by Katie May
extent of the damage he had caused not only me but others as well, but she
knew enough to stay clear of him.
"Father...rethink this. Please," I said stiffly. My tone brokered no room
for argument.
When Father blinked at me rapidly, I realized it was the first time I had
ever stood up to him before. Ever spoke back. Now that he knew, or at least
suspected, the truth of my relationship with Z, I had no qualms about
standing up to him to protect her. Standing, being the ironic term.
Forever confined to my chair minus the few brief minutes of relief before
once again my legs were stripped from me. Phantom pain resonated through
every pore of my body at the memory, but I pushed it down.
"Yes, my son?" He wiped his mouth on a napkin.
"Z is..." I trailed off, unsure how to articulate my excuse.
"A psychotic sexy bitch?" Tavvy taunted, and my fingers curled into a
fist. Hearing him call her both a bitch and sexy made me want to kill him.
Painfully. With a variety of very sharp weapons.
Maybe Z was rubbing off on me already.
"Shut your mouth!" I screamed before I could stop myself. Anger
thrummed through my veins, alighting me. The white hot explosion churned
like molten lava just beneath the surface, a hair’s breadth away from
exploding.
Father slammed his fist onto the table, cutting off whatever retort Tavvy
had. Tavvy turned his glare on our father before bowing his hand
submissively.
"Dair, come. Now." His tone was the no-nonsense one he reserved for
only me. The tone that meant it was either my life...or my mother's.
Or Z's.
Trembling with incandescent fury, I wheeled myself towards where my
father was now standing, near the door to the dining hall. This building was
specifically built for Mermaid royalty. I knew, from experience, that the door
opposite would lead to the bedrooms and the lake. The door behind Father
led to the sitting room and the King's office.
As I passed Marcella, she dropped her hand onto my crotch, palming me.
I hissed, throwing her disgusting hand off me.
"Don't ever touch me again, or else I’ll kill you," I said darkly. Her face
paled at my tone, and she sank further back in her seat. My threat on her, at
least, had worked.
Father let out a boisterous laugh.
"Don't be threatening my wife, son," he said jovially. Marcella's face
paled even more, and I almost felt bad for her. Almost. We all knew what
type of punishments Father dished out when he felt he had been slighted. His
preferred wife showing attention to his bastard son? The retribution for that
particular act promised pain. Lots and lots of pain.
Tavvy stood as well, moving to stand behind my chair. The twins,
surprisingly, remained at the table, eating.
Maybe not surprising, if the looks they threw Marcella were any
indication.
Tavvy pushed my chair forward, down the hallway and into Father's
office.
The room was as sophisticated and elegant as the man itself, a modern,
mahogany desk freshly polished in the very center. A bookshelf devoid of
any books took up one wall, and the window was open. The smell of salt
wafted to me, and I knew that this room overlooked the immense saltwater
lake.
Rummaging through his desk drawer, Father procured a small bottle
housing a tawny brown liquid.
"Drink," he instructed stiffly. My body screamed at me to rebel, to fight,
but my mind warned me against it. Not only was I practically useless against
two grown, powerful men who could walk, I also had more to lose than they
did. I had no doubt that one act of disobedience would cause harm on the
people I loved.
The concoction I drank was created by the Mage King, designed to
regrow limbs, tissue, and skin.
The second the warm liquid touched my throat, fire emitted in my veins.
The burning feeling wasn't entirely unpleasant, but pinpricks of phantom pain
erupted where my legs should've been. That was soon replaced by real pain,
so intense that my back arched and tears welled in my ears.
I could feel my skin growing, my bones expanding, my muscles
constricting. I didn't even have to open my eyes to see that where there were
once stubs were now two golden legs. My legs.
Gifted to me by my father.
I heard rather than saw a blade being sharpened. I didn't want to open my
eyes and see their mocking stares and condescending smiles. However, that
didn't mean I couldn't hear.
Couldn't feel.
The first cut of the knife sliced through skin only, and I cried out at the
initial stab of pain. I knew it would only get worse.
My father's rancid breath entered my nostrils as he leaned over me, and I
gagged.
"We gave you these legs..." A knife cut down once more just below my
knees. "And we can take them away just as easily. Remember that when you
think to disobey or talk back to me."
And so, with bated breath, I fell into a cycle of endless torment.
As always, my cries and pleas fell on deaf ears.
THIRTEEN
Z
The dress was beautiful.
The type of ethereal beauty that you would glance at once and
then find yourself unable to look away from.
Staring in the mirror, I felt like a princess. It was something I had never
felt before, and something I didn't even know I wanted to feel before.
The bodice was ornately tailored, modestly clutching my breasts and
revealing very little cleavage. Long sleeves, a darker blue than the rest of the
dress, were similarly adorned with light blue flowers. From there, the skirt
cascaded around me like pure silk. It swished around my legs as I walked.
