Page 122 of Mated to Monsters
“But if neither one of us want–”
“It is not about what either of us want,” he snaps, standing abruptly. “It is about responsibility, loyalty. It is about survival.”
I press my lips together, willing my chin not to tremble at his sharp tone.
“We have to begin our duties tonight. Be ready when I come for you,” he commands. He doesn’t even look at me as he turns on his heel and strides from the room, shutting the door hard behind him.
Moments ago, I had been wishing to be left alone, praying for a reprieve from all the noise and bodies crowding into such a small space. Now, the silence hangs heavily in the room, and I’m left alone with nothing but my own dread.
73
NATALIE
I stare at the door in shock, the silence in the room heavy like a blanket. I feel like some sordid doll, sitting as still as death tucked beneath silken sheets, waiting for my master to return and do whatever he pleases with me.
My stomach churns, and for a moment I think I’m going to be sick. I run to the washroom, my knees hitting the tile in front of the toilet hard as I clutch the basin.
Despite the overwhelming nausea, nothing comes. I sit there for a moment, the cold of the porcelain leaching through my torn, dirty clothes. Once I’m certain I’m not in danger of spewing bile all over the room, I drag myself to my feet, using the wall to keep myself steady.
I’m about to leave the bathroom when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror adorning the wall. My face is red and puffy from crying, my eyes bloodshot.
The clothes I’ve been in since Kha’zeth brought me here are in even worse shape than they were when I first arrived, or perhaps they just look worse in contrast with my fine surroundings.
Threads are coming loose around the ragged hemlines of my tunic, and the fabric is covered in stains. Salt stains are dotted over my front from my tears, only adding to how disheveled I look.
I try in vain to smooth out the tattered material before running my fingers through my hair, which is tangled from the upset.I sigh at my reflection, turning around to crawl back into bed when there’s a knock at my door.
My heart races. Is he back already?
Surely I can’t have spent that long in the bathroom! I peek out the window, ensuring that the sun is still above the horizon.
The knock comes again, more insistent this time.
Inhaling deeply, I open the door, steeling myself for Kha’zeth’s looming presence. To my shock, it’s not Kha’zeth, but one of the smaller demons, a little shorter than me, dragging a massive trunk.
The demon and I stare wide-eyed at each other for a moment before he gives me a quick bow and shoves the trunk into the room. He leaves it in the middle of the room before turning tail and sprinting from the room on squat legs.
How odd, I think to myself, watching him flee down the hallway with mild amusement.
I shut the door behind him, turning to inspect the trunk. Curiosity gets the better of me as I poke and prod at the worn leather encasing it, and I flip the latch to open the trunk.
It’s filled to bursting with new dresses, silken slippers tucked along the sides in every color of the rainbow. I feel the fabrics in wonder, carefully unfolding the dresses and laying them out on the bed.
I’ve never owned anything so lavish.
The dresses in the trunk are made of materials I've only ever heard of, and some I don’t recognize: tulle, lace, satin, velvet, with a wide variety of colors and silhouettes. I’m almost giddy playing with the assortment before the reason for all of the new clothing dawns on me.
Kha’zeth wants me to play the part.
A familiar nausea manifests in my stomach, and suddenly I’m far less interested in the dresses. The idea of being gussied up like some plaything crawls over my skin, leaving me feeling dirty and hollow.
Kha’zeth isn’t willing to pretend for my sake, and has made it abundantly clear that he’ll be returning tonight to consummate the King’s chosen arrangement. Panic thrums through me as I glance out the window, finding the sun has sunk a little lower in the stormy sky.
Heavy clouds are gathering on the horizon, gray and mean, and I can’t help but feel that they’re an omen of what’s to come. I scramble over to the window, taking stock of my surroundings.
A small lip sits beneath the window, just wide enough for me to fit my feet on and edge over to the small patch of roof connecting to the garden. Where I’d go from there, I have no idea, but at least I wouldn’t be trapped in this room.
My resolve strengthens as I think about Kha’zeth’s shadow reappearing in my doorway. This is how it has to be. It’s better to run and die fighting than live out my life as nothing more than a broodmare for the demons.