by Rae, Nikki
“This,” Master Lyon said, coming forward to pet the horse—I was so in awe I hadn’t thought to do the same myself, “is Opal.”
“Onyx and Opal,” I repeated.
“Or anything you like,” he added. “I thought it fit, but you could change it.”
“Me?” I asked, taken off guard. “Why should I name your horse, sir?”
He smiled. “She is your horse, Doe. It’s only right she have a name you like.”
I had decided to join him in petting her, but I stopped cold. “I…I’m not sure I understand, sir.” Of course on a base level, I knew he meant for this horse to be mine. I just couldn’t grasp why. What did this elaborate, meaningless gesture mean?
He stopped what he was doing and closed the tiny space that remained between us. Tugging my hands free from my coat pockets, he held them in front of him with surprisingly warm hands. “This is my proof, Doe.” He was serious. “She is yours and she will be waiting for your return. I’ll show you how to ride her and take care of her—anything.”
I wanted to state the most obvious—that giving me a horse guaranteed nothing and I had a hard time figuring out how he thought it did—but as I looked at him, I saw that he was no longer my Owner. He was Elliot, the little boy who’d been conditioned to believe things of wealth and beauty meant care and love. He meant what he was saying. He truly thought I would come back in one piece, whether he rescued me or not. Though I couldn’t be quite as sure as him, I had to believe he would try.
I bit the inside of my cheek and thought of what to say. A thank you was too simple and the truth was too sharp. It made me taste blood.
Instead, I turned my attention to the horse, smoothing the warm, spotless coat as I imagined Elliot’s reality, but the picture was too vague and unreliable to see.
FIVE
He held my hand as we walked back to the house, through the now deserted foyer, and upstairs. When he stopped, he finally let go and a sense of sadness threatened to overshadow any good feeling he’d created with this little outing. We were in front of my room. Lifting a lock of my hair from my neck, he whispered into my ear, “You are not to speak unless I say so. Is that clear?”
It was difficult to ignore the tingling sensation this sent through my spine, the flush of my cheeks, but I nodded. A second later, it hit me that the reason he did this was because of what awaited me on the other side of the door. He twisted the knob and it popped open with a creak. The lights were on, curtains completely open to let in the morning sun as it turned to mid-day. At the vanity against the wall, two women gathered around the tabletop, scattering makeup, brushes, and other beauty products I could only guess.
Master Lyon entered first, and I stared at the ground as I followed. “Bonne après-midi,” he said. Good afternoon.
They both wore plain black dresses that came down to their knees, modest heels and their hair in neat buns. These were women of the Order I’d only heard about thus far: the Forgotten. This idea was meant to instill fear in us, that if we didn’t behave and acquire a Suitor and then Owner, we would be sold as maids. We would have every skill a girl from the Order possessed, but without all of the pretty trappings. Instead, if we were not transferred into the Ownership of a Member by the age of eighteen, we became Forgotten, we would be the unfortunate ones who could only look in from the outside to what we could have had if only we’d been better little princesses. My case had been different. I wasn’t even fit to be a maid for an Owner. Only the Compound, where I would be locked away from other Members’ eyes so they could forget the threat I had been to their precious Order.
At Master Lyon’s greeting, both women abruptly turned around, one of them even releasing a gasp. One was middle-aged and the other couldn’t have been more than a few years older than me.
“Bonjour, Maître Lyon,” they said in unison, immediately curtseying and lowering their eyes to the floor.
The palm of his hand gently urged me further into the room and I heard the click of the door shutting behind us. “Doe,” he said like he was talking to someone ten years younger than me, “this is Estelle and Sabine.” He unzipped my coat and took it off, throwing it over his forearm. “They’re going to get you ready for tonight.”
I almost opened my mouth to greet them, but I caught myself and mimicked the same curtsey they had given me, hands folded in front of my lap and eyes cast downward.
When I looked back up, they were both staring at me with wide smiles, eyes bright as if they were seeing some rare cosmic event.
“Elle est belle, Maître Lyon,” said the younger woman. She’s beautiful.
“Merci, Sabine,” he replied.
They continued the entire conversation in French, and I realized for the first time that these women might have been unaware that I spoke the language.
“What would you like done, sir?” the older woman asked while the other started circling me, scanning my body up and down.
“Everything you can do in…” Master Lyon glanced out the window, “three hours.”
“Well,” Sabine said, “We’d better get started.”
Master Lyon stood in front of me, lifting the bottom of my shirt. He only glanced at me with the tiniest hint of a smirk before the sweater was over my head and on the bed along with the coat he’d already taken. Sabine took the liberty of removing my pants and I tried to accept what they were doing as Estelle unzipped a suitcase at the foot of the bed and started lying things out on the nightstand.
Sabine grabbed my hand and I made sure she watched as I looked to my Owner for his approval; he gave me a small nod.
Sabine sat me on the bed, slipping my underwear down my legs without comment.
“Have you ever had hair removed, Doe?” he asked in English as Sabine placed a pillow under my head and I lay down, legs dangling off the sheets.