I kept my blond hair down but decided to straighten it. The golden hair
still retained some wave to it, but it was no longer a mess of curls. I wore
minimal makeup - enough to bring color to my cheeks and heighten my eyes
- but what really completed the outfit was the pair of earrings I had found left
on my bed.
I couldn't be certain which one of my mates had given me such a gift, but
the female in me cooed. They were long, crafted from pure gold, and led to
an intricate combination of circles that touched my neck with each shake of
my head.
I normally hated dresses, despised dressing up, but I couldn't deny how
beautiful I felt as I looked in the mirror. I looked like a female who was
actually worthy of her seven princely mates.
Of course, I kept two daggers on my thighs and a razor blade beneath my
dress sleeve. Some things would never change.
"You look beautiful," a soft, familiar voice said from behind me. I spun,
skirt billowing around me, and met Atta's dark eyes. She smiled
conspiratorially, flashing me a wink. "Those guys of yours aren't going to
know what hit them."
She spoke as if we were old friends, best friends, and a part of me hated
her for it. The other part of me yearned for the companionship she was freely
offering. I wouldn't admit it to anyone, but loneliness constantly threatened to
drown me. Consume me. It was
eating away at me ever so slowly.
I missed Diego so badly that it hurt. And I missed Mali, despite
everything she had done. My loneliness was a bottomless pit of pure
darkness, threatening to chew me up and spit me out. I wouldn't survive such
a fall, and I didn't even know if I wanted to.
"What are you doing here?" I asked stiffly, turning back towards the
mirror in my room.
I heard Atta's heavy sigh from behind me.
"I just want to be your friend, Z. I don't have any evil intentions. I need a
friend, and I know you do too. You're my brother's mate, for fuck's sake.
Why wouldn't I want to get to know you? Befriend you?" She spoke with
such conviction, pulling the words deep from her heart, that I wanted to
believe her. I wanted to believe her so badly that I nearly started crying.
I didn't, of course, but I wanted to.
Frowning, I fiddled with the sleeves of my dress.
"You don't have to answer me," Atta continued. "And you don't have to
forgive Mali. She made a huge mistake; we both know that. It took me awhile
to forgive her myself, and I didn't even know Diego-"
"You're right," I snapped, spinning once more on my heel. "You didn't
know him, so you couldn't possibly understand what I'm going through. The
grief I feel. The pain. The fucking betrayal."
Each word was hissed through clenched teeth. Atta watched me, face
impassive except for the slightest, imperceptible tick of her jaw.
"I'm not here to argue with you," she said primly. Her hands folded on her
lap. “And I'm sorry for implying that you should forgive Mali. It's your
decision, I know that, but I also know that she loves you fiercely. She misses
you, and I hate seeing my mate so distressed."
My breaths sawed in and out, and I worked on calming my racing heart.
Each breath physically hurt me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't release
or take in enough air.
"You look beautiful as well," I whispered at last. It was an apology...and
it wasn't. It was the sort of muddled, middle ground I often found myself in
with the people I cared about. A gray landscape that wasn't quite dark enough
to be considered black and not light enough for it to be white.
Still, Atta took the bone I threw her with a grateful smile.
"Thank you."
I wasn't lying. Atta did look beautiful. She wore a pink dress that
accentuated each one of her curves. Her red hair was piled into an elaborate
bun at the top of her head, twin braids twining the hair away from either side
of her face.
"I need to go meet up with my date," Atta said, jumping to her feet. She
flashed me another tentative smile, and my lips reluctantly tilted up to match
her own. I was afraid my "smile" resembled more of a grimace, but I was
trying.
"Your date?" I parroted, following her to the door. Was Mali coming to
the ball?
Fear and exhilaration warred for dominance within me before both
emotions were swept away by anger, white hot.
Atta's smile turned apologetic. "No...Jax. My fiancé."
The smile left my face instantly, a bucket of cold water being thrown over
my head. My eyes narrowed into thin slits as jealousy reared and buckled
within me. They told me that green was the color of jealousy, but that was a
blatant lie. All I saw was red as I stared at the beautiful woman preparing to
meet up with my mate.
I couldn't quite understand the extent of my possessiveness.
Atta held up her hands placatingly.
"It's just for appearances," she said soothingly. "I know he's yours."
When I continued to glare at her, my emotions running rampant within
me, she took another step closer. Her tiny hands rested on my shoulders.
"I promise you, Z. You have nothing to worry about. I much prefer the P
over the D, if you know what I mean." As if to further emphasize her point,
her gaze flickered to my heaving breasts. A delicate flush raced up her neck,
and she glanced up quickly. "Jax loves you...well...as much as someone as
fucked up as him can. Please trust me. And if you don't trust me, trust him.
