by A. K. Koonce
No. No. No. I can't watch this.
No. No. No. She can't win.
"Lincoln Ziko. You are charged with conspiring to hide a possible contender to the crown. You have betrayed my trust and the trust of this kingdom." The queen growls.
The whip cracks again. Lincoln cries out, the ropes groaning.
I'm here. I'm here, Lincoln. I chant.
Don't watch. He urges.
But I can't tear my gaze away. I can't look away without feeling like I'm leaving him alone. He's taking this punishment for me. I'm the reason he's hurting now.
"Cordelia don't you do this to him!" I scream. "It's me you want to tear down. It's me you should be punishing."
Stop it. Lincoln's thoughts scream. STOP IT.
"QUEEN!" Cordelia bellows. "You will call me queen. And I have my plans for you." She points a long shaking finger at me. "Hit him again."
The guard raises the whip and slashes it back down. Lincoln's screams replay through the valley. The crowd gasps, many holding their breath or taking a step back. But they can't leave. No, Cordelia needs an audience and they have no choice but to stay.
"No,” I yell again, looking to the crowd. "I am your queen. I am your queen." I repeat the sentiment as the tears fall in streams against my cheeks, making the skin taut. "Stop hurting him. He's mine. And I love him."
Lincoln's shoulders shake, as he hunches forward, pulling the rope as far forward as they'll go. His pain lives inside his mind, angry and shameful.
Cordelia's face glows with purple anger. "Oh, you love him."
Her heels dig into the soft dirt of the earth and she storms towards Lincoln. Blood drips down his back, his skin flushed a bright pink. As she walks to him, she starts picking up the fabric of her skirt. It slides high up her thighs and she keeps pulling at the material.
She reaches for Lincoln’s hair, pulling his face up toward the sky. He’s slick with sweat and his cheeks are damp with unasked for tears, his hair clinging to the sheen of his forehead.
"Lincoln is mine. I own him." Cordelia says, her tone is calm. "I'll wash him clean of you. I'll fuck him till he forgets you exist."
My heartbeat stops.
Cordelia flings one of her legs over his shoulder, Lincoln's mouth opens as he groans in pain, her heel hitting the fresh cuts. The queen slips a hand under her skirt, pulls her panties to the side and presses Lincoln’s face into her, burying him in her pussy.
I turn away. But my mind is still aware.
Panic. Shame. Disgust. It’s all relevant and comes to life inside of Lincoln. His mental walls slam up with such force I can no longer see the world through his eyes. He’s alone in this place of disgrace.
"Turn her to me. I want her to see my cum on his face."
The guard that hovers with me grabs my cheeks and turns me toward the scene. I press my eyes as closed as they can be, but the sounds... they persist.
Lincoln chokes and gags, desperate to pull away. I can also hear the slickness of the queen. The wet slap as she grinds against his face. She breathes heavily, moaning under her breath with every rock of her hips.
The crowd behind her is silent.
Warm fingers fight to pry my eyes open, giving me glimpses of the wicked gratification on Cordelia's face. My stomach turns.
A pleasure filled cry, soaked in the satisfaction that I'm here to bear witness, croons from her red lips. She pants, riding the wave of her performance shamelessly.
My jaw is set so tightly the muscles in my neck and face protest. I only willingly open my eyes as her foot slams back to the ground. She gives me a satisfied smile, tilting Lincoln’s head back. His lips, his cheeks, and his chin all shine. As she drops his head, he sags to the ground, spitting.
Her smile lights up her face in the most terrifying of ways. She enjoys this. The cruel queen gets off on her unconsented dominance.
Bile rises in my throat.
I’ll fucking end her.
She watches me. Her laugh an airy taunt. She holds her gown up off the ground and dips her hand between her legs. With glistening fingers she points at me and turns back to Lincoln. Her red nails dig into his cheek making crescent indents in his skin as she forces his mouth open and runs her fingers over his tongue.
Lincoln’s eyes are shut so tightly his skin crinkles with the exaggeration. Somehow, he is unmoving under her touch. Somewhere in the back of my mind I register the guards hold on me.
