At the Edge of Desire

I wake sore and uncomfortable. I spent the night on the floor huddled between the bed and the wall.

Light is seeping into the room through the gaps in the heavy curtains, and I look around. It’s bigger than I first thought. Grander. This isn’t just a simple knight’s room.

But then I know whoever bought me wouldn’t just be a simple knight. They would have set a fine fee for me. For what everyone thought I was: the king’s mistress.

I look over at him, the man who bought me. His eyes are shut and it looks like he is still sleeping.

His hair is dark, neatly cropped around his face. He has a tiny bit of stubble. His jawline is strong, giving his face a harsher look.

And from where the covers have slipped down, I can make out the huge bulge of his biceps. I know he is strong; I could feel it yesterday when he was on me, but to see it now makes my heart stop.

This man looks capable of crushing me with little effort.

“Are you done gawking?” he asks, turning to face me.

I gasp as his piercing dark eyes meet mine. All I can see is the same horrific things I saw yesterday reflected back at me. That this man is a monster, that he gets off on pain. That he doesn’t have a shred of kindness in him.

I huddle down further against the wall as if I could meld my body into it and he laughs, watching me before reaching across and hauling me onto the bed like I weigh nothing.

“Get off me,” I cry.

He slaps me hard across the face.

I blink, stunned, as my eyes see stars, and he takes full advantage of it to pin me down. His body is on top of mine. His face is so close our noses are touching and I can feel his hardened dick pushing into my stomach.

I shut my eyes, squirming, as his hands begin to explore me.

“Every inch of your flesh belongs to me. Do you understand that, girl? Every second of your life now is devoted to me and my wants.”

I spit at him. It’s a stupid reaction. But I won’t just lie here and submit. I’m not nearly so weak as that.

His eyes widen. He wraps a hand around my throat. As he cuts off my air supply enough to hurt, I gasp, clawing, kicking my legs out under him while I try to find some sort of anchorage to throw him off.

“It’s time to pleasure your master,” he mutters, digging his spare hand into my skin, trying to wrench my legs wide enough for him to be able to fuck me.

A knock at the door stops him and he shouts out as a servant walks in and bows before making a big point of not looking at either of us.

“The others are meeting, Lord Issar. They’re requesting your presence.”

My heart sinks even more at the sound of his name, and if I wasn’t afraid before, I am petrified now.

Issar is a monster. A Warlord who kills without remorse. He rules his lands with an iron fist, and worse than that, he is a sadist. He enjoys torturing, inflicting pain. He is the worst kind of man to belong to.

My chest is rising and falling so quickly that his eyes drop to admire my breasts.

“You know who I am now,” he says quietly, meeting my frightened eyes again. His are sparking now as if my fear is a bigger turn-on than anything else so far. “Now you will obey me, won’t you?”

I nod without hesitation and he laughs a cruel, loud laugh that makes me flinch.

Issar climbs off me, leaving me exposed for the servant to see if he chooses to look, but he doesn’t. He knows better than that. And then Issar walks into a side room before coming back out minutes later fully dressed.

“Get a maid. I want her washed and presentable,” he orders as he walks out the door, leaving me there in the bed, tied to it, and not moving. Completely and utterly petrified.

When the maid comes in, I don’t fight. I am obedient. I let her bathe me, wash me, and then dress me up like a goddamn treat because I am too afraid now to do anything else.

I don’t want to give him a reason to hurt me, to really hurt me. So far, he has been cruel, but it is nothing like what I know he is capable of.

I shudder and fight back the tears. I have to play along, be willing, not fight, and let him use me however he wishes because I have no alternative.

Not against a man like him.

I have to play the perfect little human now more than ever because Issar will destroy me if he knows what I am. What I truly am.

The dress I’m wearing barely covers me. It cuts low, finishing just above my belly button, and it skims across my breasts and then down my spine so that it is practically backless.

It’s the kind of dress a whore would wear, but even they would never wear such a thing outside of a bedroom.