There's nothing to be jealous of." She laughed heartily, throwing her head
back and releasing my shoulders. "If anything, those guys should be jealous
of the time I spend with you."
When I raised a brow at her in confusion, she flashed me a sultry wink.
"You have good tits," she said unashamedly. At that, I began to laugh as
well. Atta was beginning to grow on me. Like a fungus.
My laughter diminished as I mentally reeled in my jealousy. It didn't
completely abate, but I no longer wanted to claw her eyes out. I may not trust
her completely, but I trusted Jax. I trusted all my guys, actually. Even Bash.
That asshole could talk a big game, but I knew innately that he would
never cheat on me or do something stupid.
Flicking her fingers in a makeshift wave, Atta ducked out the door. I
wasn't even able to close it before a dark boot appeared in the doorway. The
boot led to skin-tight black pants, a white dress shirt and black suit, and then
finally to a mane of golden hair. It took me a moment to place where I knew
him from, and fear raced down my veins in icy waves.
Tavvy. Dair's old brother.
I didn't know a lot about him, only that he had hurt my mate. In a fit of
jealousy, he and his father had cut off his legs in order to make him less
desirable. Dair tried to hide his pain, tried to bury it in the sand, but there was
only so much he could do. For that reason alone, I hated Tavvy. The hate
stemmed from deep within my stomach, this baked fire burning red hot,
before spreading upwards. Every nerve in my body was seconds away from
exploding just by being in his presence.
I could only describe his smile as predatory as he did a careful perusal of
my body. His tongue snaked out to lick his lips, and I shivered in disgust.
"What are you doing here...your highness?" I tacked on the title at the
end, just barely keeping my aversion in check. He chuckled, the sound
teetering the edge between annoying and malevolent, before leaning forward.
His hand tightened around a strand of my blond hair, and I resisted the urge
to cut that hand off.
Considerable restraint, if I did say so myself.
"I'm your date," he murmured. His face turned into my neck, inhaling
deeply. That disgust turned into anger and that anger contorted into fear. The
way he touched me...
It was almost as if he believed he had absolute control over me and my
body.
That mentality could get someone killed. Me or him - the verdict was still
out on that one.
"I'm your date," he repeated huskily. His nose brushed my sensitive skin,
and I shivered in revulsion. He mistook my tremble for one of desire, and his
hand tightened on my waist. "You're so fucking beautiful. Sexy."
"I don't think this is a good idea, your highness," I said diplomatically,
stealthily attempting to move away from his wandering hands. My attempted
escape found me pressed further against the door, his lean body towering
over mine. Fear once more cemented me to the ground, but I pushed it away.
&n
bsp; I had dealt with handsy Nightmares before, but this was a prince. My
usual method of cutting off his dick wouldn't work in this scenario.
"Why isn't it a good idea?" He breathed deeply, and I felt something
slimy against my neck. Was that his...? Was that his tongue?
"Because you're a prince, and I'm the assassin," I reasoned. I was pleased
when my voice didn't quiver with the desperation that I felt.
Please, please, please, don't make me cut off his dick. I'm not sure that's
an offense I could come back from with my life.
But I would, cut off his dick that was, if the situation called for it.
Anything, including death, would be better than the alternative.
"Brother."
The glacial voice had Tavvy spinning around, finally releasing me. I
slumped against the wall, heart racing, and nearly cried in relief when I
spotted Dair wheeling himself forward.
I had never seen such anger on his face before. It burned, blistering hot,
and made his handsome face look ironically colder. More like his brother's.
His body was held tautly, and he leveled his brother with a glare that
should've been able to level an entire city.
"Father changed his mind," Dair said icily. He wheeled himself towards
me, hands clasping my own.
Tavvy raised his eyebrow at that.
"Father changed his mind?" he repeated in disbelief.
"I will escort Z to the ball now," my mate said smoothly. His hand
tightened around mine to the point of pain. A good pain, I noted somewhat
dizzily. "You are excused."
Tavvy opened and closed his mouth, gaping at me like a fish plucked
from the water. The demented part of me wanted to chuckle at the
comparison, but I kept my expression apathetic.
"You can ask Father if you so wish to," Dair continued with a lazy shrug.
Tavvy's glare was just as scathing as Dair's, but he conceded with a sharp
nod of his head. His eyes, though, promised retaliation. Pain. Agony.
Torment.
That one stare eloquently spoke words he would never need to say. It
allowed me to see past his front and into his very fucking soul. His soul that
was as dark as night. Twisted and depraved.
With a huff, Tavvy spun on his heel and stomped down the hall. His
attitude reminded me of a misbehaving child not receiving the toy he wanted.
As soon as he disappeared, Dair turned towards me, eyes desperate. His