“But you’re here. Can’t I…I don’t know, put you on a plane to somewhere?” I rush forward when he starts to protest. “I’m sure Lord Aaron and I could arrange it. I can use some of my earnings. You’d be on a different continent before Reginald even knew you were gone.”
“Stop!” Saber says, his hands on my upper arms. “You think I haven’t considered it? You think I haven’t thought about all of this before? I’m not stupid.”
“Of course not,” I say. Almost plead. I just want to get him out of this situation. It makes me sick!
He pushes his shoulders back and slips out of the tight livery jacket. I realize what he’s doing when he starts unbuttoning the cuffs of his linen shirt, and my heart starts to pound. I know what’s there. But now, comprehending the significance of it, I can hardly bear it.
He pushes the shirt up, and I look more closely at the black mark. It’s ten years old, but the lines are still crisp and dark.
“It’s code,” he says softly. “People with the equipment to decrypt it can see my…status. My name, who owns me. There are markings that can be added to say something about my skills, indicate that I’m for sale, even list a price. People like Reginald have diverse interests—drugs, counterfeiting, smuggling, you name it. And every single one of them is careful to the point of paranoia. The slave markings are one way they’ve found to do business without saying a single, possibly incriminating word.”
It doesn’t sound paranoid to me at all—it sounds insanely brazen. Tattooing sensitive information onto a human being, even encrypted, sounds like a recipe for disaster. It’s so open. So obvious.
“So we get the tattoo removed. I’ll take you to the clinic right now. Move-ins are often asked to have visible tattoos removed for historical accuracy.”
“You don’t understand, Danica. The tattoo doesn’t make me a slave; it keeps me alive. Look,” he says, pushing his right ear forward with an index finger so I can see behind it. “Do you see that scar?”
“I…” At first I don’t, but on closer inspection, I can see a wrinkle that might once have been an incision, just where his jawline and earlobe meet. “Maybe?”
“Well, Reginald’s plastic surgeons are some of the best in the world.” Saber grimaces. “There’s a chip in there. If it doesn’t pick up the right authorization codes at the right time, it cooks my brain. The tattoo is a part of that process; the slaveminder—”
“Slaveminder,” I repeat, my world swirling into a sickening surrealism I can’t escape.
“It’s a bot, just nowhere near as fancy as the ones you’ve got here. It scans my tat and blasts whatever it is my chip wants to hear. Then I’m safe for a while, but I’m never told how long I have before my next check-in comes due. It’s why I sometimes meet with Reginald alone on the weekends.”
I remember thinking yesterday that I didn’t know how dark Reginald’s underground world was. But this? “The police…” But the look of amusement on Saber’s face makes my words trail off.
“Oh, they know. Some, anyway. But as far as they’re concerned, all this tattoo means is that if they take me into custody, I’ll be dead before I can be of use to them. Doesn’t matter if they’re trying to liberate me, or arrest me, or use me to get to my…employer. The markings are a warning to leave me alone.”
I’m aghast, but my brain automatically shifts into coder mode. “Can’t you…hack the chip? Get it removed? Surely someone—”
“Surely,” Saber interrupts with a bitter chuckle, “someone, somewhere, is working on some way to fight the gangs, and the mobs, and the cartels. To free the slaves, to stop the drugs, to tax the smugglers. That’s always true. But the chip in my head is designed to fry me at the first hint of tampering. You can probably imagine that there aren’t a lot of slaves out there volunteering to beta-test solution proposals.”
I can’t give up. If I give up, I’m accepting, and I cannot accept this. “But—there has to be some way—”
He shakes his head. “No. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not telling you out of some misguided belief that you might be able to help. I didn’t want to tell you at all. I’m stuck, Danica, and I’m not getting unstuck.” He shrugs. “So I do what I’m told. Who knows? Maybe someday Reginald’ll free me. It’s been known to happen.”
I feel empty inside. Like knowing the truth about Saber has ripped my soul out and there’s nothing to replace it. “You must hate me. The things I make you do. I’m as bad as him.”
