God. If I was back home, the only behaviours I'd be observing were my customers and whether any of them were bombs waiting to explode. Usually people who are about to commit a crime in my store have this on edge, sweaty look, and don't want to stare at the assistants in case they become wracked by guilt.
Here, I'm sussing out family dynamics, trying to wonder if there's anything I can do with this information. And of course eyeing if there's any kind of device that will help me connect with the wider world.
I'm led behind their servants, in a slightly grimmer procession, since Alaric is taken away. He's not going into the throne room, and I'm not sure of the politics behind that. Cael doesn't look at me at all, which makes me feel isolated and lonely in a way that didn't exist around Alaric. At least the dude will talk to you, even if he's going to rub it in that you're owned.
When I enter the throne room, the decorations there are minimalistic. Where Alaric's parents are gaudy to the point where it would disgust someone, Cael's parents have little else but a feasting table with pewter cutlery and cups, a stone set of throne chairs and the parents themselves, draped in black wool and dark vestments. His mother, another human, doesn't have any makeup on her face. Not that she needs it. Her face is like winter – cold and elegant at the same time, in the way snowflakes might drift and spin in a gentle breeze. Queen Janne. King Kalmin, on the other hand, looks as if he's never smiled in his lifetime.
No prizes for seeing that Cael is directly related to these parents. Yuna, however, seems to have escaped the glum attitude, though she still has a sternness about her that suggests it might be better not to mess with.
There's a hint of hope in his father's eyes, actually, first upon seeing me and hearing about why I was chosen. Yuna passes on the lie to them, and says she's acting as an intermediary.
“A wise choice by you, princess Yuna,” king Kalmin says, and there's a curl to his lips, barely perceptible under that shaggy black beard of his. “We have long since been concerned that tensions between the princes are... escalating. Relations have always been less than ideal, as the king and I do not always see things the same way. Perhaps with this, we might bolster better relations between our people.”
The queen appraises me, the woman who will be with her son. She could stare daggers through a person. She's the one with the amber eyes, actually. The father has yellow eyes. Such an intense color for a human. Hovering near the verge of orange, but not quite there.
“Your name?” The queen addresses this to me. I blink. The other royal family didn't even bother to learn my name. I don't even think Cael and Alaric know it or have retained it when it was mentioned.
“Bronnen. If it pleases you. Your majesty.” Polite enough, right?
The queen nods. “That's a Celtic name. You have family from there, perhaps? Scotland, Wales, Cornwall, Ireland?”
“Ireland,” I confirm, now checking her better. She has a faint plummy accent, and a sharp way of pronouncing her vowels. I say warhter, she says wotah. British, I suppose, which would also explain her interest in my name origin.
“You certainly have that look about you,” she says. “With such red hair, such pale skin. My son's picked a good woman. As has my daughter.”
Hmm. What is she implying by that? I narrow my eyes. Are these parents aware that their son is potentially gay or bisexual, the same for their daughter?
Alaric said his parents didn't know. But that's not to say that no parent knows.
I suspect that between the mother and father, it's the mother who will most likely know.
Leaving this throne room leaves me more subdued than before. I have the expectation of bringing babies to these dragon shifters in the world, and I'm obviously reluctant to do so. Partway through walking, we see Alaric waiting nervously outside a door in the Spiden catacombs, which I can only assume is Cael's quarters. There's less light in the Spiden corridors, leaving an ominous overcast to everything.
Cael and Alaric meet eyes for a moment. There's absolute loathing in Cael's eyes, and a curious blankness to Alaric. Neither look and me, and Yuna seems worried about my upcoming fate. She's not going to bail me out of this, though. Oh no. I need to endure the first session with the shifters together.
She does mouth me a sorry, however, which I suppose is better than receiving nothing at all. Cael opens his door, and Alaric and I walk into Cael's chambers, just after Yuna warns Cael and Alaric to keep me in one functioning piece.
Whatever happens behind these doors will dictate what happens to me for the rest of my stay here, I imagine. We end up in a neat, almost empty cavern, with barely any human furnishings. A strange ripple of fear goes through me, along with a sense of anticipation. Just to make the situation that little bit more awkward in my mind, I start running through all the sexual fantasies I've ever had, and consider all the porn I've watched.
As fucked up as it is, some part of me is prepared and eager for the sex to happen. Maybe some people will be screaming victims, but I don't plan to be a victim. I plan to take control where I can. And if part of taking control means surrendering to the moment, then I'm prepared to do so.
I always used to think about how I might react if someone tried to rape me. I recall this even as Cael shuts the door, leaving just the three of us in his minimalistic cave.
I think if someone really wanted to rape me and had me at gunpoint, there wouldn't be much I could do, since I've never used a gun before. However, I could either find a way to “enjoy” the rape, like pretend it's a fantasy I've had, or I could tell the rapist I have HIV or syphilis or something equally alarming. Bet they wouldn't like to stick their dick in that. Maybe I could even feign syphilitic insanity or something, and make myself as gross as possible.
