Page 6 of The Faceless Queen

“Yes,” the man said, frowning. “Quite grand indeed.”

“Well, you are not officially betrothed yet. I’ve personally found this to be a time that offers men all the more reason to sample fresh delights.”

His face hardened. “Thank you, Master Geoffrey.” He bowed to me. “I assure you, the celebrations that are planned will be extensive, once our families sign the contract. I expect they will continue for many nights to come until our wedding. As for tonight, my compliments are all I have to offer.” His nostrils flared, and all the warmth in his voice had gone. The kindness in his eyes blinked out. The green turned cold.

Just like Jaron’s had been, but the similarities between them seemed to be lessening.

He hadn’t ogled my appearance, not even once–and that was usually all I heard when I connected to a man’s mind. I’d had to grow numb to the sort of depraved thoughts most carried. But he was different. He’d noticed my dancing first, not the face I wore, or the hair, or body I’d manipulated to please him. He’d noticed the only thing about my performance that was honest, the only thing that was not an illusion. He’d noticed the one thing that was just me.

Again he sighed, and his voice softened. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Samara.”

He turned away, one hand on the hilt of his tourney sword, before heading for the bar and moving out of earshot as he vanished into the crowd.

“What the fuck was that?” Geoffrey hissed.

“I—I don’t know.”

“About to be betrothed my ass,” Geoffrey said. “The man’s a moron. You’re stunning tonight. Irresistible. And you are absolutely going to fuck his brains out before morning.”

“Oh! Am I?” I snarled. “You made the offer. I flirted freely. He turned me down. There’s nothing more I can do if he doesn’t want me⁠—”

“He wants you.” Geoffrey’s eyebrows narrowed. “He covered his lust with anger. But it was there. Oh, it was there. As heavy and deep as his fucking purse. I felt it, I heard it in his mind.”

“You—you did?” I asked, taken aback. I hadn’t felt that at all from the nobleman. And if his feelings were that strong and directed toward me, I would have been able to feed off of them. Geoffrey had to be lying. All I’d sensed was his disgust for the tavern owner, and his compliments for my skill.

“Don’t believe me? Reach out now, see how much he desires you,” Geoffrey said. “Feel him. Read his thoughts. They’re strong.”

“I—I can’t,” I stammered. “I don’t feel a thing.” He had to direct his emotions at me for that to happen, and they had to be strong. But the air around him felt empty even as I tried to reach out. If he had any strong feelings at the moment, I was not a part of them.

Geoffrey scoffed. “You’re either lying to me and yourself, or you're not even trying.” He gripped my arm, tugging my body violently against his own. “Try again. Demonos,” he whispered in my ear.

“Stop,” I said, pulling back, sweat beading at my nape. “Are you mad to say such things like that in public to me? Do not say that word—not to me—not here.”

“Do not give me orders.” He pulled me back in, his eyes flaring with more than fury and violence. It was a treacherous reminder.

Demonos was what the people of Eskalon used to refer to witches. Specifically, a witch like me, an Azete. For Geoffrey to say it, to say the word Demonos to me, was damning. Not just because we were in Eskalon, but because the term was even a derogatory insult amongst our own people, the witches of Azeal.

In the eyes of my people, being a faceless one meant I was less of a witch and more of a predator, cursed with the ability to draw power from another by touch alone. After my mother's death, my only protection, the only safe place for me to go, had been the place where witches were viciously hunted. The very kingdom where, if I were discovered, I would be killed.

Geoffrey had been the one to find me. To know immediately what I was. Because he was one, too. And so he kept my secrets, kept me safe in exchange for my body, for using my power to bring in money.

But he was clearly done doing so. I was costing him too much.

“You listen to me, Samara, and you listen good.” He spat as he spoke. Disgusting wetness landed on my cheek.

I dared not wipe it away, but I was barely able to keep still as I trembled with rage.

“I know your real name. And I know what you did here two years ago.” His voice lowered. “I know the bullshit you’ve been doing ever since. You smile and flirt; you take them upstairs. You promise pleasure. But you suck out their lifeforce before they can fuck you. Then you abandon them. Unconscious after barely a kiss. You leave the men humiliated and unfulfilled. You leave them angry. And let me tell you something. Angry men don’t spend money.”

“I do what I’m supposed to do. I entice them, I touch them. I get you their coin.”

“But you don’t fuck them, do you? Tell me truly. Have you even seen a cock these last two years?”

“You know I have,” I hissed. “How else could I—” I gestured at my hair, my face. The changes were small. But they were still changes, and a constant drain on my magic to keep up. I had to feed. Frequently. Much as I had all night. But I was unwilling to touch another man in that way again after the prince. After he hurt me.

Despite the hunger of the Azete always present inside of me, I was still afraid. Afraid of how much I might take, afraid of who else I might hurt. Afraid that one day the Azete wouldn’t just be a part of me, but it would become me, take control, until I was lost. All beast, and nothing else.

But Geoffrey wasn’t supposed to know that. He wasn’t supposed to know the real way I fed lately. He wasn’t supposed to know I’d been practically starving myself.