But my limbs have gone numb.
And I’m thrashing against the hold.
“I’ll kill you.” I hiss the promise.
Cordelia nods to the guard, leaving her fingers fish hooked inside Lincoln’s mouth. “I’d like to see you try.”
Then the guard behind him raises his whip and strikes again.
And again.
And again.
Eighteen
Rated R
Blood has dried against the rope that sits at my feet. Gently, I run my finger over my wrist, peeling off the left-over flakes of scabs. The skin is already smooth and new. Fae healing has quickly closed the cuts on my arms from working the ropes off of myself. Now, the dead skin is easily coming off.
I’m healed. But a little part of me will always be broken.
My white dress is now an off-putting shade of grey with streaks of green from being yanked across the grass of the valley. Strips of fabric dangle from the tattered edges of my gown. My only small, very minuscule, piece of satisfaction is that Kai had paid for this dress and now it’s ruined. I fiddle with the undone hemming, my back aching for rest. But there isn't anywhere I can lean. I hiss, just shifting my legs against the wrought iron cage. My back and wings are exposed the small jacket long since disposed of by the guards.
Lincoln groans, pushing himself up from where he's been laying on his chest. His eyes flutter, practically rolling inside of his head as he moves. His cuts, much deeper than mine, are almost closed now. But it would be hours before the scabs fell away from his perfect skin.
He wipes his hand over his mouth and stills. The images, the feeling, the helplessness of Cordelia forcing herself on him—and so publicly—fills his thoughts. In turn, filling my thoughts.
My fists clench the material of my dress tight inside of them. I hate to relive it, to truly see it through his eyes, now. I hate that he had to go through with it at all.
Finally, his iron sliced gaze lands on me. "Briar." His eyes drift away as he whispers quietly. “I’m sorry. I’m…”
"I'm fine. That—all of that mess wasn’t your fault." The moment I say it the sadness in his gaze swings to me and then drifts down to my wounds. “I’m fine,” I say once more. I try to push my skirt over my legs to hide the red wounds. Lincoln's attention only follows my hands.
"Your legs are covered in blisters."
"Turns out that releasing my Fae half only... made my allergy worse."
It could be worse, I try to remind myself. Though honestly, I'm not sure how. My legs are dotted with a heated red rash that rises up off my skin from sitting in this iron cage swinging above what is about to be a large party.
The beatings got the better of Lincoln. They'd carried his unconscious body all the way from the valley to here. Dirt sticks to his face, clinging to the evidence of Cordelia's abuse. I was awake for it all. It's hard to look at him, but he needs to know that nothing’s changed between us. I won't give my demon spawn half-sister the pleasure.
Lincoln pulls himself to the edge of the cage. The bars press against his cheeks. Under us, servants scurry to and from setting up tables and chairs and rolling out a sparkling red carpet. Presumably for the queen to walk down to the massive throne that's been brought from the room on the second level. Crystals are strung onto banners that they tack to the walls.
"Well, this is going to be grand," Lincoln groans, sitting up. He tosses a look over his shoulder trying to get a glance at his back. "How is it?"
"You have a bit more healing left to do. At least you're alive."
"Oh, ther
e is still time for that to change. And I'm quite certain it will." He offers me a pathetic smile.
I run my finger over a metal bar feeling heat tingle up my skin from its acid touch. There's enough room in here they could have put us both in one.
"Honestly, these cages remind me of that damn sex club." I think out loud, thankful for the slightest distraction.
"Sex club?"
"Yeah, remember it's where Rowan and Kai took me and Jase?"
Nothing like making small talk while we dangle above our waiting deaths. Just try not to think about it. Yeah, maybe that will make this all go away, just don't think about it. Briar, you idiot.
"The night you kissed Rowan?"
"Rowan kissed me,” I correct him.
"You let him kiss you."
"I thought that didn't bother you. But by all means, now is the time to get it all off your chest." I gesture drastically below us.
"I didn't like it. But I understood it. I even understood how you and Kai could be so... so flirty."