I don't think syphilitic insanity would work here. I strongly suspect it will result in me being thrown off a mountain peak somewhere, so best not to have them believe thirty million drots have gone down the drain. If I scream and break down and make a fuss of it, I'll make it intolerable for myself, but maybe end up feeding into some twisted fetish one of them may have. My heart beats faster thinking of this, and the tips of my hands begin to shake. My mouth is dry, and my eyes have a build up of tears behind them.
I have to take a few deep breaths to calm myself and continue ploughing logically through my thoughts. The last options that remain to me is either pleading for them to let me go, making myself undesirable, thus risking some mountain throwing, or find some kind of power in the act itself.
I know instantly what I'd prefer.
Whether I'm capable of actually doing this is another matter. It's extremely probable I'll just break down into a blubbering heap and be utterly useless.
Wouldn't it be nice if we could function purely by logic, rather than by the charging of our emotions? Right now, my brain is telling me to relax and go with the flow, along with the aroused part of my body, whilst the rest is screaming incessantly that I shouldn't be here and this shouldn't be happening. My eyes dart towards the cave door, and I contemplate if it will be hard or easy to just make a run for it. I think I remember the way back out, and if I head for the thick woodlands that I saw to the west of the city square, then they shouldn't be able to chase me there in their dragon forms.
One can hope for that anyway, right?
Both male shifters examine me, then each other. There's a coming storm in their expressions, and it's enough to snap me out of my escape fantasy to focus on them.
“I can't believe I let myself be convinced into doing this,” Cael says, his voice a growl, arms folded belligerently. “I don't agree with the arrangement at all.”
“Well, tough, because it's your sister tugging the strings right now. And you know, this can be good.”
“No. It can't. I should never have allowed this to happen in the first place. I'm an idiot. I don't want to look at your face and be reminded of the fact that you exist, because you disgust me.”
At these words, I see Alaric blink slightly, hurt, but n
ot giving in. He actually glances at me once, as if me standing there gives him some kind of encouragement. Does he expect me to intervene again? How exactly will I help him in this case? Because it's something to do with whatever weight they've been dragging around with them.
“Listen here, Cael. I know we can't change the past, and I know you didn't want to hear it back then, but we can change things. You can't just spend the rest of your life trying to avoid me, except when you want to fuck me up. It doesn't work like that.”
“Watch me. I'll take everything you have. And I'll take it over and over if I have to. What you did is unforgivable.” His eyes are dark with the storm that's in his heart. It's fascinating to watch in a way. Fascinating in that way where you witness a car crash happening, and you're unable to tear your eyes away from the debacle that unfolds. This is an almost delicious disaster. One that may boil over to me, but I'm not budging for this. So I stay silent.
Alaric holds his hands up in an imploring motion. “Don't be like that. I've been meaning to talk to you. To explain. But you didn't want to listen. How the heavens am I supposed to communicate with you if you continue to avoid everything I say?”
Part of me wishes at this point that I had popcorn. Just so I could sit there and munch away as they continue this whatever it is. Both contrast so greatly from one another. The Alaric who I presume to be this kind of suave character is actually more or less on his knees now, imploring for Cael to pause and listen. Those blue eyes are so big and sad. His bottom lip even trembles, far outclassing me when I try to pull that shit off with my parents. His blonde hair is a floppy mess, with the fringes partially obscuring his eyebrows.
Cael seems to struggle with something internally, meeting Alaric's eyes for perhaps a moment too long.
“You betrayed me,” Cael whispers, his voice harsh, his breath ragged. There's a glimmer of pain in his amber eyes.
Jesus Christ these people. I'm merely a bystander, watching this drama unfold. How bizarre to know I've been so forcibly whisked from my life, to plunge straight into the unrelenting drama of another.
It's easy when seeing this to remember that these two were apparently lovers in the past. There's a kind of charged energy between them, something that is powerful and sad at the same time. I would almost feel sorry for Alaric, if it wasn't for the fact that I'm their prisoner in thick fur robes.
My fingers twitch towards the cellphone that no longer exists in any of my pockets.
Alaric raises up his hands. “I didn't mean to. You know my father. He suspected something – he procured that girl for me. He told me – he would never believe that I wasn't perverted unless I went for her and took her. If he found out that the rumors were true, I'd be ruined. You'd be ruined. Don't you get it?”
“You should have refused.” Cael's eyes are as hard as agates. “You should have known how much it would have hurt. How much it would make me hate you.”
“I didn't feel I had a choice!” Alaric roars back, hands clenched into fists. I swear I can see smoke billowing from his lips. “I wanted to, I don't know – fake it in front of my father, but go off with you. Because only you mattered.” There's even a glimmer of tears in his blue eyes.
Cael smiles a dark smile. “Imagine if I take this woman now?” His gaze flicks to me, and again, fear tears a hole inside. My panties grow damp just from being targeted by that gaze, and I mentally curse myself for the reaction. “And I'll just make you watch. I won't let you touch her, or me.”
