Tears streak my cheeks. I cover myself with my hands, but he pries them away and shoves me back onto the bed. The bells cry out as he climbs on top of me and starts drawing off his robes. I squeeze my eyes shut. His body is hard all over, wired with muscle, but the hardest part of him pushes against my leg.
I jerk back, recoiling.
“Let’s see if you taste as delicious as last night,” he purrs huskily, and lowers his mouth to my neck. His tongue flicks out—rough. Hot.
Revulsion sings in my bloodstream. I beat my fists against him, but it makes no difference; he’s too big, too heavy.
His mouth roams downward. One of his horns presses into the soft underside of my chin: a knife edge, a silent threat.
My heart is drumming hard enough to burst through my ribs. This is wrong. All wrong. Everything Zelle taught me earlier seems ungraspable, childish in the face of this ugly reality, far worse than anything I imagined. I think desperately of Wren, but I can’t even picture her face, and the tears come harder, my breaths faster, and I know then that I can’t do this. I’ll die if I have to endure even one more second.
The King moves down past my navel. As he shifts his position, the balance of weight tips just enough for me to move.
I slam into him.
Shove him back.
I roll off the bed with a grunt. Pain fissures up my back as I hit the floor. I scramble to my feet. There’s a rage-filled roar—the King—so deep it shudders my bones, but I’m already running, faster than he can come after me, desperation fueling my steps, and I sprint out the bedroom and into the main chamber, the floating tide of candles rippling away from me in waves.
I race down the hallway. The door at the end swings open as I get to it. I barrel past the waiting soldiers and servants, who cry out in surprise, not caring that I’m half dressed or that I have no clue where to go, only focused on getting out, out, out—
Something cracks against the back of my head.
I crash to the floor, collapsing headfirst into darkness.
SIXTEEN
WHEN I WAS YOUNG, MAMA TAUGHT me a method for dealing with situations that upset me. “It’s all about yin and yang,” she said, stroking my hair in her slow, calming way, her voice as sweet and delicate as summer rain. “Balancing your energy. When you’re angry or upset, stop for a moment and close your eyes. Breathe in slowly. Imagine as you do that the air you take in is bright and golden, as lovely and light as your eyes. Let that brightness fill your belly. Then, when you exhale, picture the darkness that had been within you—whatever it was that upset you—and visualize it leaving your body as you release your breath. Joyful, golden light comes in… darkness goes out. Try it with me now.”
I’ve always pictured happiness this way—as a light, something to summon at will to flush out the darkness poisoning my insides. But as I wake, the memory of the King’s touch is so oppressive I can’t imagine how it will ever leave me. It’s more than just a bit of blackness.
It is a whole night sky, starless and cold.
I come to slowly, disoriented. I’m lying on a sleeping mat. Someone has dressed me in a night robe, clean and cool against my skin. I must be back in Paper House, though I haven’t seen this room before. It’s small, plainly furnished like mine. Lantern light comes in through the gridlike pattern of a sliding shoji door. The building is muted, the room shadowed. It’s still night.
For a while I lie unmoving, limbs so heavy they feel like lead, while at the same time I’m hollow, emptied of whatever vital force usually keeps our blood flowing and muscles moving. There’s a dull ache where I slammed into the stone floor of the King’s bedchamber, and the back of my head hurts. I recall the sudden crack. Crumpling to my feet. One of the soldiers must have hit me.
Grimacing, I try to sit up, but something is weighing me down. At first I think it’s my own weight, that I’m just laden with exhaustion. Then I notice the gold bands circling my wrists. With awkward, jerky movements, I manage to prop myself up on my elbows, and I spot the same bands laced around my ankles; two pairs of gold circles, slender as twine, warm with magic. But though they look delicate, they are so heavy I can barely lift them.
Shamans’ work.
I sit up again, this time carefully, my arms deadweight at my sides, just as hurried footsteps sound in the hallway.
“Please, let her recover—”
“You’ve been too soft on that girl since she arrived! I don’t care what the King’s orders are. She needs to be taught a lesson! Can you imagine? Denying the King? Who does she think she is?”
“She was scared—”
“They all are! That didn’t stop the rest of them from doing their job!”
The door slams open. Madam Himura strides inside, Mistress Eira close behind. I shrink back against the wall, but the eagle-woman is on me in seconds, one wing-hand grasping the collar of my robe and lifting me off the floor. The other slaps me so hard my neck snaps round.
“You’re lucky he didn’t kill you!” she shrieks, spit flecking my face. “Stupid girl! Did you think that you’re somehow above your duties because of the special treatment we granted you to be here? How dare you! You’ve shamed us in front of the King himself. And after everything we’ve done for you!”
She hits me again, so hard it fractures my vision. The silver of her rings cut my cheek. There’s the warm trickle of blood, a kiss on my skin.
“Himura, you’ll kill her!” Mistress Eira cries.
“It’s the least she deserves!”
“Well, think of the damage you’ll do to her face!”
“The shamans can heal her. Don’t worry, Eira, she’ll be as pretty as before—though hopefully not as stupid!”
Madam Himura’s arm flies back and she hits me again. She hits me until lights are sparking in my eyes and my ears ring and my mouth is filled with blood. Just when I’m close to passing out, she throws me to the floor.
I curl into a ball, expecting more. When it doesn’t come, I look up through swollen eyes, spit flecking my chin.
“I—I’m sorry,” I stammer thickly.
“Don’t you dare speak to me!” Chest heaving, Madam Himura draws down on me, a talon prodding my ribs. Her yellow eyes bore into me with their cold, unblinking stare. “Let me explain what’s going to happen. The only reason the King didn’t have you killed was because he still desires you, heavens know why. He has ordered you to be kept in isolation for one week with no food or comforts. Do not even think about escaping. Those enchanted bands will make running impossible, and a guard will be stationed outside this room at all times. You will return to your schedule once the week is over. The King will call you to his bedchamber from then on once he’s ready, and that time, you won’t deny him.” Her voice is harsh. “I comforted you yesterday. Do not ever expect kindness from me again.” With one last scathing look, she sweeps from the room.
Mistress Eira hangs back. In silence, she comes over and helps me lie down, pulling a blanket gently over me. She rests a hand on my brow, careful not to touch anywhere I was hit.
“Oh, Lei,” she sighs. “What have you done?”
“I—I couldn’t bear it.” My voice is a rasp.