ã€ŠThe Serpent Kingã€‹


 Chapter 1

    I''ve been on the road for as long as I can remember, and I''ve loved every second of it.

    Our troupe, the Restless Warblers, consists of around 40 musicians, actors, and poets, plus their children, lovers, friends, and some people who just want to follow along for a good time.  My mother was one of the founding members.  I''m told she gave birth to me in a moving caravan and got back up and played for a crowd of hundreds the next day.  I was raised by a rotating cast of artists and dreamers while traversing the whole continent, never staying in the same place for more than a few weeks.

    It''s the only life I''ve ever known.  The only life I care to know.  Home is where you are surrounded by the people you love most, and for me it just doesn''t have a fixed location.

    Last month we hit a string of towns along the southeast border of Chavalia.  They weren''t big towns, but visiting so many in quick succession had set us up quite nicely.  We were able to get stocked up on enough supplies to make the long trek across the border, through the Revanni mountain range and into the isolated country of Veilsung.

    Now, Veilsung isn''t completely cut off from the rest of the world.  There is some trade across their borders, and they don''t turn away travelers at the gates.  It even has a few port cities along its southern shore.  I''ve been to several of them before, and they''re just as bustling and diverse as any I''ve visited.  Even so, the inner country is rarely traversed by outsiders, and immigration is almost unheard of.

    Part of it is the land itself.  It''s all steep mountains and dry deserts, nigh inhospitable and so, so hot.  Even the natives don''t travel overly much outside of their irrigated communities.  Nearly all the water to be found here bubbles up from deep within the earth, and around those springs is where the towns and cities have sprung up.  Between these oases stretches miles and miles of barren earth.

    The second thing that keeps outsiders out is the natives themselves.  The serpent folk who call Veilsung their home are a cool, detached people, quick to welcome strangers into their communities and just as quick to let them know when they have overstayed their welcome.  They are nothing if not polite, yet to truly be accepted as one of them is exceedingly rare.

    They do love music, though.  And they certainly know how to have a good time.  Traveling minstrels can make a pretty penny if they have the numbers and resources to stick it out through the extreme temperatures of the desert.

    We''ve hopped from town to town, making our way towards the country center, and after several weeks of fanning ourselves with sheet music and sweating bullets in the caravans while the sun was up, then laying under the stars in the blessedly cool nights, we''ve come to set up camp in Veilsung''s capital city of Dimos.  Finally.

    I''ve been waiting ages to come back here.

    In smaller towns, we typically set up camp on the outskirts, where there''s more room, but in a city as big as Dimos, we arranged to set up within city limits, in a large open field used for various outdoor events.  It''s well into the afternoon before we''re done making camp, and then we get to start having fun.

    "Come see the Restless Warblers, the greatest traveling show in all Welkun," Suzanne proclaims from our street corner, waving her hands in grandiose sweeps. She''s human, but she''s tall and easily spotted even among the many serpent folk who surround her.  "Theater, music, art and dance the likes of which you''ve never before seen!"

    Portia stands beside her, accompanying her words with great flourishes on her violin.  Together, they always draw a crowd, and today is no different.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    I hand out fliers from the stack of paper in my hands.  A good amount of time was spent this morning writing the location of our current venue on each page.  Not by me though, since my handwriting is god-awful.  I''m guessing Portia was on that team, based on the circles over the i''s.

    "We''re here all week!" Suzanne says, all eyes on her and Portia as I work my way through the crowd smiling and passing out papers.  "Join us tomorrow night for our opening performance!  Dance the night away to music played by masters of their craft!"

    This is the drill.  First night, after setting up camp, we separate into small groups and wander the town, spreading the word of our presence.  Suzanne, Portia, and I have this down to a science.  Portia has a sixth sense for knowing exactly when to move on to a new corner, Suzanne makes the exact same speech sound new and captivating every time she says it, and I''m the master navigator who keeps us from getting lost even in the biggest cities.

    Dimos is quite a big city, but it really doesn''t need as much of my expertise, since it''s built along the side of one mountain, and you can see where our camp is set up just by looking downhill.

    "My feet are killing me," Portia complains after the crowd has thinned out.  "How much further up do we have to go?  Can''t we move like, across the incline?"  She''s a halfling, so she''s usually complaining about her shorter legs hurting by this time in the process.

    "Move laterally if you want, but I''m going all the way to the top," I say.

    Portia groans.  "I forgot that was your plan.  No way in hell am I following you all that way though, Cat."

    "It''s getting late, and we''re only about two thirds of the way up right now," Suzanne chimes in.  "If you really want to go all the way to the top by sunset, we probably have to split off.  I can handle fliers and the speech."

    I grasp her hand tight and look up deeply into her eyes.  "Suzanne.  You are my rock.  My foundation.  Without you I would be forever adrift on an endless sea.  I am eternally in your debt."

    Suzanne titters gleefully at my exaggerated praise as I press my stack of paper into her arms, then take off on a run to continue my trek to the top of this city''s long slope.  She''s right, it is getting late, and though we will be here for a full week, there won''t be a better opportunity for me to take off on my own in the evening than this first night.

    One of my strongest childhood memories is of when we last stopped in this city.  I was around ten years old, and our troupe had been invited to play in the king''s castle, all the way at the top.  On the other side of the mountain, the ground falls away sharply as an impossibly tall cliff.  I remember looking out on the scene that stretched out beyond the ledge, impossibly vast and bathed in the pink light of the sunset, listening to the music swell behind me, and wishing I could stay in that place, in that moment, for all eternity.

    Now I''ve finally come back to the same place that so transfixed me as a child, and I feel compelled to relive that moment.  But quiet, and alone.  No crowds of people dancing and talking around me.  No adults to impose a bedtime.  Just me and the endless expanse of earth beyond the peak of Dimos.

    I try to remind myself of the serenity that awaits at the top as I trudge up the seemingly endless slope, breathing getting more and more ragged with each step.

    I thought singing was supposed to give you greater lung capacity?  Sure doesn''t feel like it¡­

    The castle dominates much of the mountain''s peak, but there is some space to either side that civilians can access to see over the other side.  I struggle up the last few steps to the public garden on the west side of the castle and am rewarded with a mostly flat expanse of grass and flowers, beautiful in the light of the rapidly lowering sun.  Utterly out of breath, the back of my thighs burning like crazy, I traverse the last gentle slope -- downwards, thank god -- to lean against a short stone wall at the edge of the world.

    It''s exactly as I remember it.  Endless.  Vast.  Picturesque.  Only this time I am alone, steeped in a profound silence against which I can only hear my ragged breaths and the pounding of my ceaseless heart.

    Then, from behind me, I hear the noise of someone clearing their throat, and I jump so hard I feel the world spin.

 Chapter 2

    Before I have the opportunity to fall forward over top of the wall that now seemed inadequately short for something that was supposed to stop people from tumbling down a thousand-foot cliff, I feel a cool, dry hand wrap around my forearm, and hear a low, even voice speak to me.

    ¡°Sorry, I didn''t mean to startle you."

    Once the ground feels steady under my feet again, I turn to look at the person who was both the cause of my near death experience and my savior from it.

    He''s tall, enough so that I have to look up a ways to meet his eyes, but for a male member of the serpent folk I''d say he''s about average.  Medium build.  Well-dressed but in an understated way.  Dignified, but not that old -- maybe in his thirties.  His scales are a dark gray with yellow markings, his snout is short, and the scales on the back of his head spike up a bit.  His eyes are a violent blood red.  They stare back at me, level and even, and I can immediately sense an aura of calm authority radiating from him.

    "Um.  No, it''s my fault. I should have noticed there was someone else here," I concede a bit sheepishly.  "I was in such a hurry and so out of breath, I just got a bit of tunnel vision, I guess."

    He lets go of my arm, an action that makes me realize he was still holding it.  I rub it absentmindedly.

    "What were you in such a rush for?" he asks, glancing in the direction in which I had been staring so raptly moments before.  "The mountains aren''t going anywhere.  Not anytime soon anyway."

    He doesn''t smile, but it''s abundantly clear he finds my actions amusing.  I don''t much care for being made fun of, not by strangers anyway.  My lips purse.

    "Well, the mountains might not be going anywhere, but I am," I inform him, trying to be polite but unable to keep a degree of defiance out of my tone.  "I''m only in town for a week, and I''ll be busy for most of it."

    The man blinks, and his forked tongue flicks out from between his lips.  If he''s bothered by my rude tone, it doesn''t show on his face.  "I see.  What brings you to Dimos, then?"

    This question causes the deeply ingrained urge to give our spiel to bubble out of me unbidden.  I rattle off the words I''ve spoken a thousand times in my life with a practiced smile.

    "I''m a member of a troupe of traveling musicians and actors, the Restless Warblers.  We''re in town for the next week, putting on a different show every night.  Tomorrow night is a concert with food and drink provided by local street vendors.  The music and dancing goes late into the night, and all are welcome."

    He cocks his head and stares at me long enough for my addressing-the-public smile to falter.  Then he finally breaks eye contact to gaze out over the painted vista.  "Yes, I''d heard there was a group that just arrived today.  I hope your time here is lucrative."

    The obvious lack of interest in his tone and manner really rubs me the wrong way.

    "Of course our time here will be lucrative," I say, unable to keep the testiness out of my voice.  "We''re amazing, and if you''re not interested, you should at least spread the word to anyone you know who does appreciate art and fun."

    He gives me a strange look that I can''t read, and smirks almost imperceptibly.

    "I suppose I shall," he says, then looks away again.

    I feel summarily dismissed, not to mention a little mocked, and it lights a small fire in me.  He doesn''t want to keep talking to me?  Good.  I''d be happy to take the opportunity to pretend he doesn''t exist.  I''m not here to talk to anyone anyway, I''m here to enjoy the majesty of nature and light.  I suck in a deep breath and turn away from him and towards the sunset, determined not to let his grating presence ruin this experience for me.

    The view is perfect.  The shadows are blue and purple and everything touched by the light is in pinks and oranges.  The landscape is all jagged peaks and deep canyons, stretching out over an impossible distance.  The earth seems barren, yet I know that even in the most improbable corners of this wasteland, there is life just beneath the surface.  It''s everything I remember and more.

    And I can''t enjoy it at all with this guy standing next to me.

    I keep sneaking glances at him, but he''s never looking back at me.  I might be unable to ignore him despite my best efforts, but he doesn''t seem to face the same problem.  He seems so at ease, which I envy greatly.

    The silence between us is making me so antsy.  I shuffle my feet as I try to reign in the urge to tell him to piss off and find his own lookout spot.  Because I can''t say that, can I?  I can''t tell someone who has technically done me no wrong to get out of my airspace.  If I don''t say something, though, the urge is just going to build until it bursts out of me like trapped steam.  So, I blurt out the first innocuous subject that comes to mind.

    "I came here once before, a long time ago," I say.  "We got to play in the castle that time.  I really fell in love with the scenery."

    I glance over.  He''s looking at me now, expression inscrutable, waiting for me to continue.

    "I''ve wanted to come back ever since," I go on,  "I''ve been all over the continent and seen a lot of beautiful places, but nothing has really called to me in the same way."

    He looks out into the distance, a faint smile playing across his lips and a far off look in his eye.

    "Yes," he says reverently, "I feel the same way.  In all the years I''ve lived here, I never tire of it.  I come here all the time when I need to think.  It never fails to clear my mind."The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Good, he said something that didn''t piss me off.  I can work with this.

    "Have you traveled much?" I ask.

    He chuckles lightly.  "You could say that."

    What, is he trying to be mysterious?  That''s back into the realm of annoying again.