“I don’t hate you. I tried to hate you, don’t get me wrong. But I couldn’t.” He places his hands on both sides of my face and leans in to kiss me so very lightly on the mouth. “But make no mistake,” he says, his breath warm against my lips, “I hate what you do.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, and the tears I’ve been holding back spill over the edge, trailing down both cheeks. “I wish…I wish I could stop. For you. But I—”
“I know, you can’t.” He scrubs one tear away with his thumb. “You are the best thing that’s happened to me since I was sold to Reginald, and I only get to have you for fifteen more days. So you can bet your ass I’m going to make the most of it.”
I try to smile through my tears, but it’s too difficult. I can’t accept this the way he so obviously has. I hate that he has. Because I know his spirit, and I can only imagine what it must have taken to break it. “I don’t know if I can leave without you, Saber. You—you make me feel like I don’t have to pull my laces so tight. And I know that doesn’t mean anything to you, but you”—I clamp my teeth down on my trembling lip—“you make me wish I were a better person than I am.”
“Neither of us is really in a position to be good people right now. Maybe that’s just the way it’s supposed to be.” He kisses me once more—long and lingering this time—then grabs his livery jacket. “Come on, help me into this damned thing.”
“We’re going back?”
“To the party? Yes. I promised a hell of a lot of batting eyelashes that I’d return with more product. Plus, if we don’t move this stock tonight, we’ll be too backlogged to catch up.”
I give the jacket a good yank and settle the starched collar into place. He turns and offers me his arm, but before I take it, I look into his eyes and whisper, “I’m so, so sorry.”
He raises my satin-gloved fingertips to his lips and kisses them with all the gallantry of a Sonoman gentleman. “I’m not.”
DESPITE OUR MUTUAL melancholy, we move our inventory quickly. Heart in my throat, I palm a container of rouge and walk over to Molli.
“The real stuff?” she whispers when I show it to her.
“Of course,” I say, and I hate the bright, beaming smile she graces me with at my words. I worked so hard to keep both Lord Aaron and Molli out of it and failed miserably.
“Be careful,” I warn, because I must say something, but Saber’s warning is bitter in my mouth as I repeat it to Molli. “A little goes a long way.”
I hold out my hand, but my fingers are trembling. Can I truly give it to her? To Molli, who feels like the only innocent thing left in my life? Lord Aaron is already using; Saber’s very existence is a sad testament to mankind’s selfishness; but Molli is so true and loyal and pure. I open my mouth—to say what, I don’t even know—but my hands shake so badly I lose my grip on the container and it clatters to the floor.
We both freeze when it lands—facedown, if that’s lucky—next to a shimmering, jeweled shoe. I somehow already know whose face I’m going to find when I raise my eyelids.
His Highness stoops and picks up the canister without so much as glancing at its label or contents, and proffers it to Molli. “Yours?” he asks, barely waiting for her silent nod before dropping it into her gloved palm. “Come dance with me,” he orders, yanking me alongside him toward the dance floor before I can say a word.
I’m not sure how I manage the steps of the dance as horror fills me. Was I going to give it to her? Would I have changed my mind? I don’t honestly know the answer. But I suspect in t
he end I’d have let her have it, and that kills me inside.
At the end of the party, Saber sees me to my chamber, and I wait while he slips out the back door to my father’s office—there to mix a double batch of new cosmetics. I don’t offer to help. If he wonders why, he doesn’t say.
After checking the back door to my suites and counting to one hundred, I slip out and make my way through the snail-spiral of rooms that belong to the King. Unable to locate him via Lens—and unsure of the wisdom of arranging a meeting by com—I continue trawling his rooms until I find his private office door locked.
I raise my hand and knock, and butterflies take flight in my belly. I’ve not changed from my ball finery, and I try to remember how elegant I look. How Queen-like. I must use every weapon in my arsenal to make this happen.
Several seconds pass—did I wake him? Or fail to wake him? Is he consulting with M.A.R.I.E. as to the identity of his visitor, or dithering over whether to admit me or send me away? I suppose he could simply be ignoring me. Finally, weasel-faced Mateus pokes his head out and glares before stepping back to let me through.