"You think," I laugh, "You think Kai and I were flirting."
"Yeah, and look where that got you." His brows lift so high they're hidden by his shag of bangs.
"Look where that got me? Now tell me how... how was I supposed to know that your brother was going to betray me to the Queen of the Shadow Court in exchange for a loveless marriage? You're his blood and you didn't even know."
"We're not talking about that, right now." Lincoln's hand fists and he hits himself in the forehead, closing his eyes tightly. "I can't believe my brother. I'll wring his neck when I get out of here."
"If you get out of here."
"We're getting out of here," he says sternly.
"Alright, if you say so." I shrug. I run my sweaty palms over my skirt, no longer caring if I made myself a mess. After a moment of silence, I whisper, "Do you think Rowan made it out?"
"I--" His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. "I hope so."
Quiet voices carry up to our cages. I don't need to press myself against the bars and burn my face to know that Cordelia's crowd is arriving. Servants stand at the ready with trays holding arrangements of bubbling drinks and food. Their scent mixes with sweat, blood, and magic inside my cage.
There is a moment of awe as they look up at the spectacle of us above them. Not one of them are the court members I'd met earlier in the day. Which leads me to wonder if this is the rest of her court or if there are truly that many Fae here ready to worship at her undeserving feet.
The room fills with Fae in their finery. Bellion stands near the throne, running a long skinny hand down his jacket as he watches the crowd. I look from him to Lincoln.
"Bellion was behind all the killings. Why is he still walking around like a free man?"
"I was... working on that," Lincoln says with an edge to his voice.
"I'm sure he'll be pleased to see this th—”
Our cages jolt from their positions against the ceiling. Both my hands instinctively fall against the iron to catch me, searing my palms with its poison. Lincoln's eyes widen as he looks at me. Fear rallies in the back of his mind but I can feel him fighting to stifle it down. Perhaps I'm the same way. Scared of death but refusing to acknowledge it.
"It's going to be okay," he says with determination through gritting teeth.
"Is that supposed to calm me or you?" I cradle my burning hands against my chest, barely able to hiss out the words.
"Both." He nods, holding on to the bars.
He looks the part of a criminal.
It's oddly attractive. I think all too quickly, trying to dismiss the thought so disconnected from my reality. Lincoln gives me a small smirk.
Dirt is embedded under his nails and smudged against his cheeks. His hair is both messily tossed on top of his head and matted to it. He's shirtless and breathing hard, his yellow eyes glowing with a dare.
Faces grow nearer as we descend. Their features are so well masked with excitement it takes me a minute to see their worry. Cordelia might think she has their loyalty, but fearful people will never be loyal until they feel safe. Fae smile up at us, but it's in their worried glances to one another that I find the mixed emotions. The gentle graze of hands giving out comforting touches. Mother's calling to their children to keep them close. Yes, Cordelia's opened up this part to all ages no matter the gore.
Cordelia, my death is going to be rated R because I'm not going down without a fight.
The world is no longer the haze of the drugged drink given to me by Kai. I can see everyone's faces so clearly. I can move so smoothly once again. The only thing keeping me from feeling my best at the foot of my death is the bastardly iron surrounding me, burning me.
As the cages come to a halt again, dangling just a few feet off the ground now, my legs are jostled, peeling skin that's melting into a sticky mess against the metal. A groan, I'd rather not allow, leaves me.
"So this is your Mortal Queen?" Bellion saunters forward, announcing to the crowd. "She doesn't look so powerful to me." The gangly man reaches through the bars, trying to lift my chin. I shift out of the way and he laughs. His long fingers snatch up a bar in the absence of my skin and he pulls then pushes my cage, spinning me violently.
There's nothing for me to do but hold on and hold down the nausea building in my stomach and rising like acid up my throat. Faces, decorations, the flash of lights all come and go. They blur together.
"Bellion, you fucking bastard, don't you dare touch her!" Lincoln bares his teeth, spitting his words out like thunder.