    "I''ve never not been on the road," I say.  "I wouldn''t have it any other way, and my troupe is my family, but some places make me wish we could at least linger for a little while.  Tell me, as a Dimos native, what should I make sure to prioritize seeing before we leave?"

    He takes a long time before answering, taking deep breaths as he mulls it over.  "Honestly?  It doesn''t get much better than this.  Prioritize coming up here as often as possible."

    "Yeah¡­"  Maybe next time I would even be alone.  "I just wish that our campsite were closer to the summit.  We''re all the way back next to the east entrance of town. It was a long way up here and it''ll be a long way back, though thankfully I won''t have to go uphill the other way too."

    "You have to go all the way back across town?" he demands with some urgency.  "Are you serious?"

    "Well yeah, but it''s no big deal," I say dismissively.  "My whole life is walking long distances, and I have a great sense of direction."

    My answer doesn''t seem to please this guy.  His brow furrows deeply.

    "It''ll be dark the whole way back," he says as though I don''t know this already. "Dimos''s crime rate isn''t high, but it''s far from non-existent.  A woman walking alone at night¡­ You could get mugged, or worse."

    I scoff and try to cover it up by coughing, but it''s not really convincing.

    "Look, I''ve been out alone at night in way sketchier places than this and still have yet to be effectively mugged," I reassure him smugly.  "Don''t worry, I''m more than capable of taking care of myself."

    My reassurances aren''t convincing.  His brow furrows deeper still, and I can see his tail lashing sinuously behind him.

    "I''ll go fetch a carriage for you," he says in a definitive tone.

    "That''s really not--¡°

    "I insist," he interrupts with some force.  "Please wait here.  I will return shortly."

    And he turns and walks away without another word.

    I splutter uselessly at his receding back.  The reasonable part of me knows that this is a kind and gentlemanly gesture.  My wounded pride, however, is overpowering all reason, and I''m becoming more irate by the second.  He doesn''t think I can handle myself?  Well, he has no idea who I am and what I''m capable of, and I''m not fond of being underestimated.

    Rather than watching my beautiful sunset as planned, I am now pacing vigorously back and forth and mentally playing out arguments I would like to have with this stranger when he returns.  I''m also arguing with myself, because my reason has found its voice a little, and I''m recognizing that I can''t just tell him to fuck off and leave me alone, when, again, he hasn''t technically done anything to me.  I have to be nice.  I have to express gratitude, even, for this objectively generous offer.

    No matter how painful it is to do so.

    When he returns, the sun is gone and I have worn a path in the grass.  I try not to meet his eyes, because if I did, I''d be giving him a death glare.  It''s not suppressible.  He walks across the small park and holds out his arm for me to link it with mine.  I oblige, biting my tongue so hard I must be leaving teeth marks.  We walk to the carriage in silence before I take a deep breath and turn to face him and issue the remarks I have prepared in my head for this occasion.

    "Thank you," I say from between gritted teeth, "this is very kind of you.  I appreciate your concern for my well-being."

    I manage to get it out, but I was aiming for cordial and missed the mark by a long shot.  I don''t succeed in wrangling my expression into anything even remotely polite, either.  Since I look directly at him to address him, he''s getting the full brunt of the death glare.

    At my words, he makes a pained expression that it takes me a minute to realize is a rapidly failing attempt not to smile.  I feel my face heat up to unprecedented levels.  He has to break eye contact in order to get himself under control.

    "You''re quite welcome," he says.  "I couldn''t very well let you wander the dark streets alone."

    He holds a hand out to help me up into the open carriage seat, and I glare at it for a few seconds, then ultimately take it.  When I''m seated, he''s finally wrestled his smile into something that''s more polite rather than openly mocking.

    "You know, I think I will come to your concert tomorrow," he says, to my complete and utter shock.  "I''m finding it hard to imagine you expressing anything other than poorly-concealed hostility, and that''s something I''d like to witness for myself."

    My mouth opens and closes but no words come out.  The audacity¡­ I can''t believe that¡­ How dare he¡­!

    "By the way, I don''t believe I ever caught your name, Miss¡­?

    "Catarina," I say, voice dripping with venom.  "And yourself?"

    "Khysmet," he replies.  "Please to make your acquaintance, Miss Catarina.  I look forward to seeing you again soon."  He signals to the carriage driver, and suddenly he''s receding into the distance.

    Khysmet, Khysmet¡­ I mull the name over in my mind.  I''ve heard it before, I know it, but I can''t place it.  Someone politically important, a Veilsung lord or count, or maybe a general.  The name rattles around in my head the whole way back to the campsite.  It''s a long ride, actually.  Maybe I should be grateful I didn''t have to walk all this way.  That doesn''t stop me from stewing the whole way back, though.

    I stomp back into camp with a black cloud over my head.  Folks are gathered around scattered campfires, talking and laughing and singing.  I see Portia and Suzanne sitting outside our tent playing cards.  Portia waves as I approach, swaying a bit, clearly having gotten into the alcohol.

    "Cat, you- you have to come play and help me keep an eye on Suzie, ssshe keeps cheating," she slurs.

    "You''re back sooner than I thought you''d be," Suzanne says, ignoring Portia''s drunken accusation.  "I figure the stars would be out well before you could walk your way across the whole city, but there''s still light in the sky."

    "I met this asshole while I was out," I explain irritably "and he got me a ride back."

    Suzanne raises a quizzical eyebrow.  "Ah yes, nothing more asshole-ish than making sure you get across town safely after dark," she says dryly.

    "He was an asshole," I insist.  I don''t, however, have anything of substance to back up this claim, so I just scowl.  "I''m going to bed," I say tersely, and storm off toward our tent.

    It takes hours to get to sleep, partly because I would normally stay up late talking and laughing with everyone else.  But my mood is sour in a way that I don''t want to talk about it or even really think about it, so I just lay there with my jumbled up thoughts until finally slipping into a restless slumber.

 Chapter 3

    A halfway-decent night''s sleep seems to have cleared up my foul mood, and I rise eager to greet the day.

    The first night is always a concert and dance, and it''s my favorite show to put on.  In the plays we put on, I never have any speaking roles, having been deemed a piss poor actor by just about anyone who has ever borne witness to my awkward attempts.  Usually I help with props and effects, which is fun in its own way I suppose.

    But music is my heart and soul, my raison d''¨ºtre.  I can play every single instrument we have between us (admittedly with varying degrees of competency, but I can hold my own even on my worst ones).  I''ve had so many good teachers through the years and twenty-six years to do nothing but practice.

    My absolute favorite is our beautiful standing pedal harp.  It has a larger-than-average resonator box that gives its bass end a stunning richness.  It''s older than I am by more than forty years, and I keep it spotlessly clean.

    It''s not my harp per se, but it was donated to the Warblers by its previous owner Luca, a gruff and cantankerous old man who spent the better part of two decades begrudgingly teaching me how to play it and also how to restore any conceivable damage that may befall it.  He was a master of his craft -- still is, I assume, just not traveling with us anymore -- and I can only dream of one day attaining his level of skill.

    Luca went off to live in the hills of west Chavalia with the long-lost love of his young life last summer.  He seemed so happy when he met him again by chance in a tiny random town well off the beaten path.  He may have smiled more times that week than I''d ever seen in my whole life.

    I still can''t believe he left the harp, but I guess it''s hard to move without some extra hands and it needs a lot of space so that nothing would bump into it and damage it.

    This morning, I''m on setup duty, which I vastly prefer to going back out and working the streets to drum up interest.  It''s harder work to put up our stage pieces and larger instruments than to wander around playing my lute and singing, but I don''t care much for being the center of attention.  I mostly sing harmony and rarely have solos.  It''s more fun for me to weave myself into a grand tapestry of sound.  There''s something so profound about being both lost in the larger picture yet also forming the foundation without which the solos would sound empty and hollow.

    I''ve just finished helping three other Warblers move the piano into place and am considering going to help the street vendors set up when I see Portia and Jean approaching, waving toward where I''m sitting down to catch my breath.  I wave back.

    "We''re just coming back for some food and water before we head back out there," Jean says as he comes up to stand in front of me.

    "How''s it looking out on the street?" I ask.

    "Pretty damn good.  It seems like there''s a lot of interest."

    "According to Yuxuan, there''s even supposed to be a few high-profile guests that are coming," Portia adds excitedly.  "He said he canvassed up in the really nice part of town and got some seriously fancy-looking people to say they would drop by."

    "I hope they don''t expect there to be a separate area away from all the ''common folk'' so they won''t get their clothes dirty," I say, shooting her a dubious glance.  "I doubt anyone of status will stay for long in an outdoor lot that''s standing room only."

    Jean leans in conspiratorially.  "I heard a rumor that the king himself is going to make an appearance."

    That actually makes me laugh out loud.  "There''s no way that''s true.  Even if it is, I doubt he''d come without a bunch of guards, and that would really put a damper on a party."

    "Hey."  Jean holds up his hands and shrugs.  "It''s just a rumor I heard in town.  I can''t vouch for the credibility of the source."

    "Oh man, if there''s even half a chance the king might be in the audience, I need to make sure my nicest dress is clean," Portia says.  She walks off in the direction of our tent, presumably to ascertain the condition of her dress, and probably to wash it even if it isn''t dirty.

    I don''t believe the rumor for a second, but that doesn''t mean I won''t be double checking my skirts for stains before I change tonight.  Maybe I''ll put my hair up, too¡­  It couldn''t hurt.

    ******

    Jean was right -- there''s quite a crowd gathered by the time we''ve even started playing our first song.

    The sky is still light, but thanks to some scattered torches, the area will be well lit long after the sun goes down.  Ale and wine are flowing freely, and there''s no short supply of food courtesy of the street vendors.  I sampled some of their fare earlier during setup, and I must say, Dimos is not culturally lacking in the flavor department.  Veilsung in general has some of the best food I''ve ever tasted, and it certainly has the spiciest.

    Since the city''s population predominantly consists of serpent folk, who are obligate carnivores, there''s not much to speak of in the way of vegetables or even bread.  We managed to find at least one or two vendors that cater to a broader variety of diets, though.

    I sit in front of my harp, watching our director, Eliza, for the signal to get started with our opening song.  She climbs up onto her pedestal to address the crowd.

    "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, old friends and friends we have yet to meet," she calls.  "Welcome to a night of music and revelry the likes of which you''ve never experienced before!  We have a long night ahead of us, so let''s not waste any more time, shall we?"

    With that simple introduction, she turns towards us and nods, and we start to play.

    Now, one of the nice things about having so many members in our troupe is, not everyone needs to play in every song.  During our shows, we take turns leaving the stage area and going into the crowd to start group dances and drum up some excitement when there seems to be a lull.  Our repertoire is extensive, and there''s a host of songs we can play without one instrument or another, and sometimes we hand off an instrument to another''s capable hands when the situation calls for it.

    When it''s my turn to walk out into the throng of revelers, my favorite thing is to find someone who is watching by the sidelines and pull them into a dance.  I''ve met so many interesting strangers this way.  Even the ones that start off stiff and uncertain usually loosen up and start talking, laughing, and generally having a good time by the time I leave them to head back up to the stage.  I also try to find a different partner for them before I go back, so that they might keep enjoying themselves after I''m gone.

    By the third time I leave the stage, night has fallen.  As I''m looking around by the light of the torches, I spot him, and my stomach sinks.  He''s staring straight at me, off to the side, but not far from the stage.  People are giving him a wide berth, and there''s a ring of muffled whispers and double-takes happening in the crowd just outside his bubble of empty space.  I see several flustered people giving him slight bows when they notice him standing nearby.