“Leave us,” I say with a wave of my hand.
I’m certain Mateus looks to his sovereign before obeying, but I don’t turn to check. The door clicks shut behind me and I approach the King’s desk. There I stand, my hands loosely clasped in front of me.
His Highness is almost ready to retire. He’s removed both his jacket and waistcoat, and his long hair is tied back and away from his face—but his tablet is still out, and he’s scribbling at it furiously with a stylus. Drafting legislation, perhaps, or approving purchase orders. When it comes to profits, political influence, and power, you can use any one to buy another; the King, scarcely older than me, has all three. It’s too much for any one person. Lets him get away with murder.
With a sigh, His Majesty taps his stylus a few more times, then leans back, unfastening one more button on his linen shirt. “Yes, my love?” His tone is so sharp it could almost erase the reasonable pseudo-friend of this morning.
I refuse to cringe. “I’ve reconsidered,” I say flat out. “I’ve come here to accept the offer you made to me earlier today. I was”—I swallow hard as the dream of his ruination drains away—“I was emotional and irrational. Understandably so, I think. Your offer was exceedingly generous, and a few hours of contemplation have shown me the wisdom of accepting it.”
An oily smile crosses His Majesty’s face, and I hurry to continue lest I lose control of this situation entirely.
“I do have a few requirements. With my mother so very sadly deceased, I feel it would be in exceedingly poor taste not to have my father in attendance at my wedding. Therefore, I propose he remain here until we both leave together, a few days after the wedding. Well, all three of us. I shall still require my secretary to continue to manage my affairs.” I can’t quite hold his gaze as I add that last bit.
It’s the most important part.
I have to take him with me. I have to find a way. If I take the King’s offer, I won’t have to pay for my escape, so I’ll have my Glitter profits. Much as the thought sickens me, if I have to buy Saber from Reginald to free him, I will. It’s a temporary solution—I’ll never know peace while the King knows my whereabouts, but Saber’s freedom is more important.
His Highness leans back in his chair, looking thoroughly amused. It unnerves me and I continue talking, doing my best to keep my words from unraveling into rambling. But I have to get it all out while I still have the courage.
“For the sake of appearances, my father and I should both be present at the board meeting following the wedding—I’ll make sure my father behaves himself—and then there’ll be no question of tampering or undue influence. It’s in both of our interests. We can leave for Languedoc-Roussillon directly following the vote. That very night, if it pleases you.” My votes. My father’s votes. I’m selling them to him. All hope of revenge—of justice for Sierra Jamison—gone. A deal with the devil seems more palatable.
But I’ll be with Saber. Somehow. I’ll free him. I’ll find a way to free myself after that.
His Highness doesn’t speak for a long time. He’s getting what he wants—he should be gloating. But he merely sits, a smirk on his face, looking relaxed. Looking satisfied.
“Really?” he finally says.
“Indeed.”
Then, like a snake springing from a coil, His Majesty lets his chair tilt forward and rises from his seat. “I don’t think that’s the way things are going to happen at all.”
Icy fear freezes in my chest as His Highness makes his way around the desk and stalks behind me, running one fingertip along the skin just above my off-the-shoulder gown, producing an insuppressible shiver.
“You see, you’re not the only one who’s had a few hours to reconsider, love. I did a fair amount of ruminating on my hasty offering as well.” He continues to circle and gestures casually with one hand as a sense of foreboding washes over me. “The offer itself wasn’t a bad one, per se. But your reaction to it changed a lot of things in my mind.”
“My reaction?” I say, my face as emotionless as a piece of white parchment.
“I offered you freedom—you instantly rebelled. Everything in my offer hinges upon your voting the way I ask. If I can’t control you when you’re standing right in front of me, how can I ever expect to maintain my influence over your votes from seven hundred kilometers away?”
“But I’m cooperating.”
“You’re cooperating now.” He’s standing at my left shoulder, and he lifts an errant lock of hair, leans down to bring it to his nose. “Your little rebellion was infuriating, yes, but also arousing.”
