Page 14 of Crown of the Courtesan

I don’t know what to say to his cruel casualness, so I offer, “We’re missing the opening song.”

“We’ve danced it before.” He moves to close the door, plunging us into deeper darkness.

All my senses scream, and a cold sweat breaks across my skin. Still, I need to fix this because we are tethered together—whether I like it or not.

Not to mention, a happy Balor is a predictable Balor.

I stand beside him, my head barely reaching his shoulder, and ask, “Will you dance with me here then?” If he took me into his arms, we could forget everything. We could pretend none of it ever happened.

“I don’t care for dancing tonight.”

His rejection twists through my stomach. I change tactics and nervously blurt, “Thank you.”

Staring up into his withdrawn face, I notice his eyes darken as if the Otherworld were opening to swallow me whole.

“For what?”

“For bidding on me… again. It’s a relief you’re still my Keeper. We can⁠—”

“That is where you are wrong, Tabitha.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, trying not to sound irritated. “They called your name—” Before I can finish, he slams me onto the table.

Pain slices my brow as my forehead collides with the hard crystal of the vase. The flower arrangement topples in a watery mess, rolling off and smashing into the ground. Shards fly in every direction. A sickening scent of roses fills the air.

He pins me down, still bent over. Water trickles toward me until it saturates my face, neck, and chest, then runs in rivulets over the side of the tabletop, landing in little splashes on the floor and soaking into my silk slippers.

An inflexible grip holds my skull down on the sloppy surface. Balor hisses into my ear, “One way or another, you will give me what I need. You are going to bear sons.”

Repulsion shudders through me.

The missing Rite.

Teeth bared, I snarl, “Let go of me before you regret this!” I have no idea how I would make him regret anything, but I still say it.

“And what do you think you can do?” He chuckles, pushing harder, leaning closer. The whispers inside me erupt, angry as hornets. I throw my head back with force. It collides with something hard. A crunch of bone sounds between us. Agony bursts through my skull in slithering lashes.

Balor clutches his bloody nose. “You dumb bitch⁠—”

I attempt to flee the room, but he intercepts me. He snatches my waist-length curls like a rope, dragging me back and twisting them around his fist. Panic and pain sear as strands snap. He forces me to my feet to face the window.

Through the glass, I can see a handful of High Lords from the High Council cheering him on. Most look intoxicated as they hang over each other, singing bawdy tunes. Their greedy eyes glint as they watch me struggle.

Balor presses his cheek against mine. “Agree to give me what I want, or you belong to them. Considering they paid your fee, it’s only fair.” He’s breathless, panting. “But I’m willing to negotiate. If you’re finally willing to comply, I could reimburse them.”

A tear escapes. Balor licks it from my cheekbone.

“Get-off-me,” I grunt.

“But if you refuse… they’ll pick up where they left off. They quite enjoyed those little assignments I used to send you on.”

Everything freezes, and my face goes numb. “You promised,” I whisper. “You promised to stop asking that of me.”

He clutches my shoulders and shakes me. “And you promised to always please me, yet here we are.”

“Find a wife if you want children!”

“Don’t worry, I’m working on that,” he counters, “but she has to grow up first. Meanwhile, your brats will suffice to fill my lands.”