    Yesterday left a bad taste in my mouth, but I decide now to give him a second chance.  We got off on the wrong foot, but first impressions aren''t everything, right?

    "Khysmet," I call out to him and walk over to where he''s clearly been waiting for me.

    I figured he was someone of note by his dress and general demeanor, but it''s made abundantly clear by the number of people that flinch and stare when I call out his name.  I suppose I''m expected to call him "Lord Khysmet", or whatever honorific applies to him, but he didn''t tell me to, so¡­ I''ll correct my language if he tells me to, but until he does, I''m just going to keep using just the name he gave me.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    "Miss Catarina."  He nods politely at me.  "So nice to see you again."

    Is it nice?  I don''t know if that is the word I''d choose.

    "Welcome to the party," I say.  "Enjoying yourself yet?"

    I''ve been having a great day, and I''m determined to stay perfectly cordial throughout this encounter, no matter what he says to me.

    He grins at me with dubious sincerity.

    "Not yet, but I sense that''s about to change," he says vaguely.  "You know, I wouldn''t have believed it if I hadn''t seen it myself, but you do look genuinely happy onstage."

    My left eye twitches.  He''s testing my resolve early, but I''m not going to back down.  Maybe the next thing he says won''t be so horrible, and I can pretend he didn''t talk for the first twenty seconds of conversation.

    "Yes, well," I say, "what can I say?  I love what I do."

    "Care to dance?" he asks.  "I''m a bit rusty, but I''m sure you''ll make up for my deficits.  You seem quite good from what I''ve observed."

    I chuckle, a bit darkly.  "Oh, I''m not good at all, just very enthusiastic."

    I don''t necessarily want to dance with him, but I''d rather not refuse outright.

    "Do you mind a partner who doesn''t really know what she''s doing?" I ask, hoping he does.

    He grins.  "I don''t believe you''re as bad as you say.  And even if you are, I''ve been told I''m quite good at leading.  I should at least be able to steer you away from stepping on my feet."

    He holds out a hand.  I sigh internally.  I suppose there are worse fates.  Reluctantly, I take his hand, and he leads me a short ways away from the edge of the crowd.

    The bubble of measured, respectful distance follows us onto the dance floor, though a couple people are a bit too tipsy to notice Khysmet''s presence right away.  The song being played is upbeat, but a slower tempo, and he settles one hand on my waist while using the other to start guiding my steps.

    "You are pretty good at leading," I comment while being pulled back from a spin.

    "And you''re very enthusiastic," he responds, catching me when I''m coming in too hot on my return spin and bringing us back to the previous step sequence with seemingly no effort.

    I shoot him a reproachful look, trying to evaluate if that''s supposed to be sarcastic or not.  This time I''m going to say "not".

    "Your toes are still intact, aren''t they?" I say.  "Count yourself lucky."

    He smiles.  "True enough.  You know, I saw you switch instruments with four people just in the time that I''ve been here," he says.  "How many do you play?"

    "More than four, but not quite thirty."

    His eyebrows raise at that information.  "Really?  Impressive."

    "I have a lot of time to practice, is all."  Despite myself, I feel my cheeks warm at the slight praise.  "Are you much of a music lover, Khysmet?"

    "I''ve always considered it a bit frivolous," he admits.

    Somehow, I''m not surprised.  It''s something I''ve heard many times before, from many different people.  Enough times that I have a prepared response that I know by heart, one that I''ve workshopped over the years to amount to something I think really expresses how I feel about my work.

    "Most art is frivolous," I say.  "It only serves to make things more beautiful, or more interesting, doesn''t it?  But I''d rather die than live in a world that doesn''t appreciate beauty for its own sake, that doesn''t do things for the sheer joy of experiencing the full breadth of what life has to offer.  Wouldn''t you?"

    There''s a short pause before he answers.  He uses this time to spin me again, and again catch me on my somewhat clumsy return.  When he does answer, his words are measured and pensive.

    "Yes," he says, "I think I see what you mean."

    I hesitate for a moment before saying this.  It''s something I''ve been chewing on since last night, all through today.  But he''s been a good boy who hasn''t said anything rude since the start of our conversation, so I''ll throw him a bone.

    "I¡­ I apologize for yesterday," I say hesitantly.  "For getting angry that you called a carriage for me.  It was a longer way back here than I realized.  So really, thank you."

    After getting it out, I find that I do in fact mean it.  I hope that comes across in my words.

    "Not a problem," he says.  "After all, you couldn''t have known that I live here, and therefore know how far away different places are."

    His sarcasm is so polite and smooth it hardly registers as such, and that makes it so much worse.  My hackles rise and my face heats up, but I remember that I''m supposed to be apologizing here, so I keep my reply perfectly polite and reasonable.

    "I just don''t appreciate being underestimated, is all," I explain.  "I''ve been alone at night in more cities than you''ve ever visited in the first place.  It can get ugly, but trust me, I can hold my own."  I let some smugness leak into my expression.  "I''m not nearly as fragile as I look, you know."

    "No¡­" He pauses, flicking his tongue out while his red eyes trail slowly and deliberately down my body in a way that makes me glad I did decide to go with my best dress after all.  Then they slide back up to meet my gaze once more.  "I imagine you''re not."

    I blink vapidly.  Well, that was suggestive.  There''s a heat in his gaze that''s pinning me in place, and despite my general distaste for the man, it''s tugging on something low in my gut.  My face is on fire and I''m floundering to find something to say.  I''m just about to open my mouth in the hopes that something comes out when he suddenly yanks me flush against his body and spins me to the side.

    Through my confusion all I can think is, He smells nice.  Like bergamot and mahogany.  Then I look around and notice a couple dancing haphazardly a few inches away.  They must have almost just run into me in a drunken haze.

    They laugh and twirl until one of them looks up and the color drains from his scaled face.  He bows deeply and stutters an apology before dragging his giggling partner back into the crowd.

    I prise myself away from Khysmet''s side, still clutching his hand and shoulder as though we might keep dancing, even though we''re not even swaying anymore,  and give him an evaluating once-over.

    "Okay," I say, "who are you, really?  Everyone here clearly recognizes you, so you must be pretty widely known."

    He chuckles.  "It''s not important.  You''re leaving in a week, so what does it matter who I am?"

    I roll my eyes, not having the slightest patience for this.  "Yeah, I get it, you want to be mysterious and dramatic and everything, but no really, who are you?"

    He''s got that pained expression again, where he''s clearly trying to cover a smile that''s probably at my expense.  I''m on the verge of actually letting him have it when he gives in to my demanding glare.

    "Okay.  I''ll tell you who I am," he says.  "Just not until the next time I see you.  Then, I promise I will.  Is that acceptable?"

    My eyes narrow.  "Fine," I concede, rolling my eyes.  "I''ll allow you to be needlessly mysterious for tonight.  Obviously there''s not much I can do about it anyway."  I jab one finger into his chest sternly.  "You better come back to at least one other show, though.  If you try to pull that thing where you never see me again and I''m always left wondering, I''m not going to be happy."

    "Wouldn''t want that, would we?"

    I''m glaring at him and trying to project an aura of someone you shouldn''t mess with, and he''s staring back at me like there''s nothing in the world he enjoys more than messing with me.  Before I can attempt to issue a more concrete threat, he breaks eye contact with a sudden glance behind me.

    "Hmm.  I think you''re wanted back onstage."

    I jump and turn around to see that Eliza is in fact gesturing for those of us in the audience to make our way up front.  I drop Khysmet''s hand like a hot coal, and he releases his hold on my waist to graciously let me step away.

    "Um.  I have to go," I say, as though he wasn''t the one to point that out in the first place.

    "Of course."

    I give a slight, awkward curtsey.  "Thank you for the dance."

    "My pleasure.  See you again soon."

    I push this encounter out of my mind and get back to my position on the harp.  I''m focusing so hard on not thinking about it that I miss a couple cues.  I definitely don''t look for him the rest of the times I go into the audience, but if I did, I wouldn''t have seen him again anyways.  By the time the festivities are finally over, I''m not thinking about him so hard that I barely talk at all through preliminary cleanup.  For a reason I can''t begin to fathom, for the second night in a row sleep is impossible to come by.

 Chapter 4

    Day two is going to be a play, which is more annoying to set up because we have to get the stage ready.  It''s all in different segments, each of which is on wheels and has the set pieces stored in the hollow center.  They have to be linked together, and the set pieces have to be put together on top of them.

    They''re quite high.  Not a big fan of that.

    I''m working with Portia and Suzanne on stage left.  Luckily, they''ve agreed to let me stay on the ground and hand things up while they assemble the set, on the condition that I help Suzanne practice her lines for tonight.  I watch as Portia clambers up on top of some rickety-looking scaffolding completely unfazed.  I theorize that it''s because she''s already lower to the ground, so the same heights don''t seem as high to her.

    I hold up a copy of the script and read a line from the scene that Suzanne has asked me to go over.

    "Who amongst us has not taken some liberties in the retellings of our own tales?" I recite.

    Suzanne is in the zone even though she is also concentrating on hammering in pegs to connect two sides of a small staircase.

    "Some bending of the truth may be permitted in the pursuit of a good story, but you have twisted it so much as to be unrecognizable!" she says with great gusto.  "And to what end?  Has it made you more desirable in the eyes of your lover?  No, it has done nothing but poison your character in her eyes!  You''ve built a house of cards with your lies; why should you be surprised that it is crumbling around you?"

    "What do you know of truth and lies?" I read.  "Of me?  We''ve only just met.  Who are you to judge me?"

    "Who am I?  Who am I?  I am the one who¡­" she pauses to think.  "Line?"

    I read the line she''s supposed to say next from the script with significantly less dramatic inflection than she started it with.

    "I am Truth itself.  I am the one who sees all that is, as it is -- past, present, and future.  I am not the one who judges, but I can see the fated path to your judgement clear as your laughably transparent deceptions."

    "Damn," she curses. "I always get those first two ''I am'' statements switched.  Do you think they should be switched?  I kind of feel like they would sound better if I just switched them."

    "I mean, I doubt anyone in the audience would notice," I reason.  "I don''t think the plays we put on are as well-known in Veilsung.  They certainly have enough of their own stories and oral traditions that I''d never heard of at all before we crossed the border."

    "That''s true.  Remember that storyteller in the tavern back in Byrkhani?"

    "Yeah, I didn''t hear him tell a single tale that I already knew.  That creation myth he told about the caves in Veilsung?  I didn''t even know Veilsung had a huge network of caves before that."

    "Right?  There must be so many stories the rest of the world is missing out on!" she gushes, spacing out while she, I''m assuming, imagines the breadth of Veilsung''s unknown literature.  "We should try to recruit while we''re here.  I would love to help write some new plays based on Sungian mythology."

    "I wouldn''t mind a lizard or two on the team," Portia breaks in while climbing down the scaffolding.  "That thing they do with their tongues is kinda hot."

    Suzanne snorts.  "I didn''t know you had a thing for snake people, Portia."

    "Not specifically or anything, but I wouldn''t turn one down.  Do you know they have two penises?"

    "You''re joking," Suzanne scoffs, but she''s shooting Portia a look like she''s not sure whether or not to believe her.

    "Nope," Portia insists.  "Just like a regular snake.  Two."

    Suzanne puts down her hammer to address Portia''s claim more directly.  "Okay first off, there''s no way that''s true, and secondly what do you know about how many penises regular snakes have?"

    "I read things sometimes."

    "Things about snake penises.  Really."

    "Why is that so surprising?"If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    I listen to them bicker while handing up pieces of the backdrop, but before they can really get into it, I hear Jean''s voice call out from behind me.

    "Hey Cat!  Eliza was asking for you, I think she has something important to talk to you about."