“Don’t forget about the video,” I say casually, though terror is clawing at my self-control.
“That video never even reached M.A.R.I.E.,” the King says in tones of mock condolence. “Your mother made several encrypted copies on storage devices she mailed to coconspirators with fairly explicit instructions. Sadly, none seem to have reached their intended destinations.”
“You missed one,” I snap, refusing to lose the upper hand. For all I know, he’s bluffing too. “Don’t underestimate—”
“Enough.” The King grabs my arm, spins me around, and pushes me against his desk so quickly that I’m pinned before it even occurs to me to resist. And in that moment, I know I’ve lost. I’ve lost for me, I’ve lost for my father, I’ve lost for Saber. A squeak escapes my mouth, but His Highness covers it with one hand and places the other firmly behind my back. Planting himself between my knees, he pulls me tight against him, and I feel tears start to prick my eyes.
“I think I want you right here,” he says, his lips brushing my neck with each word. “Where I can keep an eye on you. And perhaps a few other things on you as well.”
I raise my hands to his chest to push against him, but he’s holding me too tightly, and with my feet off the floor, I have no leverage.
“It occurred to me,” he continues, his hand so hard against my mouth that my lips are pushing painfully against my teeth, “that your father is in such poor health he could drop dead any day. I shouldn’t send him away in such a state. Besides”—his mouth drifts to my décolletage, and I try to wrench away but only succeed in pulling my neckline down farther. “When he dies, his only child will inherit his not-insignificant shares. Those plus the Queen’s shares will make you one of the most influential women in the kingdom. A real treasure.”
He’s nuzzling my exposed cleavage, and I can’t hold back my tears any longer. I’ve lost everything. I’m not sure I’m going to leave this meeting with my soul intact.
And then his mood seems to take an about-face. Anger clouds his features and he grabs my arms with both hands, sweeping me away from the desk and slamming me up against the wall. Both his hands are around my neck, squeezing, and I feel my airways pinch shut. I scrabble for his hands, claw at them, but I’m still wearing my satin gloves and my fingernails are useless. Darkness hovers at the edg
es of my vision, and I’m distantly aware of that same awful gagging sound from that long-ago night, this time coming from my own throat.
Then I’m crumpling onto the floor, gasping in cool, fresh air that burns as much as it soothes. It takes several seconds of rasping before my sight filters back in; once I can see again, His Majesty’s face invades my vision and I wish I were still blind. He’s crouched beside me, entirely too relaxed for a man who has almost killed.
Again.
“You will learn not to defy me, Dani.”
“Danica,” I rasp instinctively.
“I will call you whatever the hell I desire, and that’s the last time you will ever correct me.” He pauses, perhaps waiting for me to agree, but I’d rather perish on the spot. “We will be wed in fifteen days’ time. Your father will vote with me, or I will take his life. You will vote with me or I will make your life a living hell.”
He reaches out for my sleeve and yanks it down my arm, nearly exposing my breast, but I don’t have the energy to cover myself, much less fight him.
“And I get to keep you,” he says, caressing the bare patch of skin. “Maybe forever.”
I DON’T GO to assist Saber when I leave His Majesty’s office, even though I should. I can’t. I can’t face him. Not after the way I failed him—even if he doesn’t know it.
Why didn’t I accept the King’s offer this afternoon? Why! Why did I decide vengeance was worth more than freedom? Why did I think I could have everything?
Knowing I defied him has made him worse than ever. He didn’t do more than terrify me tonight. Terrify and disgust me. But he will. After he gets my votes. Fear is his weapon—it always has been. I was a fool to forget it.
When I get back to my room and the bots have removed my finery, instead of loosening my laces, I have M.A.R.I.E. tighten them. Only when I can’t breathe without pain do I let the bots tie the strings. I take twice my regular dose of sleeping pills and lie gingerly across the bed, my ribs screaming. I can’t do more than breathe shallowly, and just before drifting away I wonder if it’s possible to suffocate in one’s sleep via stays.