I stared up at my Owner before timidly shaking my head. He squeezed my knee as Sabine bent them both, making me even more prone to their scrutiny. My chest and cheeks became so hot they felt numb.
Master Lyon turned his attention back to the women, using French again. “I want her bare. Makeup natural. Her hair should be understated.”
“Of course, sir,” Estelle answered as she fiddled with her products lined up out of my view. “We don’t want to distract from her natural beauty.”
“Or that dress,” Sabine added as she came closer to me, dumb smile still in place. “Don’t be nervous, Miss Doe,” she said in heavily accented English. She rubbed my thigh in what I guessed was supposed to be a soothing manner, grazing just where my scars began. “It looks like you’ve been through much worse.”
Without any preamble, a thick, hot substance was spread down the center of my pubic hair. I gasped, struggling to remain still with my legs open the way they’d placed them.
Master Lyon laughed as he smoothed this thumb over my cheek. “So red, Doe,” he said. “I wish I could stay to watch her work.”
A large part of me knew he was playing things up for our visitors, but I also saw that he genuinely enjoyed my embarrassment.
“Vous êtes un homme occupé, monsieur,” Estelle said, smoothing cloth over the goo I had figured out was wax. You’re a busy man, sir. She continued on in French. “Besides, it would be horribly boring for you.”
“And it would ruin the surprise of seeing her when we’re all done!” Sabine said with the excitement of a child receiving a puppy on Christmas.
Then she ripped off the wax so suddenly I let out the loudest whisper of a moan.
As he walked across the room, Master Lyon smiled. “She’s been forbidden to speak unless I say,” he told them in French, still pretending to conceal me from their conversation. “Try not to tempt her into misbehaving.”
“Of course, sir,” they replied as one.
I heard him heading for the door and Sabine said, “We’ll have her ready by four, sir,” before it shut.
More wax was applied just to the left of where she’d laid the first patch and more ha
ir was ripped out. I didn’t focus on why I needed to be hairless—the pain and trying to remain silent were hard enough to tolerate.
“I can’t believe it’s her,” Sabine said in a whisper, still in her native tongue. Now I knew for certain they didn’t know I could understand them.
“Don’t,” Estelle snapped, though she used the same cheery tone. Sighing, she said, “I’m assuming he doesn’t want us to cover these scars…”
I clenched my teeth as they ripped more hair away.
“The Master likes what he likes.” Sabine sounded like she truly approved of him; as if coming to my Owner’s home to prepare his girl was an honor. To her, it probably was.
“It’s a shame,” Estelle lamented. “I’m good at covering scars.”
Time passed at an agonizing pace punctuated by more wax and more discomfort. When my flesh was raw, pink, and hairless, they got to work applying my makeup, setting my thick hair in wide curlers before they put me in a dress that was more jewelry than clothing considering the little amount of fabric. Nothing covered any of my most private areas and it wasn’t until now that I started to feel sick about it.
Strands of diamonds draped themselves over my shoulders, down my back, and around my curves—which had formed once I’d started eating regularly again.
He was dressing me up. I wasn’t stupid enough to believe it was just for his enjoyment. There were others, but who? Master Jäger? Was tonight the night?
My chest hurt and my eyes watered at the thought.
“Don’t cry, Miss Doe,” Sabine said as if she was speaking to an infant. She dabbed at my mascara. “You look so pretty. You don’t want to ruin it for your handsome Owner, do you?”
“Good thing we used waterproof,” Estelle said in French under her breath as she unrolled my hair, gently brushing through the curls so it hung in large, loose waves while she braided sections of it so it wouldn’t be in my face.
I sniffled up the remaining tears and prayed they wouldn’t tell Master Lyon I’d displayed such weakness.
“There,” Sabine said when I forced my lips into an apologetic expression. “You look even prettier when you smile.”
It was nothing I hadn’t heard a thousand times before, but I feigned embarrassment and stared into my lap as she sprayed my hair so it would stay in place.
Thankfully, it wasn’t long after that they finished. They helped me to my feet and guided me to the mirror and I had to touch my own face to make sure who I was looking at was really me.
My hair was tamed and smooth, none of it hiding my brightened cheeks or mascara-enlarged eyes. They left me there to admire myself as they cleaned up their supplies and packed things away. I might as well have been naked for all the diamonds covered, but that was the point, wasn’t it? To adorn your trophy so you could show it off?
A knock on the door set me somewhat at ease; only one person ever knocked.
“Entrez, monsieur,” Estelle said as the remaining beauty products were put away.
Mr. B stepped in wearing his usual all-black uniform, only now his shirt was also black, which made the equally black tie around his neck blend in. I hadn’t seen much of him since my return and the smile I gave him was anything but false. I almost forgot how bare I was when he looked directly into my eyes and returned the gesture.
“Why, she’s gorgeous, girls,” he said in perfect French, yet I could tell he was forcing the proud inflection.
They gushed their thanks and Mr. B gave them each a crisp one hundred dollar bill from his pocket.
“Please tell Master Lyon it was a pleasure,” said Estelle as she rolled her suitcase of supplies into the hall and Sabine did the same behind her.