    I wrack my brain for what it could possibly be about, but I''m coming up blank.

    "Thanks for letting me know, Jean.  I''ll head right over."

    I tell Suzanne and Portia that I''ll be back in a second, then make my way to Eliza''s caravan.

    It''s hot and stuffy inside when I get there, and it''s impossibly cluttered.  The total amount of clothing, books, knick-knacks, and other personal effects she has managed to accumulate seems to stay the same each time I come in here, yet the landscape is different every time.  She''s sitting behind her small, bolted-down desk looking over some parchments when I walk in, and she looks up at me when I step in and make the whole caravan shift and creak.  Her expression is unusually grave.

    "Uh oh," I say jokingly, "what kind of trouble am I in now?"

    She meets my eyes and says nothing, nor does her expression change.  My face falls.  Eliza is normally an overly cheery and expressive person, quick to engage and fire back at the most lackluster joke.  Whatever this is about, it must be bad.

    "Please, have a seat," she says, gesturing at the small empty chair before me.  Another bad sign.  She cleaned off the chair in anticipation of this conversation. I plunk down in it and wait for her to go on.

    "Cat, I''m going to be honest with you here.  The king of Veilsung has just made us an extremely generous offer.  He wants us to spend the next two years exclusively touring around Veilsung, and he will be bankrolling all our operations on top of what we already make from each town we visit."

    "Well that''s an exciting prospect," I say, perking up in my seat.  "I heard he was going to make an appearance last night.  He must have really liked what he heard."

    "Yes, well."  Eliza still looks uncomfortable.  "On top of that, after those two years are up, we get a large stipend to support us even after we move on from the country."

    "So I''m guessing there''s a downside of some kind?"

    I''m getting a little worried about why she called me in to talk about this, when I''ve never so much as touched anything related to our finances.

    "It''s not a downside per se.  Just¡­ a stipulation.  A very specific request."  She takes a deep breath.  "How would you feel about staying here in Dimos, working in the castle as a court minstrel?"

    I blink.  "Staying here¡­ for how long?"

    "The contract here is very specific on this."  Eliza picks up the parchment on the desk to check it.  "We are required to return to Dimos every six months over the course of two years, and at any of those points, you can choose to leave and rejoin us, but once you do, the troupe will no longer receive any additional financial support.  We aren''t required to pay back anything we have already been granted if and when you rejoin."

    I cock my head and consider the prospect.  I would miss traveling with the whole group, but even a little extra money would really take us a long way.  We''ve had plenty of lean years in the past, and being able to bank some in anticipation of that is always huge.  Even if I only agree to be stuck here for six months, it would have a significant impact.  I''m honestly struggling to see a downside, but there is one question that I''d like to know before I agree.

    "Who else got picked to stay?"

    Eliza takes a deep breath.  "It''s just you, Cat."

    I scoff.  That doesn''t make a lot of sense.  To a discerning ear, I can definitely be singled out as a very talented player, a cornerstone of our ensemble.  But most people notice the soloists and the ones who carry the primary melody.  I simply don''t stand out enough to have been the only one picked.

    "It''s a good choice," Eliza goes on when I don''t respond besides pulling a face.  "You definitely have the most range out of all of us.  I don''t know why you''re so surprised that someone noticed you''re good at what you do."

    My disbelieving look intensifies.

    She frowns and looks at the contract again.  "It''s a little odd how much he''s offered us in return for letting you go.  It''s not like we could stop you from going if you wanted to."

    "That is odd.  It''s like he anticipated that I wouldn''t agree to stay here without an incentive."

    Eliza heaves a pensive sigh.  "Well?  Thoughts?  Ready to leave the nest and start your solo career?"

    I chew on my lip.  So I''d be completely alone, surrounded by strangers, without a single person I know even remotely nearby.  Not to mention I''d be at the whims of a monarch I know nothing about.  Being a court minstrel would be entirely different from being on the road with the Warblers, in a way I don''t have the first clue about.

    "What''s the king like?" I ask.  "What do we know about him?"

    "I''ve never met him.  He sent a representative over with the contract, and the Sungian people aren''t very keen to share information on their nation''s politics to outsiders.  I don''t even know his name. You''d be going in blind."

    I hold my hand out and gesture for her to hand me the contract.  When she does, I glance over it quickly, looking for the numbers.  My eyes widen and my breath catches in my throat.  That''s a lot of money.  Way more than I''m worth, if I''m being honest, and I like to think I have a realistic estimation of my own talent.

    Then there''s no question about it, is there?  If I can ensure that my family is safe and well fed for the next decade¡­ There is no possible future where I choose to avoid the mere potential of unhappiness rather than take care of the people I love.

    "Okay," I say, resolute in my decision.  "Where do I sign?"

 Chapter 5

    My open-topped carriage trundles through the rapidly darkening streets of Dimos.  Maybe it''s because the horses are walking uphill instead of down this time, but it feels like it''s already been longer than the entire ride back to the campsite two nights ago, and we''re barely halfway there.

    I figured I would get to finish out the week of performances with my troupe before being called to the castle, but after we got the signed contract sent off, we received a reply almost immediately that I was to be picked up this evening.  I just barely had time to say goodbye to everyone.  Since they''ll be back in six months, it wasn''t that tearful of an affair.

    I tried as much as possible to give the impression that I''m excited for this change.  Suzanne saw through me, though.

    "Okay, what''s the worst thing that could happen?" she asked me.  "What are you most afraid of?"

    I laughed flatly, not meeting her eyes in the hopes that it might help mine stay dry.

    "I guess it would be that the king will be a complete asshole who makes my life miserable," I said.  "And that no one else in the castle will like me, so I won''t have anyone to talk to.  Those are the big ones."

    Suzanne took both my hands in hers to force me to look at her.  "Well there''s no possible way that your worst fears could happen, then, because you''re the friendliest person I know!  Even if the king is a dick, there''s no way you won''t have people to talk about it with."

    I''m playing her reassuring words over in my mind now as I fidget in my seat.  I don''t know how much longer I can sit still on this ride.  I stare at the back of the driver''s head and start to contemplate how to best strike up a conversation with him.  Whatever my near future is going to look like, there isn''t a doubt in my mind that I will need as many friends as I can get.  Plus, I''m so nervous I don''t know if I can just sit here silently any longer.

    I wait until the wheels stop as the driver brings the horses to a halt to let someone cross in front of the carriage.  Quickly, I get out of my seat and climb over to sit as close to the driver''s spot as I can manage. I take a deep breath and tap him on the shoulder.  He jumps and turns around to look at me with confusion.

    "Is there something wrong, Miss Catarina?" he asks.  He is smartly dressed, and short and squat with vivid green scales.  His words are clipped yet polite.

    "Hello."  I suck down my anxiety at potentially doing something rude here and put on my most amicable smile.  "I don''t believe I ever got your name, Mister¡­?"

    He looks at me like he''s not quite sure if I''m serious, but still answers my question.  "It''s Felix."

    "Lovely to meet you Mr. Felix."  I kick my smile up a few notches to what I''m hoping falls short of manic.  "Do you mind if I sit next to you?"

    I can practically see the wheels turning in his brain as he thinks of how best to say no.  Eventually, though, he moves over to make space and offers a hand to help me clamber over the back of the bench to sit beside him.  Once I''m seated comfortably, I commence the onslaught.

    "So Mr. Felix, how long have you worked at the castle?" I ask.

    He pauses long enough that I wonder whether or not he''s going to answer.

    "''Bout forty-five years now," he eventually replies.

    "Do you like your job?"

    He grunts noncommittally.  "I like it fine."

    I wait for him to elaborate on that point, but he doesn''t.  I plow forward and ask the primary question on my mind.

    "What''s the king like?"

    He sniffs.  "Good man.  Very reasonable."

    That''s not very descriptive, but it is a relief to hear.  It doesn''t give me a lot of room to ask as follow-up questions.  I move on to more conversational topics.

    "Your horses are beautiful.  What breed are they?"

    "Friesians."

    "They''re so calm.  And their gait is so elegant!  Nothing like the horses we keep to pull our caravans.  They''re more working breeds."

    I pause in case he wants to comment on that or ask me any questions.  He does not.

    "Is it hard to ride a horse when you have a tail?"

    He snorts, something that suggests the idea of a laugh without any accompanying change in expression.  "Not particularly, no."

    I can''t tell whether he''s laughing at me or just at the question, but I''m chalking it up as a win that I got any reaction out of him at all.

    I continue to pester him the whole way, saying any asinine thing that pops into my head.  Whether or not he''s annoyed by it, it''s impossible to tell.  His responses certainly don''t get any longer, though.

    When we pull up before the front entrance, he disembarks and walks around to offer me a hand down.  When my feet are safely on the ground, he pulls my bag and lute case off the carriage and sets them down next to me.

    "Thank you for the ride, Mr. Felix.  And for the company," I say to him as he climbs back into the driver''s seat.

    He looks back at me and bows his head slightly.  "My pleasure, Miss Catarina."  Then he flicks the reins slightly to get the horses going, presumably taking the carriage back to wherever it is usually kept.

    I''m beaming.  "My pleasure," he said.  Hopefully that means I made a good first impression.

    I turn around to find two servants standing behind me, one of whom is in the process of picking up my lute case and bag.

    "Oh, you don''t have to do that," I say, reaching to take them from her hands.  "I can carry them myself."

    "Begging your pardon, miss, but I''m just carrying out orders," she responds, keeping them out of my reach.  "It will be waiting in your room."

    I press my lips together and nod.  I''m not going to try to wrest them from her hands or anything.

    "Thank you for your help," I say.  She nods back to me and then heads inside, my worldly possessions in tow.

    I turn towards the other servant, who is smiling at me politely, waiting.  When we lock eyes, she gives me a little bow.

    "Welcome to the castle, Miss Catarina," she says in a chipper tone.  "His majesty is expecting you.  Please follow me."

    I follow her inside, more than a little confused.  I''m not sure what I expected to be met with when I arrived, but I certainly didn''t expect any sort of special treatment.  Especially not for the king to be waiting for my arrival.

    She''s setting a brisk pace, which is a little disappointing, since there''s so many beautiful tapestries and interesting objects mounted on the walls down the hallways we walk down, and I wish I could stop and observe them more closely.  The art in Veilsung is so stylistically distinctive and different from what I''ve seen before, and whatever is on display in the king''s castle must be some of the best art the country has to offer.  And this is only what''s in the hallways.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Well, I''m going to be here a while, so I suppose I can always come back later.

    "Excuse me," I say to the back of the woman I''m following.  "I don''t think I got your name."

    She flinches a bit and falters in her step, shooting an odd glance back at me, but she doesn''t stop.

    "My name is Sahresh, ma''am," she says.

    "Nice to meet you, Miss Sahresh.  Looking forward to working with you."

    She hesitates before replying to that.  "Yes, ma''am," is all she says when she does speak.

    So the carriage driver is Felix, and this tall servant with black and orange stripes is Sahresh.  There''s no way there won''t be many more names to learn¡­ maybe I should take notes.  So far it seems I may have a harder time making friends than I''d hoped, if the two people I''ve met so far are any indication.

    Sahresh comes to a stop in front of a beautiful oak door with subtle silver inlays.  She knocks before opening it, and gestures for me to walk inside.

    "Right this way, Miss Catarina."

    I take a deep breath and step through the doorway.

    The room I enter into is a spacious office, lushly decorated and lined with bookshelves.  There''s a sitting area near the entrance, and past it a couple chairs in front of a stately desk, behind which sits someone I recognize.  My face falls.

