whip to my back, that had painted my skin with bruises in the darkness of the dungeon. The hunger in my belly warred with the revulsion in my mind. To accept food from his hand, like a trained animal... it was perhaps the most complete surrender he had demanded yet.
But my body, traitor that it was, cared nothing for pride or dignity. Weeks of near-starvation had reduced me to base instinct. With self-loathing burning
in my chest, I parted my lips.
Valen placed the morsel on my tongue, his fingers lingering a moment too long against my lips, the invasion deliberate and possessive. The flavor exploded in my mouth, rich and complex after so long without proper food.
My eyes threatened to close in involuntary pleasure, but I forced them to remain open, fixed on Valen’s face. I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing how desperately I craved this small offering.
“Chew slowly,” he instructed, as if I were a child learning table manners.
“Savor it.”
I obeyed, each movement of my jaw measured and deliberate. The meat practically melted on my tongue, the fat and spices combining into a symphony of flavor that was almost painful in its intensity.
The noblewoman—Eriseth—watched this display with thinly veiled fascination, her dark blue eyes glittering with malice. “How charming,” she murmured, lifting her wine goblet. “Like feeding a stray that might still bite.”
Valen’s smile was all teeth. “Oh, she still bites. Don’t you, pet?” His fingers traced the line of my jaw. “But she’s learning when to bare her teeth and when to... submit.”
Submit. What a word. I would never submit to him.
I swallowed the last of the meat, the rich taste turning to ash in my mouth.
“Perhaps another taste?” Valen suggested, selecting a piece of crystallized fruit from a nearby platter. The sugar coating caught the light, glittering like diamonds as he held it before me. “Sweet this time. For variety.”
I stared at the candied fruit, the perfectly-ripe strawberry, my mouth watering despite myself. Valen held it between his fingers like a master teasing his dog with a treat. I wouldn’t beg. I wouldn’t — Eriseth let out a breathy laugh, the sound like broken glass against my ears. She rose slightly from her seat, leaning over Valen’s shoulder, her bright, copper hair falling in a curtain that brushed his neck, her blood-red lips nearly touching his ear. Whatever she whispered made his mouth curl at the corners, and I watched her fingers trail up his arm in a slow, deliberate caress, manicured nails leaving faint red lines against his skin.
Valen’s eyes—those eyes that had been fixed on me with such intensity— flicked away to regard her, the crystallized fruit forgotten between his fingers. Me, forgotten on the floor before him.
Something inside me snapped.
One moment I was staring at the two of them, my stomach clenching with
hunger, my mind numb with humiliation. The next, a white-hot fury erupted through me, obliterating thought, reason, consequence.
I lunged forward, not toward the offered sweet but at the hand that held it.
My teeth sank into the flesh between Valen’s thumb and wrist, breaking skin, driving deep until I tasted copper. I bit down harder, feeling something tear beneath my assault, a primal satisfaction surging through me as his blood flooded my mouth.
Valen’s reaction was instant—his eyes locked back on mine, his lips parting with a sharp intake of breath. His free hand, still tangled in my hair, yanked backward with brutal force, but I refused to release. I ground my teeth deeper, holding on like a feral thing, swallowing his blood as it poured over my tongue.
A collective gasp rippled through the hall. Eriseth’s face contorted with shock and something that might have been pure fear. The nobles nearest to us edged their chairs back slightly, as if expecting an explosion of divine wrath.
Our eyes held over his captured hand, and what I saw in his gaze should have terrified me—a bottomless darkness, ancient and cold and promising retribution.
Instead, I felt a savage triumph. I had marked him. I had drawn blood from a god.
I released his hand and sat back on my heels, making no move to wipe away the blood that smeared my lips and chin. Instead, I deliberately licked my lips, tasting him, swallowing with a smile that held all the defiance I’d been suppressing since the collar had been placed around my neck.
Valen didn’t move. Didn’t rage. Didn’t strike me down where I knelt. He simply looked at me, his expression unreadable save for a faint, terrible smile. “You will regret that,” he said softly, the words meant for my ears alone. It wasn’t a threat—it was a simple statement of fact, delivered with the same certainty one might discuss the rising of the sun or the changing of seasons.
As I watched his blood drip from his hand onto the pristine tablecloth, something strange began to unfurl within me. The metallic taste lingering on my tongue seemed to spread, warming my throat, my chest, my limbs with an unfamiliar heat. The triumph I’d felt moments before shifted, transforming into something altogether different—a peculiar lightheadedness, a tingling that raced along my nerves.
But I refused to show any outward sign that his blood was affecting me.
Instead, I let my grin widen. “Worth it,” I whispered back, my voice steady despite the trembling that had begun in my limbs.
He released my hair with a casual flick of his wrist, as if discarding something of no consequence. Blood dripped from the bite on his hand, but he made no move to staunch it. Instead, he lifted his fingers to examine the wound with casual interest, watching as his blood—darker than human blood, nearly black in the candlelight—dripped from the perfect crescent of teeth marks. “You see?” he said to Eriseth, his voice warm with something like pride. “Still bites.”
Then, turning to the silent, fearful court, he raised his bleeding hand and his goblet in a simultaneous gesture.
“A spirited one,” he announced, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall. The tension broke as he chuckled, the sound rich and somehow more terrifying than any display of rage would have been. “They all break eventually.”
The nobles laughed nervously, retaking their seats and conversation slowly resuming as they realized the entertainment was over—at least for now. Eriseth remained silent, her dark eyes moving between Valen and me with calculating precision, reassessing whatever game she had thought she was playing.
Valen leaned down, bringing his lips close to my ear, his fingers tangling through my braid once more, blood coating the strands.
“When I return to your cell,” he murmured, “you, my little rebel, will learn the difference between my mercy...” His grip tightened painfully.
“...and my wrath.”
I twisted my head, forcing our gazes to meet, lips inches apart.
“Like I said,” I whispered, my voice sharp as uncut steel, “Worth. It.”
We held each other’s eyes, neither willing to yield. I had tasted his blood.
I had marked his perfect flesh.
Whatever vengeance he planned, I would meet it with this moment burned into me.
He yanked my head away, forcing me back onto the cushion like something discarded.
But in the space between us, I felt it. The shift. The crack in his enjoyment.
I knew our war was not over, but tonight I had at least drawn first blood.
For the remainder of the feast, Valen’s attention did not return to me.
Eriseth’s attempts at conversation were met with polite disinterest, her touch subtly, but unmistakably, rebuffed.
If this was to be my victory, it was a hollow one—purchased with pain yet to come, with retribution I could only imagine.
And all throughout the evening, I could taste him. His blood curled in my veins like smoke, like fire, like memory. Something primitive stirred inside me—a pull, a yearning, a curse I had no name for.
Still, the leash remained, tightly wrapped around his fist.
