As the languid sun began its descent, painting the sky in hues of fading gold and bruised purple, the festivities were set to commence. Yet, within Nexarina, a fragile ember of hope still flickered. Rather than surrender to the seemingly inevitable, she clung to that slender thread with the tenacity of a drowning soul.
The assembled guests had dispersed after the pronouncements, a murmur of polite congratulations and hushed speculation filling the hall. General Grant, the victor in this grim affair, moved amongst them, a figure of formidable composure, accepting their felicitations. Nexarina remained rooted to the spot where he had left her, the heavy chains a constant, brutal reminder of her captivity.
Her gaze snagged upon King Riot in a shadowed corner, and with a desperate flicker of her eyes, she signaled to him. He responded with a look of cold disdain before reluctantly making his way towards her.
At least, she thought with a sliver of relief, he had not entirely cast her aside after this forced union. She grasped at this small comfort, this last chance. Fothergill. He was her only hope of salvation. If only her father could be persuaded to summon him. Perhaps, just perhaps, a path to freedom could still be forged.
But as King Riot drew nearer, his well-tailored doublet emphasizing his powerful build, a smile bloomed upon his face. It was not directed at her. It was a smile of genuine warmth, a sight so rare in his interactions with her that it struck her with a cold dread. Her fears were confirmed as he veered away, extending a hand to General Grant, his grin widening with an unsettling sincerity. The last time she had witnessed such unadulterated joy on her father's face was in the long-lost days when her mother still lived. And it had never been directed at her. Never.
A brief exchange passed between them, General Grant's expression remaining as unyielding as granite. Then, her father turned and strode away, Thane, his ever-present shadow, following close behind.
A frustrated hiss escaped her lips, and she bit down hard, instantly regretting the impulsive action as a sharp sting reminded her of the general's brutal kiss. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she swallowed the rising sob as General Grant finally turned his attention back to her, his approach deliberate, his posture radiating a quiet, unnerving confidence.
He possessed a physique that commanded attention, tall and broad-shouldered, a veritable specimen of manhood. The devil himself seemed to have been generous in his endowments. Was it possible for a man to be so flawlessly formed? Perhaps, she mused with a touch of bitter humour, the gods had compensated by making him utterly inept in the bedchamber. One could only hope.
He came to stand beside her, his presence radiating a quiet power, and placed a light, possessive hand at the small of her back.
"When are you taking this off?" she asked, her voice tight with suppressed fury, gesturing at the chain.
"Why? Do you find the sensation unpleasant?" His tone was low, laced with a teasing note that sent a shiver of unease through her.
She kept her eyes fixed on the unyielding stone, lest she be forced to confront the reality of her impending doom in his gaze and shatter into a million irreparable pieces. "Why would I find pleasure in being bound like a common criminal?"
"Perhaps you shall grow accustomed to it. It may even feature in the consummation of our marriage." The words were delivered with a casual air, yet they struck her with the force of a physical blow. Surely, he jested?
"Do I strike you as a woman who enjoys being trussed up whilst being… serviced?" The crude word felt foreign and distasteful on her tongue.
"Indeed." His gaze dropped, lingering on her bound wrists before rising to meet her shocked eyes. "You possess a certain… spiritedness. I imagine it would be rather delightful to tame."
Her heart gave a violent lurch, a knot tightening in her chest. A strange, unfamiliar sensation flickered between her thighs, a nascent heat that she fiercely suppressed, praying it was not what she feared.
"You are mad," she spat, the word a weak defense against the unsettling stirrings within her.
"And you," he whispered, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip, his eyes dark and intense, "are utterly exquisite. These plum lips look as though they were fashioned to perfectly encompass my…"
"General," a clear voice interrupted. A woman in a gown of striking orbit blue approached, her smile polite but firm. "You are required at the secretariat, my Lord."
With a curt nod, he cast Nexarina one last, lingering look that spoke volumes of a possessive hunger, before turning and striding away into the throng.
Nexarina watched him disappear, a shudder of revulsion mixed with a strange, unwelcome tremor running through her. Not only was he cruel and arrogant, but his mind clearly harboured… peculiar inclinations.
The thought of him looming over her, pounding into her while she lay helpless in chains, was abhorrent. She paused, a strange conflict warring within her.
Yet… a treacherous little voice whispered in the recesses of her mind. Imagine the utter helplessness. The exquisite vulnerability. The challenge… the forbidden thrill…
Her scandalous train of thought was abruptly derailed as the woman who had summoned General Grant knelt before her, the clinking of metal announcing her task. With a practiced hand, she unlocked the heavy chains that bound Nexarina's ankles, then rose to undo the manacles that chafed her wrists, a gentle, almost sympathetic smile gracing her lips.
"Did… did he bid you release me?" Nexarina asked, a flicker of disbelief warring with a cautious hope.
"He entrusted the keys to my keeping, it is true," the woman replied, her smile unwavering, "but he gave no instruction to set you free. This is my own doing. We have somewhere we must be."
Nexarina's brow furrowed in suspicion. "Somewhere? Where?"
"It is to be a surprise," the woman offered, her smile softening into something akin to warmth.
"How am I to trust you?" Nexarina countered, her voice laced with skepticism. "For all I know, you could be a pawn of General Grant, leading me into some further snare."
"And why would he trouble himself?" the woman replied, her tone matter-of-fact. "He already has you precisely where he desires."
The blunt truth of the statement stung, yet it was undeniable. Nexarina cleared her throat, the taste of bile rising within her. "Where are you taking me?"
"To a place where you might find… solace," the woman answered, her eyes holding a curious mixture of pity and something else Nexarina could not quite decipher. "Somewhere you would wish to be."