    When Khysmet looks up and sees me standing speechless before him, an indulgent smile spreads across his face.

    "Excellent," he purrs as he rises from his chair.  "I can see by the look on your face that you''re surprised to see me.  You know, I gave my staff, including the representative I sent to your camp, explicit orders not to mention my name, hoping your director had never heard it before.  Looks like it paid off."  He closes his eyes and breathes in and out deeply.  "I do love a good dramatic reveal."

    My shock ebbs as I process the meaning of this development.  So the person who will have total control over my life in accordance with his every whim¡­ is this asshole?  And even though he wasn''t too awful last night, this entire scenario plus his little opening speech here is definitely tipping the scales further towards "asshole" in my mind.  The numbers on that contract I signed suddenly seem much too small in light of this development.

    "Sorry for sending the carriage for you," he continues, sauntering around his desk and coming to stand not far in front of me.  "I know you would much rather have walked the whole way, but I thought it better to protect my new investment."

    I''m pretty sure the only reason he came to stand closer is so I would have to look up further to meet his eyes.  What a dick.  My irritation is mounting at an unprecedented rate.  I''m finding it impossible to think of a single thing to say that doesn''t involve cussing out my new patron.

    "What''s the matter?  Cat got your tongue?  I would have thought you''d be happy I kept my promise to reveal my identity at our next meeting."

    "I''m ecstatic," I say flatly, voice dripping in sarcasm.  "I was just lost in thought trying to figure out what I could have possibly done to deserve the pleasure of your patronage."

    He flicks his tongue and beams at my cold response.  "Don''t be so harsh on yourself, your talent and hard work have made you more than worthy of being a musician in my court."

    "I''m aware of that much," I say tetchily.  "I was speaking more in terms of karmic retribution.  As in, why you, of all people?"

    "Retribution?" he chuckles.  He''s getting more smug with every passing second, and I feel my anger rise in perfect tandem with it.  "This is more of a blessing than you know.  You''re lucky to find yourself in front of me tonight."

    "I suppose there''s worse fates.  I could be being eaten by a bear right now, for example.  Or dying of dysentery."

    "I''m glad you see it my way.  By the end of your stay here, you''ll be showering me with thanks for bringing you here."

    I''m on the verge of hyperventilating here.  My vision is starting to get dark around the edges.  Between these smug little remarks and the realization that I¡¯m going to be subjected to them constantly over the next six months at minimum, I can''t think of a time I''ve ever been more pissed off at any one person in my life.  I''m about to abandon any self control I have and let my anger take the wheels completely.

    Then I remember that this man is not only going to be irritating for the next six months, but he is also going to have complete control over every aspect of my life during this time.  He could kick me out into the street, or worse, keep me trapped here and make my life a living hell if he feels like it.  I have to do whatever I can to make sure he doesn''t feel like it.

    I have to learn to choke down every urge to talk back and to stifle every emotion I might have.  My safety is entirely dependent on that ability.  Maybe if I''m lucky, I can make myself so completely bland and uninteresting that he''ll forget I even exist most of the time.

    Sheer necessity helps me find a new center of calm and humility within myself.  I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and bow deeply.

    "Thank you for selecting me to serve you and your court," I say in a voice devoid of any malice or emotion.  "I look forward to the months I will spend working for you."

    When I straighten up and look him in the eyes again, I''m surprised to see that for the first time since I''ve met him, he looks displeased.  Maybe even disappointed.

    He straightens his posture so he''s standing at his full height, looking down his snout at me with a severe expression.  Suddenly, he seems broader and much more imposing.  His demeanor changes so abruptly it''s giving me whiplash, and I find I''m intimidated despite myself.

    "I''ll tell you now, I''m not going to tolerate such obvious lies," he says with absolute authority, though he doesn''t raise his voice at all.  "Not from you.  Not while you''re working for me.  You haven''t been dishonest with me yet, and if you want to stay in my good graces, I suggest you keep it that way."

    If he was rubbing me the wrong way before now, this is more like lacerating me with a cheese grater.  The implicit expectation that beyond a shadow of a doubt I will meekly do whatever he tells me to, his posture that seemed intimidating a second ago but which now reminds of a particularly strict school teacher threatening to smack me with a ruler if I speak out of turn¡­ My resolve snaps like a twig under his foot.

    "I honestly think you''re being a complete and total asshole," I snarl at him with the full force of my unfettered rage.

    I hear Sahresh gasp softly behind me, but I don''t care.  If she thinks less of me for openly insulting her king, so be it.  It had to be said.

    Khysmet, on the other hand, looks like I''ve just said exactly what he wanted to hear, if the shit-eating grin that splits his face is any indication.  His eyes rove over my face, bright red and contorted in defiance as it is, seeming to revel in my anger.  Then he proffers his hand for me to shake.

    "Welcome to my court, Miss Catarina," he says smoothly.  "I know you won''t disappoint me."

    I take his hand, gripping it with force to show him I''m not stepping down from whatever unspoken challenge he''s clearly issuing me here.

    "Don''t count on it, your majesty," I hiss.

    I try to drop my hand, but he holds fast to it.  Then he gives it a tug that throws me off balance and has me stumbling forward, almost crashing into him.  My other hand reaches out to catch myself and it finds his chest.

    I have to look up further than ever to meet his gaze.  His expression has softened, but his eyes are intense on mine, and his bergamot and mahogany scent washes over me in a flood.

    "For you," he says, his voice low, "just Khysmet is fine."

    I blink up at him wordlessly.  My anger from mere seconds before evaporates into thin air, replaced with confusion and something unidentifiable that pounds against the inside of my chest.  My brain fills with fog, but my senses feel heightened, and I''m suddenly aware of every inch of my skin, especially the points of contact between us.  His palm is so cool and dry, yet satiny smooth against my own, and his chest is firm and unyielding under the soft fabric of his shirt.  I find myself falling into something of a daze.

    Suddenly, his forked tongue flicks from between his lips, startling me a little due to my proximity to his face.  I''m more than a little embarrassed by the barely audible yip I make when I jump.  It''s obvious that he heard it.  I can feel his breathing deepen in response, his chest expanding further under my palm, and there''s a new glint in his eyes that looks almost¡­ hungry.

    We stay like this for what feels like a long moment, but probably only lasts a few seconds, the air around us frozen in a sort of limbo.  Then he shatters the silence abruptly.

    "Please escort Miss Catarina to her chambers," he calls out without breaking eye contact with me.  Presumably, he''s addressing Sahresh, who must still be standing near the door.

    "Of course, your majesty," she responds

    He makes no other move to dismiss me.  His hand stays in mine, his gaze locked onto me.  Eventually, I get the impression that he''s waiting for me to back off first.  I might be less willing to do so normally, but I''m hit with the sudden realization that I really don''t want to be here anymore.  Slowly, I back away, maintaining eye contact while he finally lets my hand slip out of his.

    Eventually, I''m the first to look away.  It definitely feels like a concession, but I realize that running into something I don''t see on my way out the door would be infinitely worse than just... looking away first.  I turn and face the waiting Sahresh, whose face is a tad pale after all that.  She bows deeply to Khysmet and then gestures for me to follow her once more, which I do promptly.  As I walk out the door, I refuse to look back.

 Chapter 6

    Sahresh is completely silent as she leads me to my room, and I am entirely unwilling to even attempt a conversation with her.

    I''m beyond embarrassed.  Knowing she was behind me the whole time watching that little¡­ exchange¡­  I can''t imagine what she must think of me.  I don''t even know what to think of me.

    Now that there''s some rapidly increasing distance between us, my anger at Khysmet is bubbling back up a bit, in sort of a dull ache.  That little move of pulling me off balance was annoyingly disarming.  I''m kicking myself for getting suckered in by it.  And what was with telling me not to use any honorifics for him?  That cannot possibly have been a genuine request.

    He was just toying with me that whole conversation, and I couldn''t do anything to stop it.  Whether or not he values my "honesty", I can''t just keep letting my emotions run away with me like that.  If he tries to get me riled up in front of any other people, I''ll just make an ass out of myself, like I did in front of Sahresh today.  My heart sinks as a vision of a future where I''m constantly shaming myself in front of every stranger I meet flashes through my mind.

    The wide hallways Sahresh is leading me down remain beautifully decorated, with fancy doors spaced far apart, promising spacious rooms behind them.  Occasionally, I see maids dusting various knick-knacks and ducking in and out of rooms with bedding and carts of cleaning supplies.  I''m anticipating at some point to be taken to the part of the castle that''s more narrow and plain, where the servants are lodged, but that point doesn''t come.  Instead, she pauses before one of the pretty carved doors and opens it for me.

    I hesitate before walking through, looking to her for verification, but she won''t meet my eyes.  I swallow thickly, then walk into a room far from what I was expecting.

    It''s modestly decorated, but spacious, with a large four-poster bed, several cabinets and bureaus, a stunning armoire, huge windows, and several comfortable-looking seats, one of which has my bag and lute case on it.  My heart leaps when I notice that based on the light of the setting sun streaming in through the windows, they face west.  Maybe I can watch the sun set every night, even.  I hope the view from here is nice.

    There''s another door in the wall opposite us that is open right now, and from what little I can see, it seems to be an en suite bathroom.  For some reason there''s even a small fireplace in the wall, despite the pervasive heat I know sticks around here even during winter.  I don''t think I''ve ever even been in a bedroom this big, let alone gotten to stay in one.  And I can count on one hand the times I''ve gotten to sleep in any room alone, completely sans roommate.

    I turn back to Sahresh, because I can''t not speak up about this.

    "I think there''s been a mistake?" I say tentatively.  "Shouldn''t I be in the servants'' quarters?"

    "No, ma''am, this is your room," she insists.  "His majesty''s orders were very clear.  Your attending maid will be in shortly to help you get settled."

    She bows and exits the room gracefully.  I hope that with time I can subvert this botched first impression and get her to like me.

    Left alone in this vast chamber, I start to unpack my bag, which now seems impossibly small for the amount of space available.  All my worldly possessions save for my lute take up about one and a half drawers in one of the massive bureaus.

    I look around at all the empty unused space.  I''ve never felt this¡­ small before.  Like my whole existence, the life I''ve lived, is not enough to fill up even a fraction of this room.  I know that''s not how it works, that my life is measured by so much more than the things that I own, but I can''t help but feel that in this new world I''m going to be living in, I''m not going to stack up.

    I open my lute case and stroke the wooden soundboard, the paint of the decorative flowers artfully rendered there by Portia years ago just starting to crack slightly.  I dearly wish I could have been able to have my harp sent here, but strictly speaking, it belongs to the troupe, not just to me.  This lute is the only instrument I actually own, purchased with my own money.  I hope I''ll be financially compensated enough here to purchase new ones.  Maybe I can even just convince Khysmet to buy some outright in the interest of musical diversity.

    A knock at the door pulls me out of my head.  I turn around to see a young Sungian woman coming in through the doorway with a bright smile on her face.

    She''s quite young.  I''m not great at judging the ages of serpent folk, but she can''t be any older than eighteen.  Her scales are a lovely coral pink with white running from her chin down the front of her neck, presumably all the way down her belly to the tip of her tail.  Her eyes are the striking blue of a clear sky.

    "Good evening Miss Catarina," she says, greeting me brightly with a sweet curtsey.  "I''m here to see if you need anything before bed tonight, and to take your measurements."  She holds out a cloth measuring tape.  "Could you please come stand in the center of the room?"

    "Oh, of course," I say, and quickly move to comply with her request.  She walks up and gestures for me to lift my arms, which I do.

    "It''s nice to meet you," I say while she wraps the tape around my waist.  "What''s your name?"