I hate it. The feel of it, the fact I’m almost entirely exposed. Issar said he wanted me presentable, which means he’s going to parade me before everyone else in this castle and it’s cold outside.

Winter is just starting to give way to spring. This dress will not keep me warm. I’m as good as naked, but that’s what Issar wants.

Another servant comes in and lays a tray of food. She throws me a sympathetic look, but when I meet her gaze, she’s quick to hide it. I know what they must think. What everyone must think.

To belong to Issar is a curse. I am cursed.

“Eat,” she says.

I don’t hesitate to wolf it down. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since before they caught and threw me in the cage, and that was at least two days before the auction.

Besides, I need to keep my strength up. I need to keep myself strong because it’s not just Issar I’m fighting. It’s the creature in me too. I have to get back control of her if I stand a chance of surviving this.

The food tastes delicious even though it is just a watery soup and bread. It warms my belly as I scoff it down, not caring what the two people watching me think, but as I finish my last mouthful, the door opens and he is back.

I gulp, and the food that was so comforting is now threatening to come right back up. I can feel myself trembling and I clench my fists determined not to.

He narrows his eyes, taking me in. I have crumbs on my lips and the dress too. He walks up to me. I’m shaking visibly.

He yanks me to my feet and brushes the crumbs from my lips. I can’t tell what he is thinking, whether he is angry with me or not. He runs his fingers down my cleavage and I try not to shudder under his touch.

“Pack up my things. We’re leaving,” he says to the servants, who nod, bow, and quickly rush around to follow his orders.

“Where are we going?” I ask before I can stop myself and I see a flash of something in his eyes.

“Where we go makes no difference to you. You are mine wherever I take you,” he says before letting me go and ignoring me entirely as he prepares to leave.

I watch him as he busies himself. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to go anywhere with him. This castle is all I’ve known for the last five years and now he is going to take me from it.

He turns as if he can read my thoughts, casting his eyes over me, and I want to beg him, to plead with him, but I know it won’t make any difference. Not to a man like him.

The servant signals that everything is packed and Issar grunts before walking up to me and binding my wrists again.

I cry out as the rope cuts even deeper than before, but he just raises an eyebrow at me and continues tying the knot.

He is enjoying my pain; I know it.

He pulls me from the room. I look around, trying to figure out what part of the castle I’m in, but it all looks so unfamiliar. As we walk down, I see the signs of the siege in the ruins all around.

There are dead soldiers lying on the ground even now and I can’t help but stare at them, wondering who will be the one to bury them when we are all gone.

We reach the stables and Issar’s men are already waiting. His soldiers, his army are sitting on their horses, ready for his instructions.

I wonder how he is going to transport me. Is he going to tie me to the back of a horse—drag me behind one even?

I am so focused on what is in front of me that I don’t notice all the other figures behind me. The other men, the other warlords, the other kings too.

“Kera,” a voice cries out.

I spin on my heels, seeing a man grab the princess and tell her to be silent.

“Amera,” I cry back, but Issar hits me hard across the face to get my silence.

I stumble, but he catches me before I can hit the ground, and then he is pulling me away, toward his men as I stare back at the princess.

Her eyes are filled with tears, but the man holding her is saying something that looks almost soothing, and I wonder if I’m just imagining it.

Perhaps I’m just so desperate for her to be safe that my eyes are willing to believe anything right now.

Issar turns me round in front of the carriage and I feel the relief flooding through me. At least I won’t be dragged. At least I might have this small comfort.

But it’s short-lived.

He throws me in before clambering in after; wherever we are headed, he is going to spend every minute of the journey in here, in this cramped space.

I try to get onto a seat, but he kicks me down, driving his trunk into my ribs so hard I swear there will be an imprint of his sole in the bruising.

“Until you prove you can behave, you will remain at my feet,” he snaps, shutting the door, shutting away the last glimpse of my old home.

I feel my shoulders slump more. I feel my eyes welling up with tears.

I don’t know where we are headed, but I already know that this man, this awful, barbaric human, is going to ensure every second of my life from now on is excruciatingly long.