The ultimate question was, were his machinations for good or evil? His staff feared him, yes, but there was respect too. And—from the only brief encounter she’d had thus far—perhaps a type of adoration.
She wanted answers, but she doubted anyone in the place would give them to her. So she’d have to play the game too. If Oricus didn’t know she was moving her own pieces, then he wouldn’t know he’d lost until it was too late.
Smiling, Harlow strode to her closet to search for her best battle dress. It read her mind, spinning the perfect gown to the front.
Mercy, she decided, was not one of her qualities.
It was next to impossible to know what time of day it was with no window in her room. Peering into the hall, she noticed the walls were splashed with delicate golden light, as though to suggest an early morning glow. But she knew that was impossible. She couldn’t spy any obvious windows in the immediate area, and she didn’t think it best to wander at the moment. If she did, she risked bumping into one of the devastatingly gorgeous men that claimed to know her, and their close proximity complicated things. She needed a clear head.
Besides, she planned to explore her home soon. There was only so much sitting around a girl could take. The sheer number of staff members milling about made her think she was in some sort of castle, but perhaps that was just her mind trying to piece together the oddities all around her.
She’d started with the best intentions, putting on the dress her closet had procured, only to realize she couldn’t lace up her own corset. Huffing and snarling, she pulled at the strings, but was unsuccessful. Sweat beaded on her brow until she relented, her arms too tired to continue. When two women who looked to be her age or younger entered through her door not long after, announcing that they were to help her dress, Harlow stilled.
“Come right in,” she said sarcastically. “Apparently my door is open to all.”
Of the two women that had entered, one was tall, with flawless dark skin and honey-colored eyes. Her cheekbones were dramatically pronounced, her plain navy-blue dress boxy and unflattering. Beside her was a smaller woman wearing the same thing, though with a sash tied around her middle, at least hinting at curves. Her skin was paler, but still a lovely olive shade that made her black hair stand out in contrast. Both women had their hair braided into intricate knots on top of their heads, tied up with gauzy sunset-orange scarfs that glittered in the light.
“Oh,” the taller woman said in surprise. She had a light accent, unlike the woman who had called her princess. “I see you’ve already started.”
Harlow smiled sheepishly. “It’s a bit more difficult to do on my own than I’d anticipated.”
Both girls smiled at that. One set to work pulling the gown into place while the other tugged the laces taut. Harlow steadied herself with the wall.
“Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself,” she said, awkwardly glancing at the dainty woman behind her. “I’m Harlow.”
“Emuria,” the tall, beautiful woman said, moving Harlow’s frizzy red curls off her shoulders for the second girl.
“Jezzebelle,” came the delicate answer from the surprisingly strong woman that yanked the cords of Harlow’s corset so tight, she struggled to draw in enough air.
Despite her discomfort, Harlow smiled. “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you.”
Emuria’s plump lips pulled to one side. “Likewise. Maybe now everyone around here won’t be so on edge. We were assigned as your chambermaids just this morning. Our job is to bring you food, dress you, and make you look presentable to his—”
Jezzebelle cleared her throat loudly, cutting off Emuria.
Harlow twisted around, catching sight of the two women sharing a knowing glance. “His what?” she prompted.
“The owner of this…house,” Emuria clarified, offering a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
Harlow sighed. “Great. More lies. What is so bad that I can’t know? I mean these guys are supposed to be like my boyfriends or whatever, right? So I should be allowed to know things.”
Both women stilled for a moment, Emuria gazing over Harlow’s shoulder, no doubt to engage in another silent conversation with Jezzebelle.
Harlow’s anger surged forth. “What?” she snapped.
Jezzebelle took a step back, and Harlow whirled to find a look of concern marring her lovely face. Was everyone in this castle stupidly beautiful?
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Harlow said.
Jezzebelle stared at the floor but nodded. “Of course, Miss.”
Turning back, Harlow noticed Emuria biting the inside of her cheek. When she met Harlow’s gaze she sighed. “It’s all really complicated right now. Jezzebelle is Marked too. To Kingston, another member of the clan.”
Harlow’s brows furrowed. “One mate? Is it unusual to have more than one?”
Emuria smiled nervously. “It’s supposed to be impossible. The thing is, your situation is meant to be a secret. On the outside, people only know you’re Marked to his lor—Master Oricus. Even here in the castle, there are those that don’t know the truth. We had our suspicions but…”
“Emmy!” Jezzebelle hissed.
Harlow swallowed hard. “Castle?” She’d been right then. At the strange look both girls gave her, Harlow shook her head, pasting on a smile. “Right.” She nodded before casting Jezzebelle a reassuring glance. “Sorry. I have a big mouth.”
Emuria laughed—a tinkling, musical sound that seemed otherworldly.
Having accepted magic and the fact that fated mates were actually a thing—not to mention the memory of Oricus in the form of an animal—it didn’t seem so far-fetched to wonder if the girls were aliens.
When Harlow’s hair was tamed—draping over one shoulder in silken waves while the other side was braided in a crown that wound over her head—she examined herself in the mirror inside her closet. Staring back at her was an elegant yet badass-looking woman with dark makeup sweeping up from the corners of her eyes and fiery red hair that matched the flames in her heart.