    She jumps a tiny bit at my question.  I''m seeing a trend with the folks who work at this castle.  For some reason they don''t seem to expect to be asked about themselves.  I start to worry a bit about how they''re treated by the nobles around here.

    "It''s Vizsla, ma''am," she answers shyly, a blush creeping into her face.  "Nice to meet you, too."

    I grin, cautiously optimistic.  Now this is a person that I might stand a chance of befriending.

    "Well Vizsla," I say, "Sahresh told me you''re going to be my attending maid.  What exactly does that mean?"Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    "It just means that I''m the one who''s been assigned to attend to your needs," she explains, reaching around to take my hip measurement.  "I''ll be helping you get ready in the morning, and keeping your room tidy, and fetching things for you, should you request anything."

    "Oh, I don''t think I''ll need much help getting ready in the morning.  I''ve been doing that for long enough that I''m sure I can handle it."

    She smiles and looks down bashfully.  "I''ll still come wake you up in the morning in case you find you do need help with anything.  Um, can you lift your arms up a little more?"

    She''s blushing violently and trying not to look at me when she reaches up to take my bust measurement.  Sungian women don''t have breasts, since they''re not mammals, so I imagine she''s extremely uncomfortable touching mine.  I keep talking and look elsewhere around the room so she doesn''t feel like I''m staring at her.

    "So what are you taking my measurements for?" I ask conversationally.

    "King Khysmet wants to have some new clothes made for you."

    "Of course he does," I mutter, more to myself than her.  "What''s so wrong with what I have now?"

    "Well you''ll be up in front of the entire royal court, all the nobles and ministers and civilians too.  I''m sure he just wants to make sure you look nice for that."

    I hum noncommittally.  My first guess is that it''s some weird power trip thing, but I suppose I''ll reserve my opinion until I see what he''s putting me in tomorrow.  I most certainly don''t want to insult their king in front of any more Sungians.

    "What do you think of King Khysmet?" I ask.  "As both a king and a boss, you know?  Does he treat his people well?"

    "Oh yes, he''s always been very kind to all of us on staff here," she says with a bright smile.  "And he''s quite generous to the average citizens that come to him asking for help.  I''ve seen him be very stern with his ministers and other nobles, though."  She finishes writing down the last number and returns the cloth tape to her pocket.  "Did you eat before you came here, ma''am?  I can fetch you something if you''re hungry."

    Ooh.  I can''t even imagine what decadent fare they eat here.  I didn''t even think to think about it before now.  I''m not hungry, but my mouth starts to water as I picture what I might get the chance to eat tomorrow.

    "Tragically, I did already have dinner," I admit with a sigh.  "Thanks for offering, though."

    "Of course, ma''am."  She curtseys slightly.  "Is there anything else I can get you?  If you would like a bath, I can show you which tincture to use that heats up the water instantly."

    I perk up instantly.  I clean myself regularly with a washcloth.  I''ve bathed in rivers and pools whenever I could.  I''ve soaked in many natural hot springs.  But I''ve hardly ever gotten to take a hot indoor bath alone, and the possibility of doing so regularly is the most exciting thing I''ve heard all day.

    "Please, please show me how to set up the bath!" I practically squeal.

    Vizsla takes me to the en suite bathroom, which features a toilet, a sink, and a sizable claw-footed tub, all with running water.  I had heard that Veilsung boasts some truly impressive waterways in their cities, but this is amazing.  I ask Vizsla how they work, but she says she doesn''t know, so I''ll have to find someone else to grill about how they have running water at the top of a mountain.

    She points to each bottle lining the shelves next to the bathtub and tells me what they do.  Some of them are potions for changing the water, like a liquid that heats it up, a tablet that makes it bubble violently, and a paste that over a short time clears the water of all soap, dirt, and oils.  Most of them are soaps, though, of various kinds and scents.  I''m admittedly unfamiliar with the purposes of some of them, having almost exclusively used bar soap to clean myself before now, and Vizsla is very patient about explaining how to use the different kinds.  I¡¯m surprised when she shows me some that are just for cleaning hair, since Sungians don¡¯t have any.  They must have been brought in just for me.

    "Thank you so much, Vizsla," I gush when I feel ready to hop in.  "I should be good for the rest of the night, so there''s no need to stick around or anything.

    "Of course, Miss Catarina.  If you do need me, there''s a little pull string along the wall near the bed.  Give it a tug, and I''ll come back as soon as I can."

    "Oh wait,¡± I say, ¡°there is one more thing I have to ask¡­"  I take a deep breath, then clasp my hands together and give her big pleading eyes.  "Please, could you just call me Cat?  Not ''Miss Catarina''?"

    She hesitates, clearly uncomfortable with the request.

    "I- I don''t think I''m allowed to do that¡­ I would get in trouble for being disrespectful."

    "Please, Vizsla?"  I reach out desperately and take her hands in mine.  "I''m not some noblewoman who expects people to talk up to her all the time.  All this ''Miss Catarina'' stuff is freaking me the hell out.  I need at least one person here to call me Cat, or I''m going to go insane.  You don''t have to do it in front of anyone else, just behind closed doors, when it''s just us.  I''m begging you, please do this for me?"

    She shuffles her feet and makes a series of pained faces while she considers my request.  Eventually, though, she agrees.

    "Okay," she says slowly.  "Cat.  Is there anything else you need, Cat?"

    "Oh thank you, thank you so much!"  I fight the urge to hug her, since she''s already so uncomfortable.  Instead I just give her hands a firm squeeze before letting them go.  "I''m just going to take my bath and then head to bed.  I''ll see you in the morning?"

    She gives me the faintest, most tentative trace of a smile.

    "Yeah.  See you in the morning, Cat," she says, then leaves me to my bath.

    I spend over an hour in the tub, replaying the day''s events and trying out different soaps.  My fingers are wrinkled prunes by the time I get out.  When I finally do, I find an impossibly plush towel hanging up next to me, and also, when I exit the bathroom, a white, flowing nightgown set out on the bed.  It''s not mine, but it fits perfectly and is insanely comfortable.  I guess now it is mine?

    I shudder.  The thought of having my clothing picked out for me is deeply unsettling, for a reason I can''t quite pinpoint.  Something about taking away my agency?  What will I even be allowed to choose for myself in this place?

    Somewhere on the other side of town, the Warblers are finishing tonight''s play without me.  Mine was a bit part, easily covered by someone else.  I wonder who took it?  Even in our concerts from here on out, others will be able to take my parts.  The only thing they can''t replace right away is someone to play the harp.  Luca only ever taught me, and I never had a chance to pass on my knowledge.  I wonder what they''ll do with it?  Hopefully they''ll keep it around for when I return.

    The one thing I don''t think about is what will happen tomorrow.  I don''t even have the first clue about what it will be like, so why bother wondering, right?  Not thinking about it doesn''t necessarily mean I''m not worried about it, though.  My chest is tight with anticipation.

    I lay in the softest bed I''ve ever had the pleasure of occupying and stare into the darkness for a long time before finally being overtaken by a fitful sleep.

 Chapter 7

    Vizsla wakes me in the morning like she said she would, and I do end up needing her help to get ready.  Turns out some of the clothes that have shown up in my wardrobe overnight have corsetry that laces up in the back.  I¡¯m relieved to see that none of it is horribly ostentatious or excessively revealing as I¡¯d feared it might be.  Just a few quite elegant dresses, each of which is nicer than anything I¡¯ve ever worn in my life.  I pick one out and beg Vizsla not to lace me up too tight, a request that she generously grants.

    Once it''s on, I notice to my dismay that the neckline is a bit low for my tastes.  I''m not flashing anyone or anything, but it''s a far cry from modest.  A second glance around the wardrobe reveals that this is a common theme.  I wish I could make myself believe that this is not by design.

    Vizsla apologizes profusely for not having the first clue about how to do up my hair.  Fortunately, though, I know how to do some pretty fancy braids.  She watches my fingers with fascination.  I offer to show her how to do it when we have some free time, and she looks ecstatic.

    After I''m done being made presentable, I am led to breakfast.  I assumed that it would take place in a dining hall with many other members of the court, but once again I am led to a room where the only other occupant is Khysmet, save for a few attending servants standing on the edges of the room.

    At this point, I''m no longer surprised, just disappointed.  This man seems to revel in my discomfort, and I''m not looking forward to seeing the full extent of the lengths he will go to to engender it in me.

    At least it''s too early in the morning for me to get mad.  I''m still not fully awake, and strong emotions require more brainpower than I can muster right now.

    "Good morning, Miss Catarina," he greets me, flicking his tongue.  "Sleep well?"

    "More or less," I say, taking a seat at the large table that dominates much of the room.  It looks to seat about fourteen or so people.  Khysmet is at the head, and I pick a seat a few chairs down.

    "Please, help yourself," he says and gestures to the modest spread of breakfast foods that covers a good half of the tabletop.

    I take a plate and start piling it with a wide assortment of food, trying to choose an even split between dishes I recognize and those I''ve never seen before.  I''m inexorably drawn to the many strange and interesting dishes, but I need to take things I know I''ll actually eat, too, so I''m not starving all morning.

    "Normally I eat my breakfast alone," Khysmet says, "but I thought now might be a good time to address any questions or requests you might have before your first day here."

    I perk up at that.  He actually wants to help me out on my first day?  Not just leave me to flounder?  Unexpected, but I''m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, here.  I think for a second before replying.

    "I guess my first question would be, what is my day actually going to look like?  Obviously I''m going to be playing music, but, you know, when?  Where?  For how long?"

    "Well," he starts, "my daily routine is fairly straightforward.  For most of the morning, I make myself available to the public.  I sit in the great hall, and various people who seek my audience come in to make requests, alert me of situations in my kingdom, voice concerns, et cetera.  That lasts from after breakfast to about eleven.  I''d like you to provide some background music during that time.  Nothing obtrusive, instrumental only, but other than that, whatever you want to play.

    "At eleven, I have lunch, and between then and about one or two, I meet with my ministers, various nobles, and other leaders who come from across the country.  In the interest of national security, you are not permitted to listen in on those meetings, so feel free to run around and do whatever you want, within reason, for those hours.  Just make sure to be outside the meeting room waiting for me by one.

    "After I finish my administrative meetings, I have until seven to do whatever the hell I want, provided there aren''t any matters that I need to attend to.  Sometimes I may desire musical accompaniment.  Other times, I may not.  Just be waiting for me at one to find out.

    "Dinner starts at seven, and it''s open to any ministers and nobility that might want to partake.  The dining hall generally gets quite full.  I''d like you to play then, so make sure you eat before seven.  Take people''s requests, keep it lively, stick around until I tell you you can leave.

    "And that''s about it," he finishes.

    "That''s¡­ not so bad actually," I say ponderously.  I can''t help but think how strange it is that he gave me a straight answer.  "And this is every day?"

    "Every day except Sunday.  That''s my day off.  I''m thinking I might let you take Sundays off, too.  Don''t count on it every week, though."  He pauses and looks at me expectantly.  "Any questions?"

    "A couple¡­" I pause and twiddle my fork while I try to think of the best order to ask them in.  Eventually I decide to come right out with my most demanding one.  "I brought my lute, but that''s the only instrument I have.  Would I be able to-"

    "We have several instruments here for you," he interrupts.  "Some pianos that were only really decorative before and such.  If there''s anything you might want that we don''t already have, just let me know and I will have one sent here."

    "Oh," I say, pleasantly surprised.  "Thank you."

    I think I already know the answer to my next question, but I ask it anyway.  "Do you have any other musicians in your court right now?"

    "We have entertainment brought in during dinner here and there, but no one on retainer at the moment."  He smiles in a way I don''t trust.  "I have just recently acquired a strong desire to hear more music during my day."

