Because if she knows my true feelings for Mia, she may kill her. I swallow the thought down, realising my own true feelings for the first time.
“I will allow your disobedience this once, because I have always held a soft spot for you, Evan. But know this: you two, you can never be.”
I stare ahead, a blank canvas ready for inspection. Irritated that I was so easily read despite my great power.
“It is disallowed,” she hisses again, her words next to my ear. A gentle caress as her tongue laps at my lobe. “Remember the punishment of the last person that disobeyed me.”
I nod once, slowly, letting her know that I understand. How could anyone forget that punishment?
“She is not yours, nor will she ever be. Do you understand?”
I nod again, my fangs itching and burning with rage. Still her hand stays firmly on my shoulder, holding me in my place, making my body tremble. And still I stare ahead.
“She is my plaything.”
I nod again. The scorching pain in my shoulder is almost unbearable, but not as unbearable as the pain in my chest—the place where my heart should be beating. Her hand squeezes me tighter and I block out my feelings, thinking of only the pain I am enduring. Our queen has acquired a new skill upon the death of a Bastion, and she is testing its potency on me. I understand that this is my punishment for feeling anything towards Mia. I understand, and I accept it.
“And when I am done with her,” she continues, her hand finally moving from my shoulder, a single nail dragging down my back and cutting through the thin T-shirt I am wearing, drawing blood from me. My fangs drop without my wanting, a side effect of the pain she is inflicting, and my body wants to sag with relief when she stops her slow torture and stands in front of me, her lesson taught, and taught well. She smiles at me, her pale lips never parting, and I stay fixed to the spot, staring straight ahead—staring at her throne of bones. “I will take her head and use it as an ornament,” she hisses, amusement in her tone.
My fangs burn with anger, with thirst, and with the desire to move. To ask her why, to plead for Mia’s life. It all seems so pointless: to train her, to keep her, just to destroy her. But instead I stand as the Queen’s warrior, still and silent and waiting for my orders.
And hating myself for it.
She glides back to her throne, her small feet barely moving beneath her. She sits and stares back at me, a cruel smile playing on her plump white lips. Her two largest fangs hang over the top of her lip, and I know if she were to open her mouth fully I would see a mouth packed with tiny white fangs, something peculiar that no one can understand.
All of her is white these days: another new thing that I have noticed. She wasn’t always like this. True, she was always cruel, but the years have been bad for her, her paranoia growing daily. And with the paranoia, with the anger, comes the kiss of whiteness. But that’s what comes when you steal from others, and we are all just Pawns to her until she is ready to absorb us.
“What would you have me do, my Queen?” I reply darkly.
She smiles at me, and it’s all I can do to not crack my knuckles under her glare.
“Continue to train her. Continue to teach her. Keep her occupied. Mr San is still searching for her, which means he needs her, which means I will keep her.” She gestures around us. “With us, in our home—in her home—at least for now.”
She says ‘in her home’, but I know she means prison—though Mia does not know this. And yet I nod, when I want to say no.
“But I should still train her?” I question, unsure what the point is if she only intends for her to die.
“Yes, you should,” she replies, without expansion on my question but looking irritated at having to repeat herself.
“But why? For what point?”
“I want her loyalty.” She lets the words settle in the air before adding. “There is an old saying about keeping your
“I will allow your disobedience this once, because I have always held a soft spot for you, Evan. But know this: you two, you can never be.”
I stare ahead, a blank canvas ready for inspection. Irritated that I was so easily read despite my great power.
“It is disallowed,” she hisses again, her words next to my ear. A gentle caress as her tongue laps at my lobe. “Remember the punishment of the last person that disobeyed me.”
I nod once, slowly, letting her know that I understand. How could anyone forget that punishment?
“She is not yours, nor will she ever be. Do you understand?”
I nod again, my fangs itching and burning with rage. Still her hand stays firmly on my shoulder, holding me in my place, making my body tremble. And still I stare ahead.
“She is my plaything.”
I nod again. The scorching pain in my shoulder is almost unbearable, but not as unbearable as the pain in my chest—the place where my heart should be beating. Her hand squeezes me tighter and I block out my feelings, thinking of only the pain I am enduring. Our queen has acquired a new skill upon the death of a Bastion, and she is testing its potency on me. I understand that this is my punishment for feeling anything towards Mia. I understand, and I accept it.
“And when I am done with her,” she continues, her hand finally moving from my shoulder, a single nail dragging down my back and cutting through the thin T-shirt I am wearing, drawing blood from me. My fangs drop without my wanting, a side effect of the pain she is inflicting, and my body wants to sag with relief when she stops her slow torture and stands in front of me, her lesson taught, and taught well. She smiles at me, her pale lips never parting, and I stay fixed to the spot, staring straight ahead—staring at her throne of bones. “I will take her head and use it as an ornament,” she hisses, amusement in her tone.
My fangs burn with anger, with thirst, and with the desire to move. To ask her why, to plead for Mia’s life. It all seems so pointless: to train her, to keep her, just to destroy her. But instead I stand as the Queen’s warrior, still and silent and waiting for my orders.
And hating myself for it.
She glides back to her throne, her small feet barely moving beneath her. She sits and stares back at me, a cruel smile playing on her plump white lips. Her two largest fangs hang over the top of her lip, and I know if she were to open her mouth fully I would see a mouth packed with tiny white fangs, something peculiar that no one can understand.
All of her is white these days: another new thing that I have noticed. She wasn’t always like this. True, she was always cruel, but the years have been bad for her, her paranoia growing daily. And with the paranoia, with the anger, comes the kiss of whiteness. But that’s what comes when you steal from others, and we are all just Pawns to her until she is ready to absorb us.
“What would you have me do, my Queen?” I reply darkly.
She smiles at me, and it’s all I can do to not crack my knuckles under her glare.
“Continue to train her. Continue to teach her. Keep her occupied. Mr San is still searching for her, which means he needs her, which means I will keep her.” She gestures around us. “With us, in our home—in her home—at least for now.”
She says ‘in her home’, but I know she means prison—though Mia does not know this. And yet I nod, when I want to say no.
“But I should still train her?” I question, unsure what the point is if she only intends for her to die.
“Yes, you should,” she replies, without expansion on my question but looking irritated at having to repeat herself.
“But why? For what point?”
“I want her loyalty.” She lets the words settle in the air before adding. “There is an old saying about keeping your
Similar Books