She smiled at the black leather corset with chains that adorned the center. The neckline plunged, giving an eyeful of her impressive cleavage, while the layered bunches of leather brushed the stone floor in the back. The skirt rose up her bare thighs, stopping dangerously high in front.
The overall image was that of a goddess ready for war. Or seduction. She’d need to utilize both tonight.
Jezzebelle, who’d remained quiet the remainder of the prep, watched carefully from the entrance of the closet. Harlow turned, thanking both women for their extraordinary work.
“Ready?” Emuria asked, looking more excited than Harlow felt.
She nodded, feeling her lips curve of their own volition.
Let the game begin.
ORICUS
He sipped his sallofire, smirking at the image in the gold-encrusted mirror. The dress she’d chosen had been one he’d specifically had designed for her. Though the occasion he’d had in mind for it was different, the idea that she’d chosen something he’d had made for her gave him an odd sense of satisfaction.
Though he was loath to admit it, he’d been sitting in his chambers, watching her for far too long. He’d seen her trigger a memory, seen the way it had affected her. She’d sat silently on her bed, looking like she was meditating. But he knew better.
She’d sensed the wall blocking her memories and she’d thought to tear it down. It was part of the reason he’d watched her so closely—to find the moment it all came rushing back and the powerful Morovitz emerging, laying waste to every inch of his castle in search of him.
But it hadn’t come.
When her eyes had opened and she’d jumped to her feet, he knew she’d remembered something. It was almost impossible to know what. But whatever memory had been knocked loose, it hadn’t done enough damage to unravel his entire plan so soon.
Once Rex had extricated himself from her quarters, Oricus had told h
im his spell wasn’t strong enough. He knew he should have wiped her memory that afternoon when she’d set fire to her table. It was the fire that tempted him to wait. To taste the danger of her sharp tongue and wicked powers. If he didn’t act soon, it would all fall apart—he knew that—but the moment she threw open her wardrobe and selected the most salacious gown in it, excitement consumed him. It was a dress fit for battle.
Oh, to dance with death at her hands would be such a sweet end. When the time came, would he drag her to hell with him just to keep her?
It gave him more than a thrill to know his Marked was a spitfire. It made the idea of breaking that fire all the more enticing.
“That’s it, Puppet, bring your claws, bring your teeth. You might win the battle, but you’ll never win the war.” He tossed the rest of the liqueur back, relishing the burn it trailed down his throat.
The girl straightened. Her hair done in a regal fashion and her makeup painting her the barbarian that she was made his pants tight.
Rising to his feet, he murmured, “Checkmate.”
Part Two
Be Our Guest
HARLOW
Emuria was the one to escort her through halls she’d not yet seen—or at least, she was pretty sure she’d never seen them before. When they’d climbed up a set of wide, spiraling stairs that seemed to stretch on forever, it suddenly made sense that there weren’t any windows: her room was located underground.
When they reached the second landing, she finally caught a stream of warm, golden light. It bathed the floors, lighting the streams of what looked like gems encrusted straight into the stone. The walls were much the same, pulling her attention away from where they were heading, and she nearly lost her guide when she turned abruptly into a wide hall. Emuria called for her just as Harlow rounded the corner, and she stopped dead, taking in the corridor. Vines actually grew up the walls, though they appeared to be dead at first, given their ashy color. Delicate red buds twirled off the thick grey ropes, bobbing and floating like a hundred charmed snakeheads.
The giant doors they stopped in front of glittered. Cracks of deep purple and spindly streaks of ruby red entwined with fingers of gold, blue, and a green so dark it looked almost black.
Harlow reached out to touch the mesmerizing sight, but Emuria made a psst noise that had her whirling to face the servant.
“Get ready, the doors are about to open,” she whispered, dropping her gaze to the floor.
Before Harlow could ask how anyone knew she was there, the doors creaked softly, swinging open. Glancing back to Emuria for support, she realized the maid had vanished. Harlow swallowed hard and pulled her shoulders back.
Showtime.
The room inside was huge—opulent. Half a tree grew out of the floor, bending and curving to accommodate the sloped ceiling. It reached up through the circular hole above, where the brightest sunshine shone in, bathing the room in gold. Thick, gnarled branches traveled along the walls, the leaves a colorful array from green to a yellow so translucent and bright, it could have been fire.
The fight she’d intended to storm in with left her in a rush. Just like in the long hall, in the door, and on the walls, the floor was filled seamlessly with precious gems. As though they’d been formed directly into the stone. It was a thing of beauty.
And so was the group of men seated around a large table in the center. Each of them dressed in finery that looked more modern and sleeker than anything she’d ever seen before. Though that statement was quickly becoming moot, seeing as there was little she could remember.
They all watched her with interest, except for the white-blond male who downed his sparkling glass half filled with an amber liquid. Viktor. It was almost alarming that she’d remembered his name so quickly. All of their names somehow seemed to be ingrained into her mind.