    I don''t know exactly what he means by that, but I''m not going to ask.

    "I was also hoping I might be able to get some sheet music," I continue.  "I''m sure there''s a lot of music that''s well-known in Veilsung that I''ve never heard before.  I can only imagine that people will be making requests for songs I don''t know."

    "That''s a good point."  He waves over one of the servants at the edge of the room.

    "Could you send someone out to purchase sheet music?"  He looks back at me.  "Any specific requests?"

    "Anything and everything, please," I say to the attendant.  "I''d rather cast a wide net."

    She bows and leaves to carry out the request.

    Khysmet turns back to me.  "Anything else?"

    I stare at my now mostly empty plate.  Everything is delicious.  I can''t believe I''m going to get to eat like this all the time.  The schedule he''s laid out for me is perfectly reasonable, too.  It seems too good to be true.  And that leads me to my next question.  I fold my hands and look at Khysmet with extreme skepticism.

    "Why am I getting the star treatment here?" I demand.  "The new clothes, the fancy room, my own attending servant.  After last night, I was pretty sure you only brought me here to torment me.  But I''m being treated like royalty here, in very literal terms.  What''s your game here?"

    He grins at me with a sinister glint in his eyes and flicks his tongue.  "I brought you here for my entertainment," he explains.  "Sometimes that might involve tormenting you.  Most of the time, it will not."

    I heave a sigh.  Some torment is worse than none, but much better than constant.  And it at least sounds like I''ll have quite a bit of free time to get away from being his source of "entertainment".

    "So," I say tentatively, dreading the answer to this question, "during my off hours¡­ I can really do whatever I want?"

    He looks delighted that I asked.  "Just make sure you generally keep someone apprised of your location.  If I should seek your services and find you unable to be located, you''ll find my retribution to be unpleasant."

    Rarely have I heard a threat issued so cheerily.  I can''t help but roll my eyes.

    "I''d also like you to let me know directly if you want to leave the castle grounds."

    "Why?"

    "Just because."If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    I take a deep breath and rub my temples with my fingers.  It''s too early for me to deal with this.  I thank the gods that he¡¯s already told me he usually eats breakfast alone.  Maybe I¡¯ll get some time in the mornings to mentally prepare for my daily tribulations.

    I¡¯m out of questions and out of breakfast.  I look to Khysmet expectantly, in case he has any more information or instructions he¡¯d like to inflict upon me, but he¡¯s getting out of his chair, so this conversation must be over.

    ¡°Let¡¯s head to the great hall,¡± he says.  ¡°I have a surprise for you.¡±

    There¡¯s nothing that could instill more dread in me at this moment than that sentence coming from this person.  Nevertheless, having no other choice, I stand and follow him out of the room.

    ******

    The great hall is vast and well-lit by the morning sun streaming through massive stained glass windows.  It''s also well populated.  There''s a great number of people just milling about and talking.  I still have yet to really meet any other members of the court, so I''m excited that I may have the opportunity now.

    The excitement curdles into anxiety as the first few people who notice my presence stare openly and drop their voices to whisper amongst themselves.  It''s a pattern that continues as I follow Khysmet across the room.  I''m trying to reassure myself that they''re just surprised to see a human in the room, that it''s just the typical gossip and rubbernecking that follows a novel development.  But many of these glances are decidedly not friendly.  I feel eyes cutting into me from every angle, but I keep my head as high as I can and stick close behind Khysmet''s back.

    He leads me over to a spot close to the edge of the room, on the side opposite the windows, and gestures to something that makes me forget the watching eyes immediately.

    It''s a pedal harp.  Not just any harp either; my harp.  The one I was sure I wouldn''t see again for months.  I''d recognize it anywhere; all the scratches and other damages that have occurred and then been repaired over the years of travel and use form an intricate pattern on the wood that can''t possibly be replicated.  I run my fingers over them reverently.  If I close my eyes, I can pretend I''m still with my family, waiting onstage for the signal to start.

    "I bought it off your director when I found out it wasn''t already yours to take," Khysmet explains, interrupting my reverie. "Turns out, harps are an uncommon instrument in Veilsung, and it would take several weeks to have one delivered here."

    I look back at him.  He''s watching me expectantly, his expression soft.  I wonder if he knows the impact that this gesture has on me.

    "Thank you," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.  "The harp is easily my best instrument.  It''s hard to move, though, so you may still want to source another if you want me to play it in a different room."

    "Yes, well.  I certainly want you at your best, so I may just do that.  Anyway, go ahead and start now.  If you need to take small breaks, do so at your discretion.  I''ll be over there."  He gestures to a stately seat overlooking the room.  "When the clock chimes eleven, follow me and I''ll show you where I take my administrative meetings."

    I nod my assent and sit down to play as he walks toward the back of the room to go sit in his fancy chair and do monarch things.  Still not sure what that even means, but maybe I''ll find out while I''m here.

    Once again I feel the less-than-friendly attention of just about everybody in the room searing into my skin.  I''m used to having lots of eyes on me when I''m performing, but rarely have I had an audience this hostile.  I narrow my focus to only the strings in front of me, letting the background blur and fade.  With a deep breath in, I get my fingers into position, then pluck an elaborate arpeggio up and down the full length of the strings with a long, centering breath out.

    A hush falls over the room as the rich, layered tones reverberate through it.  It doesn''t last long, but the second of silence is unmistakable.  I smile.  Perfect.  I have their attention on my own terms now.  It may still be mostly hostile, but I can feel the air laced with at least a little bit of interest, of curiosity.  I''ll take what I can get.

    I launch into one of my favorite songs, aiming to keep the volume low enough to not be distracting while still being loud enough to be heard from the whole room.  It''s rather soothing to just play whatever I feel like, with no one else whose tempo I would have to match.  I can just space out and let my fingers dance across the strings of their own volition.  It''s so effortless that I even start to let my attention roam around the room, listening to conversations happening close enough or loud enough to be within earshot.

    The trio nearest to me are having some sort of scientific discussion about the uses for different parts of a local species of cactus.  They must be chemists, experts in the magical properties of substances and how to combine them to create potions with countless different effects.  If they''re part of the court, presumably receiving royal subsidies, they''re probably doing some cutting-edge research.  Sadly, I don''t understand a lick of what they''re talking about ¨C it''s mostly jargon.  I try to take a mental picture so I can remember what they look like.  I still want to know how we have running water at the top of a mountain, and they would be the people to ask.

    I let my attention roam a bit further out and hear two women discussing the fidelity, or lack thereof, of some high-ranking minister.  I smile to myself.  There''s no shortage of drama to be found anywhere, really, but especially not in a castle full of so many people who think themselves so important.  I certainly won''t want for entertainment here.

    Then an accusatory voice rises up over the general background din, ringing out clear as day.

    "I strongly object to this decision.  How could you bring an outsider into this court, where she may bear witness to the inner machinations of our country''s governance?  Once she is released from your employ, she will invariably go and sell all our secrets to the highest bidder!"

    I look to find the source of the voice, and see that it belongs to an elderly Sungian in elaborate robes planted firmly opposite the throne, upon which Khysmet is seated and looking rather unimpressed.

    "She''s not going to be bearing witness to anything of substance," Khysmet responds dryly.  "Everything that occurs in this room each morning is a matter of public record.  And we have entertainment brought in during dinner regularly, yet I''ve never heard you complain about that before."

    I can''t see my accuser''s face, but I can see him shaking with rage.

    "You''re a fool if you can''t see what a poor decision you''re making here.  Your new little pet," he spits the word out with force, "is nothing more than a rat you''re letting loose in our larder."

    Ouch.  My fingers falter for a second, but I don''t stop playing.  I can''t possibly pretend I''m not listening, but I certainly want to avoid showing weakness so publicly.

    I watch as Khysmet straightens up in his seat and glares at this man, exuding cold authority.

    "Your objection has been noted," he says in a tone of grave and absolute finality.  "I don''t particularly care to hear any further opinions on the matter.  Is that all?"

    The robed man harrumphs and turns on his heel, and I snap my head back around in front of me as fast as I can in the hopes he doesn''t see I was watching the exchange.  I don''t particularly care to see the hatred in his eyes, which I''m sure are hurling daggers at the side of my head right now.

    As grating as Khysmet''s sovereign voice is, it''s satisfying to hear him use it against someone else.  I have a feeling calling me a pet is an accurate description of my position here, given that the only person that seems to want me here is Khysmet, and he essentially purchased me on a whim just for his "entertainment".  At least my "master" has a vested interest in defending me.  I can only hope that doesn''t make me even more of a target¡­

    Most of the conversation in the room has turned to me after that little spectacle, so I play some more technically challenging pieces in order to keep my mind more occupied.  It helps.

    Hours pass, and I''m zoned out completely, so much so that a hand that touches my shoulder makes me jump about twenty feet in the air.  I whip my head around in a panic, but it''s just Khysmet standing next to me, looking down at me calmly.  He gestures with his head toward the door.

    "It''s eleven," he says simply.  "Come with me."

    I get up and follow obediently, eager to leave this room full of judgmental stares.

    "I quite liked that, actually," Khysmet muses while I fall into step beside him.  "The music helped me think, more so than I thought it would."

    I shoot him a puzzling glance.

    "Isn''t that the reason you invited me here?"

    Before I can really react, he reaches out a hand and pats me on the head as one might do to a lapdog.

    "Of course it is," he says in a placating tone.

    My blood simmers, and I move to swat him away, but he pulls away before I can make contact.

    "I was thinking," he continues as though nothing happened, "this afternoon might be a good opportunity for you to familiarize yourself with the layout of the castle.  If you need a guide," he grins ominously, "I would be happy to offer my services."

    I try not to grimace at that prospect and fail miserably.

    "I''m sure you have much better things to do with your time than to play tour guide for me all afternoon," I say, praying that it is true.

    "I assure you," he insists, "I do not."

    Ugh.  I flounder for another excuse.

    "Well," I say, "wouldn''t it be better for me to start right now, rather than wait for two or three hours for you to finish with your meetings?  I''m sure I can find someone to show me around."

    He hums and shrugs, flicking his tongue.  "I suppose so.  Sad that I won''t be enjoying the pleasure of your company this afternoon, but I''ll survive."

    I can''t imagine my company would be all that pleasurable if I were to be forced to endure his for such a long period of time, but I don''t contradict him.  We soon arrive in a small sitting area at the juncture of three hallways, a large door set into the fourth wall.

    "This is where I''d like you to wait for me in the afternoon.  Today that''s not necessary, but most days it will be.  I''ll endeavor to let you know in advance when it is not.  Your room is not far down that way," he says and points down one of the hallways.  "I trust that by the time seven rolls around, you will have found your way to the dining hall.  Bring your lute, since we don''t have anything set up for you there.  Don''t forget to eat."

    The command in his tone is so irritating, and I can''t repress the urge to be petulant.

    "Yes, your majesty," I mutter sarcastically and do a little mock bow.

    He smiles warmly and pats me on the head again.  This time when I move to swat him away, he lets me.

    "See you at seven," he says, and leaves me alone in the room.

 Chapter 8

    To my utter delight, when I go back to my room, I find Vizsla there putting up new towels.  I excitedly beg her to take me on a tour of the castle, and it seems that as my attending servant, my requests supersede her other duties.  She''s more than happy to show me around.

    The castle is large and sprawling, but not too hard to navigate where the main rooms are concerned.  I''ll definitely be wanting to spend a lot of my free time exploring some of the more winding and convoluted offshoot hallways, though.  Such an old castle must have a host of secret passageways to find.