Mr. B bid them goodbye and shut the door behind him. Now that we were alone, the reality of what could await me downstairs crashed into my nervous system full force, filling my body with tremors and my chest with dread.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, Miss Doe.” He took a cautious step forward and I unconsciously took one back, my shoulders pressed against the cold mirror and the diamonds digging into my skin. It didn’t escape me that he’d called me by my Owned name. It shouldn’t have felt strange—this was who I had to be now—but I couldn’t help but give it a second more of attention than I should have.
“I’m not going down there,” I blurted out. “I—I’m not ready.”
He stopped, folding his hands in front of him. When he looked at me, his smile had slipped from polite to concerned, maybe even a little sad. “The master only wants me to escort you the study, Miss Doe.” When I didn’t move, his frown grew even deeper. “It is only him,” he added.
There was no way I was going to believe that. I’d seen the people milling about. I knew I’d been primped for more than just my Owner. I shook my head.
His sigh was one more of pity than annoyance. “He would be very disappointed if he had to come up here himself.”
I let out a shaky breath as he came closer, carefully reaching out like I was a caged animal ready to attack. He was right, of course; Master Lyon would make it much worse for me if I didn’t obey. No amount of humiliation or torture awaiting me would come close. Worse, I would disappoint him, and that notion was almost more upsetting than the idea of being beaten.
My trembling fingers found the palm of his warm, assuring hand. “Very good, Miss Doe.” The inflection he used sounded more like encouragement than approval and I was grateful it was him here right now, that the two women who had transformed me were no longer there. One set of eyes was enough for me right now.
“Nothing to be afraid of with me,” he added as he led me through the room and to the door.
I felt especially exposed to him, as if I was back on the foyer floor, bloody and broken.
Mr. B must have noticed my change in posture as we walked down the stairs. “Nothing to be embarrassed about either, Miss Doe.” He patted my hand. “I won’t look at you,” he whispered. We were quiet for the last few steps until he seemed to realize something. “And I won’t tell anyone you spoke.”
I’d almost forgotten about that rule.
When I looked up at him, his attention never strayed from my eyes. I wanted to thank him, but all I could manage with my restrictions was a slight crease of my brow. Thankfully, he understood, nodding in response.
Once we reached the study, Master Lyon sat at the desk wearing a fitted suit, cigarette pluming smoke into the air as it rested in a glass ashtray. He actually stood when he saw me, a momentary look of awe in his eyes before he came forward. “Thank you, Marius,” he said, taking my hand from Mr. B.
“Dinner is on schedule,” he said in an even tone, no polite kindness added; a part of me smiled at this tiny act of defiance. Then he swiftly turned on a heel and disappeared towards the kitchen.
My Owner slinked past me to shut the stained glass door. “Your face is still red,” he said, circling around me and making it even more so. “Still embarrassed, Doe?”
Without a word, he slipped a hand down my stomach to the sensitive skin below. Shivers wove through me, knitting a quilt of confused emotions as his fingers grazed the area. Too easily, my legs parted when he moved between them, no hint of the sudden jolt of pleasure I expected. He merely wanted to make sure the people he’d paid had done their job correctly.
“So smooth,” he whispered in my ear before he removed his hand and stepped away. “Not usually my preference,” he said, “but on you…”
He tipped my chin downward so my lips parted and he stuck the fingers he’d touched me with into my mouth. When I moved back instinctively, he held my head and I realized what he wanted. Without hesitation, I sucked, tasting myself on him. If it was possible, my cheeks became even redder.
“And so wet, Doe,” he whispered as he pulled away completely and my body filled with heat and then cooled. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to a chair.
I did as I was told, but I had trouble with the diamonds biting into the skin of the backs of my thighs and buttocks.
My gaze had nearly turned into a glare but he said nothing about it.
I scanned the room and it looked exactly the way it had when I had broken into the desk and found all of his secrets before I ran. I sat in the leather high back chair across from another identical one, a small glass end table separating them. On top was a large black book I hadn’t seen before, gold around the edges and the Chimera emblem in the same material right in the middle.
“You can look at it,” he murmured, picking up his cigarette and taking a long drag. The room filled with the smell of tobacco and fire and the Chimera’s classic depiction—a lion with a goat coming out of its back and a snake for a tail—glinted out of the corner of my eye.
My hand reached out just to feel it.
“There isn't much in there besides a few photographs,” he added, “but I'm sure you'll find it interesting.”
He was encouraging me to look into his past, yet he didn't want to come out and say he wanted me to know something. I gathered he wouldn't be all that upset if I declined.
I picked up the book and opened it in my lap without waiting for another cue. The paper inside was slightly yellowed and thick, golden points protecting the corners of photographs. The first one my eyes settled on was the Lyon Estate from the outside, the lawn overgrown, the stones that made up the face of the large building grimy.
“That's what it used to look like,” he said. “Before Marius and I came to stay.”
That made me stop what I was doing. I wanted to look up at him for more of an explanation, but I kept my eyes downward, too stubborn to give him the tiniest bit of recognition.