Her gaze swept through them all, landing on the one her plan was aimed at. Oricus’s sensual lips quirked to one side while his gaze took her in leisurely.
Without getting to his feet, he simply lifted his hands and said, “Our guest of honor. Come, and sit. I’m sure we’d all love for you to get to know us better.”
A male waiter dressed in a forest-green tux pulled out the only empty chair. She sat opposite the head of the table, a move that she knew was deliberate. Just like the outfits in her closet. Someone had put them there, right? Or at the very least, someone had purchased them.
She kept her mask of impassivity in place as she took her seat. On her right sat Lefayon, who looked at her like she might be the main course, and on her left was Geoff, who smiled a somewhat shy smile that softened her to him just a little.
At least she wasn’t the only one uncomfortable being there. But she couldn’t let it show. Not in front of the puppet master who needed to believe she wasn’t systematically cutting her own strings. When he expected her to dance, she’d have to dance. Play the fool.
“I guess we’re skipping dinner and going straight for dessert,” Lefayon said, earning a chorus of snickers from the other men.
Harlow looked around at them all, noticing that Viktor was still pointedly pretending she wasn’t there. “You should be careful what you put in your mouth, Lefayon. Even sweet things can be poisonous.”
Approval in the form of laughter and boisterous catcalls echoed through the grand room. Oricus cleared his throat, smiling so wickedly it made her body tense, preparing to leap up from the chair if necessary.
“You look enchanting this evening, Puppet. I’m glad to see your earlier dizzy spell hasn’t affected your sense of humor.” He raised his own glass, and the men lifted theirs in toast. “To the bewitching vixen with a devilish tongue. May you discover the deepest desires of your heart.” His silver fox-like eyes flashed with amusement, and Harlow made no move to touch the empty glass in front of her.
When she glanced down at it, she saw that it was no longer empty, but filled with a clear fluid that she hoped was water. They all waited while Harlow slowly lifted hers as well.
Before they could drink, Harlow added, “And may the handsome men who surround me never realize they got gypped by whoever runs this game of fate.”
A beat of silence followed, and she almost thought she’d said the wrong thing. Then, Oricus’s smile spread, and the rest of the men burst out laughing.
She kept her gaze locked on Oricus while he sipped his beverage. When his glass lowered from his lips, he gave her a subtle nod. A concession that she’d won this round?
The other men drank, and Harlow brought the glass to her bloodred lips, not bothering to pretend to drink it, before setting it down.
When Oricus was seated, Rex caught her eye and winked. A moment later, covered plates and trays floated into the room, fanning out around the table from behind her, making her turn. There was no point of entry for the magically flying dishes; they just simply appeared. Her eyes widened a fraction, then went even wider when a soft strumming music began to fill the room.
Harlow whirled around and met Rex’s intense stare. There were words hidden in his eyes.
Remember me.
Remember me.
Her heart lurched in her chest. She wanted to remember him. She wanted to remember everything. It was clear that someone didn’t want her to remember though. And she had a feeling that man watched her look down at the glassy dome covering the plate in front of her. It wasn’t metal, like she’d first believed. Instead of silver, the surface shone with a myriad of colors, and the longer she gazed at it, the more she realized she could see through it. Like a bubble.
And just like a bubble, the dome popped, releasing a torrent of steam and heavenly scents that made Harlow groan.
Twelve pairs of eyes were on her. The hunger she saw there, she didn’t think was for the brightly colored food on their plates.
Rex chuckled. “Just wait until she starts eating.”
Rasimus—who sat beside Rex and was wearing an actual bow tie—grumbled something into his glass o
f liquor. His long, dark, wavy hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the base of his skull. Though he didn’t look as wild and brutish as he had the few times she’d seen him, he pulled off the dapper, tidy look too. There was something about the deceit of dressing him nicely and pretending he wasn’t the most beastly man in their company that made her lips quirk to one side. You could put a wild bear in a tux, but nothing would stop the creature from acting like the animal it was.
Oricus’s smile was absent. Instead he rested his chin on his clasped hands, his elbows propped on the table. He watched her with interest, his cunning eyes taking in every detail.
She lowered her gaze to her plate once again. A nicely seared steak smothered in garlic butter that cascaded over the sides sat beside a small pile of vibrant curling things that resembled beans. Lastly, there was a golden-brown figurine of a fox with its face raised to look directly at her. Her brows furrowed, and after a moment, she realized the little fox was made of bread.
It didn’t escape her notice that the man watching her resembled a fox. A delightful flourish, or a warning?
Picking up the crisp bread, Harlow levelled her gaze on Oricus. The corner of his mouth twitched, as though he knew what she was about to do. She gripped the dainty neck and pulled the fox’s head clean off. Without missing a beat, she popped the bread into her mouth.
Soft and buttery, the bread melted on her tongue.
The noise that escaped her—despite her best efforts to keep quiet—was mortifying.
“Told you,” Rex said before taking a long swallow from his own glass.
Half of the table seemed transfixed, while the others appeared to be studiously ignoring her. Some handled their glassware more aggressively than necessary. Geoff, silent beside her, stabbed his fork straight through his plate.
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