"Oh, Lincoln," the queen's right-hand man purrs, "You'll be dead before long and you'll no longer be a worry I need to babysit. The least you could do is make your death quiet for us."
Still, Bellion, juts out an arm. My exposed back, my wings, slam against the bars and my body stings with the burning blight of fire. The room doesn't move any longer, but I can't will myself to open my eyes.
"I'm fine, Lincoln. He'll have to do more than take me on a child's ride to hurt me," I manage.
There’s an angry haze inside Lincoln's head. Unbreakable and focused on his frustration. He keeps his attention on Bellion. With one violent kick of his boot, Lincoln forces his cage to swing forward and he wraps his hand up in Bellion's white shirt, dragging the Fae back with him as momentum carries the cage backwards.
"Mark my words, I'll tear you limb from limb when I'm free."
Bellion’s nose brushes against Lincoln's. He gives him a dry laugh, and begins peeling his fingers from his clothes. Splotches of mud and blood cling to the white button up and he tries to wipe it clean from him.
"Ah, I see our guests are being treated well." Cordelia's shrill voice coos from the other side of the room.
I blink open my eyes. Fae step back, creating a walkway for the queen. She's changed from her glittering red gown and replaced it with a sparkling white dress not entirely different from mine. As the crowd moves with the swiftness of the sea calling its tide away from the shore, she locks eyes with me.
My expression doesn't change. I don't give her the satisfaction of acknowledging her. So she flickers her gaze to Lincoln. Cordelia's hand snakes down her body, traveling over the curve of her breasts, the flat valley of her stomach, and down to cup her own sex.
"I'd like to thank you for pleasing me so, Lincoln." She gives him a small wink. "At least we know that these half-breeds can still do one thing."
Cordelia holds her slender hands up, tilting back with a cackle. The crowd laughs with her. Some more willingly than others. Air wheezes from Lincoln's lungs and he freezes in his crouched position.
"Silence." The queen demands. Her heels tap against the shining tiled floor as she crosses her legs with an exaggerated sway of her hips. The dress gleams with the sparkling innocence of a freshly fallen and undisturbed snow.
This is no innocent queen.
The chandeliers cast their light down, creating a spot light between our prisons. She comes to a stop, gripping the bars. With every sway the cr
owd murmurs amongst themselves.
"I'm so happy you both could join us for this wonderful celebration." Her voice is poisoned with false sincerity.
All talking comes to a full stop. A hush falls over the crowd, their attention pulled to the arching entrance of the room. The thrum of power travels through the ground. It rises, sparking at the bottom of our cages, crackling like small bolts of lightning.
I inhale sharply. Empty eyes framed in tan skin and dark silky hair. A familiar tan tunic is wrapped around her slender body, outlined in a similar stormy energy. Maybe the volcano top wasn't stormy because that's just how the atmosphere is, maybe it's stormy because Zeve is the storm.
Don't say a word. Don't acknowledge her. Lincoln begs inside my mind.
I won't. I would never. I'm as strong as I am now because of this woman, and I can't imagine what my human body would be like after the day I'm having.
"You've finally made it!" Cordelia says pleasantly, letting our cages go as a spark snaps at her fingertips. "It took you far too long." She deadpans.
"I was... busy." Zeve responds. She watches the crowd with little amusement. Her eyes searching for something, for someone, I quickly realize as she skims past Lincoln and I.
"Come now, enjoy a drink. Have a snack."
"I'd rather get this over with. As you know, I'm highly sought after and my work has little end." Zeve steps forward, still barefoot, to lift up the sheer scarf of a man who stands tensely to the side. She fiddles with the fabric for only a breath before she drops it and strolls forward toward us.
"Very well." Cordelia snaps her fingers. "Guards."
Men, previously under Lincoln's command, bustle forward pushing through anyone in their way. They jostle the cages with little concern for the blisters that bubble on my skin with every single tilting movement. Large hands reach in, tugging me out.
It's almost a relief as the cold air hits my burning skin before the scraps of my dress fall back over my legs. My ankles cock at an odd angle as I'm pulled forward with my heels dragging against the ground.