Alaric growls aggressively as Cael strides towards me. I'm ready to fight, and I lunge at him with a knee kick. I hope my training will override his strength. I never was exactly great at my martial arts lessons, but surprise is always a crucial element in gaining the advantage. And despite my promises to keep calm and not aggravate my captors, I've decided on this spot that I don't want Cael touching me with that darkness oozing out of him.
Cael scoffs, and blocks my leap. “Predictable,” he snarls. There goes my element of surprise, I suppose.
I attempt to elbow him, and twist my hips to escape out of his grasp. He stops every movement, his strength easily overpowering me. It's frightening how much power his body contains. The techniques I have memorized crumble and die, and I'm left helpless in his grip. I don't know which sensation is stronger. The adrenaline, the fear, or the anticipation. It's all there bottled up in my bottle in a dangerous energy, ready to pop.
What can I do against this?
“That's not the deal we made,” Alaric snarls. “We're to share her equally. Not like this.” When Alaric starts forward, Cael whips his gaze towards the prince. His grip tightens on me, and the pressure on my throat is uncomfortable, frightening.
“No! One step closer, and I rip her head off. Then you won't have a princess to share with me, will you? Then you won't have a reason to visit me. Fifteen million is nothing to me.”
Oh, God. Cael is insane. Darkness pores out of his skin. He doesn't care about me. But I knew that anyway. He doesn't care about his former lover, either.
He just wants to make Alaric suffer. That's what everything has been leading up to. That's why he was at the same auction as Alaric. He's got it in for him.
Alaric is bound by the threat, and freezes absolutely still. Cael gives him a hate-laden stare, before turning his attention back. The ice in his eyes sends fear and a shiver of arousal inside. I'm getting wet, shamefully so, and I can't seem to stop it. He smells the arousal as well, and one eyebrow shoots up. His grip relaxes on my head slightly, so it's no longer being squeezed in a vice grip.
“Well, well. You're a bigger slut than I imagined, red head.” Those eyes continue to examine me in increased interest.
“My name's Bronnen,” I gasp, though I think at this point, he doesn't give a shit what kind of name I'm called. My thoughts rattle all over the place. My limbs are paralyzed, knowing I can't stop him, half wondering if he's going to hurt me or humiliate me or both. My cheeks flare in shame of the arousal and frustration at the same time. Keeping a lid on these dark desires clearly isn't working.
Part of me wonders if I'm being enamored, somehow. If there's a kind of hidden scent about him that causes me to be hopelessly attracted, even if the love isn't there. My body reacts and dissolves parts of my mind to push forward with it, but there's still a chunk there wondering what I'm doing, why I'm doing this, why I'm allowing it.
It's a horrible but fascinating conflict at the same time. What is real and what isn't? Am I betraying core principles or doing exactly what's expected of me?
He moves his lips to my ear, and when they part, they rustle several strands of my hair. “You will obey every one of my instructions, or you die.” His arm muscles flex against my neck once more, and I feel the frightening power in them, the squeeze of fingers against my throat. “Is that clear enough for you?”
“Yes,” I rasp, heart pounding wildly, body shaking. The damp spot in my panties increases, and I grit my teeth as Cael steps back with a predatory grin, angled so that he can see both me and Alaric, and react to either one of us.
“Then strip. Everything off. I want to see your tits and what's between your thighs.”
I do as he asks, fumbling awkwardly with the clothes, taking them off one by one until I'm left shivering in his cavern, everything a puddle under my feet.
God. It hits me in a wave of heat, of realization. I want to obey him. I want that hard voice to crash over my senses and force me to my knees. I want to take all responsibility from myself and put it in his lap.
At the same time, there's that part of me that's wondering what the actual holy fuck am I doing in even considering this. I must be seriously twisted up inside.
“Kneel and take off my pants,” he orders, occasionally shooting glances at Alaric, The shifter is frozen like a statue, eyes wide, his lips tight as if he's forgotten to breathe. He doesn't dare say anything, in case it ends up with my life spilling on the floor. I'm not sure if Cael would actually follow through with his threat – b
ut it's terrifying enough for either of us to not risk testing him.
So I do it. I reach for his black pants and slowly strip them off. He's wearing nothing underneath. I hadn't expected that, so the sudden reveal makes me gape. A long, monstrous erection reveals itself, tipped with moisture. There's the hint of dark hair crowning it as well. It's also a little bit noticeable he's getting turned on by his own act. Whatever the murderous words that slip out of his mouth, whatever the rage that blazes in his eyes, it's clear he's getting off on it. It's fascinating and terrifying at the same time. I know a little of power, and how it feels to have it, to dominant someone else. Though I haven't experienced it personally, I've seen enough of it to know the magnetic effect of it. How people want it in the deepest part of their hearts, sometimes so quiet they can't hear the voice personally.
Cael clearly enjoys being dominant. Alaric, on the other hand, is he able to stand it? One prince to another? “Stroke me,” Cael says. “Slow now.”
Hesitantly, as if reaching out to a deadly viper, I stroke his erection, fingers trailing along the thick, dark veins, collecting the pool of moisture from the top and spreading it across.
Sold To The Dragon Princes: The Novel Page 7