    Vizsla shows me the way to the main foyer, out to the stables, around dining rooms of various sizes, through two libraries, briefly into some ceremonial chambers, and down some hallways lined with the rooms of various nobles, including Khysmet''s, which I hope I never need to remember how to locate.  But most importantly of all, she shows me how to get to the kitchens.

    The royal kitchen is huge and bustling, the air swirling with a cacophony of the most delectable scents I''ve ever had the pleasure of smelling.  I know right away that I''ll be spending a lot of my time here, provided I can manage to avoid being underfoot.  The last thing I want is to bump into someone and get the contents of one of those burning pots and pans spilled all over me.

    The cooks turn out to be extremely friendly, too.  Despite my coming right at the end of lunch, and their being busy with cleanup, they are more than happy to scrounge up something for me to eat.  They''re not particularly polite, either, which I find to be extremely refreshing after spending all day overhearing people badmouth me in the most tactful ways possible.  I ask as many of their names as I can, planning to go back to my room and add them to a notebook that I started last night.

    Not long after the end of my tour, a young man approaches me with arms full of sheet music.  I thank him and drag Vizsla with me back to my room so I can look it over.

    "There''s so many," I mutter while perusing the massive stack I''ve been handed.  "I''m excited to have so many options, but I''d really like to pick out some of the most well-known songs to start with.  Vizsla, could you help me out?

    Vizsla has returned to working on the tasks that I interrupted earlier, but she happily puts them on hold again to help me pick out songs.

    "For Want of the Moon is a pretty well-known folk song," she says, picking some pages out of the stack to hand to me.  "Snake with a Thousand Tongues is popular, too.  Oh!  Beneath the Tomei River is one of my favorites!"

    "Then you must sing it for me!" I command with a power stance and dramatic flourish, then pick a fancy lick across the strings of my lute.

    She emits a flurry of laughter so nervous I would call it panicked and shakes her head vehemently.

    "Not a chance, Cat.  I barely sing when I''m alone.  There''s no way I''m singing in front of anyone else."

    "Well how else am I supposed to know how it goes?"  I throw up my hands in exaggerated exasperation.

    "You have the music right in front of you!"

    "What makes you think I know how to read this?"

    The look she shoots me is positively withering, so I make a placating gesture and back off.

    "Okay, okay.  But I''m going to be sight reading here, so I might get some things wrong.  If you hear me make any mistakes, feel free to correct me."

    Sight reading is one of my more developed skills, but I of course still make mistakes.  I make sure to add some extra ones in, though, and make the same ones over and over to try and goad her into singing.

    Eventually, she can''t help but correct my egregious errors.  She is a lovely soprano, and while she''s not always perfectly on key, her voice is absolutely haunting.  Before long I have her laughing and dancing a little as she goes about her chores.  She teaches me some other songs she knows, too, ones that I''m not sure I have in my stack of sheet music, and I''m having a lot of fun ad libbing some accompaniment.

    "I have to go back and report to Mr. Marahk," Vizsla says a bit sadly when she finishes up.  "It''s getting close to dinner time, so you should head for the kitchen and get something to eat."

    I groan and flop face-first onto the freshly made bed.

    "Vizsla," I lament, "I don''t want to go get glared at by a bunch of aristocratic wet blankets who hate my guts because I don''t have a tail."

    She looks at me with pity and tentatively pats me on the back.

    "It''ll be okay," she soothes.  "Give it time ¨C they''ll come around to you eventually."

    I sigh deeply.  "I sure hope so.  I''ve got enough to worry about with his majesty trying to think of as many ways as possible to piss me off."

    Her hand pauses.  Right away, I''m kicking myself for speaking ill of her king, but when she speaks again, she doesn''t sound angry or tense.

    "King Khysmet is not a cruel man, Cat.  He might tease a bit, but he''s not going to let anything happen to you."

    "I¡­ I believe you," I concede, though I''m still not completely sure I do.  I sit up and heave a sigh.  "I just wish he didn''t get off so much on telling people what to do."

    Vizsla blushes furiously at my comment, whether at its content or just at my sustained anger at Khysmet, I''m not sure.

    "What do you mean?" she asks with genuine curiosity.  "He''s always been very kind to me, and to everyone who works here.  I''ve never gotten the sense that he¡­ that he likes giving orders all that much."

    She doesn''t see it then?  I know it''s not just me, but I''m not going to contradict her now.

    "It must just be my imagination," I say.  "Anyway, I''d better go eat."  I grab my lute and head for the door.  "Wish me luck!"

    ******If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    I show up, lute in hand, to the dining hall at seven, as instructed, and it¡¯s already rather packed.  The many tables across the very spacious room are overflowing with the most amazingly delicious food and drink ¨C I know it¡¯s amazingly delicious because I was just in the kitchen snagging some before it went out.  And around all the delicious food sits the dozens of aristocratic wet blankets that I am going to have to talk to tonight.

    Immediately, I run into the same problem as I did this morning.  Everyone next to the door when I walk in looks at me like I am a piece of moldy cheese.  The disgust pours off of them in waves.  It¡¯s palpable in the air, and I can already feel myself starting to choke on it.  Though I have mixed feelings about the man, I find myself searching desperately for Khysmet amidst the crowd.  He might be an asshole, but at least he doesn¡¯t seem to viscerally and unilaterally hate me.

    I spot him easily at a long, elevated table that spans most of the wall on the far side of the room.  He¡¯s staring straight at me, holding a wine glass in hand and waiting for me to meet his eye.  When I do, he gestures with a slight tilt of his head to the empty seat to his left.  An invitation that I am more than happy to take him up on.  I try to walk at a natural and normal pace, not meeting anyone¡¯s disgusted glares, focusing on the empty chair that is my goal.  Walking around the back of Khysmet¡¯s long table is the worst part, since most of the people there are old and well-dressed, which I¡¯m pretty sure means they¡¯re high ranking snobs like the guy who complained about me in the great hall.  The hatred here is thicker than anywhere else.

    When I sit down, though, Khysmet at least greets me warmly, seemingly indifferent to the vitriol radiating off of his nearby advisors.  I note that he has pulled my chair closer to his own than to its neighbor on the other side.

    ¡°How was your tour this afternoon?¡± he asks.

    ¡°It was nice," I reply somewhat hesitantly.  "I had Vizsla show me around.¡±

    ¡°Sad I missed out on it," he laments.  "Oh well, I¡¯ll have plenty of opportunities to spend afternoons in your company during the coming months.  Did you get the sheet music you wanted?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I did," I say.  "There¡¯s definitely a lot of it to sift through.  I''ll have my work cut out for me trying to memorize as much as I can.  I''ve practiced a couple songs already, after we finished the tour.¡±

    ¡°Well," he says with an encouraging gesture, "let¡¯s hear it, then.¡±

    I scoff.  ¡°You sure?  I might have picked up the melodies, but I guarantee I¡¯m going to butcher the lyrics.¡±

    ¡°I am dying to hear your renditions, Miss Catarina," he purrs.

    I squint at him.  I can''t tell if he''s being sarcastic or not.  Even if he isn''t¡­ I glance around the room for a second.  I don''t think that anyone here wants any additional reminder that I even exist.  I know that this is the reason that I''m here, but I can''t help but hesitate at the thought of bringing more hostile attention upon myself.

    "Don''t pay attention to anyone else," Khysmet commands authoritatively, drawing my eyes back to him.  "Only look at me.  I don''t care if there''s somebody out there that doesn''t want to hear it.  I want to hear you play for me."

    My face heats up a bit at his words.  Part of me is mentally deriding him for how egocentric that demand is.  The other part is grateful for the encouragement I so desperately needed.  Both parts are flushing under the intensity of his gaze.  I sigh and shrug.

    "Okay," I concede, "but you have to correct me when I get the words wrong."

    "I can do that."

    I launch into the intro to Beneath the Tomei River ¨C since Vizsla loves it so much, we went over it a few more times than most of the others, so I figure I''m less likely to embarrass myself with it.  Khysmet smiles and eats, quietly listening to my rendition of a Veilsung classic.  Sometimes he makes gentle corrections to my half-remembered lyrics.  He does not sing, though.  I wonder what his singing voice is like, and if I could ever possibly convince him to let me hear it like I did with Vizsla.  Somehow I doubt it.

    He has me play a couple other songs I learned today, but I remember even less of those lyrics, so he soon asks me to play some of my favorite songs for him, a request that I readily fulfill, happy to slip into my comfort zone a little.  He asks me questions about the pieces I play for him, where they came from and what some of the more vague lyrics mean.  He''s being unusually kind, possibly sensing my unease and taking pity on me.  It''s odd, but I don''t mind.

    Twice during my performance, the long table shakes, causing all the plates and glasses to clatter with the vibrations from an advisor slamming his hands on the table and storming off.  I falter in my playing, but I try to follow Khysmet''s advice (choosing to think of it as advice rather than the command it actually was) and just keep focusing on him.  It helps.

    Khysmet does not stay at dinner for very long.  Maybe half an hour, max.  When he gets up and motions for me to come with, the dining hall is still nearly full.  I imagine that dinners can run pretty late, with free-flowing alcohol and so many people to talk to.  It probably gets pretty rowdy later on.  I''m glad we leave before then.

    When we''re alone in the hallway outside the dining hall doors, he makes a suggestion.

    "I might," he says, "have you abstain from performing at dinner after all.  At least until the unrest at your presence has died down.  Should some of the more outspoken members of my court have a bit too much to drink, you may find yourself a target of their¡­ unpleasantness."

    I sigh and rub my arms self-consciously, grateful that he''s giving me a pass for the near future.

    "You really think it will die down?" I ask.

    He nods reassuringly.  "I know it will.  You may never be the most popular person in the castle, but most people don''t hate your presence so much as they''re just interested in salacious rumors."

    I hum and bite my lip.  Salacious rumors, huh?  I guess that makes sense.

    "Allow me to walk you to your room," Khysmet insists, and I nod and walk with him.  "I don''t think it''s entirely necessary, but I''d like to have a guard tasked with watching you when I''m not available.  I''d rather not take any chances."

    "What makes you think a guard will have any warmer regard for me than anyone in your court?" I ask.

    He snorts.  "I do get regular reports from my serving staff, Miss Catarina.  According to my butler, Marahk, you seem to already be ingratiating yourself to just about everyone who works here.  Even my driver likes you, and he''s as taciturn as they come.  I''ll be selective about the guard I assign to you, but I have no doubt you''ll be on their good side within a day or two."

    The corners of my mouth twitch up.  Felix does like me?  That''s wonderful to hear.  I wasn''t sure if I just pissed him off with all my chatter.

    Khysmet stops outside my door and watches me as I open it.

    "You know, it''s still rather early to be going to bed," he says.  "If you want some company, I''d be happy to offer mine."

    I flush a deep red at the suggestion, deeper with how closely he''s watching my reaction.

    "No, I think I''d just like to take an extremely long bath, then head to bed.  It''s been a long day."

    He hums and flicks his tongue out.  "I wouldn''t mind a bath, too.  You sure you don''t want company?

    My mouth goes dry.  "Positive."

    He shrugs.  "Just thought I''d offer.  You should come try my bathtub sometime, though.  It''s much bigger.  Goodnight, Miss Catarina."

    "G- Goodnight."

    I duck through my door so fast I almost slam it.

    Every hair on my body is standing on end.  What the hell was that?  Sure we¡¯ve had about seven total seconds of sexual tension between us, but isn¡¯t inviting me to bathe with him a bit much?  It takes a long time for my hackles to lower after that one.  I keep thinking about it so much that I can''t enjoy my own bath and have to cut it short.  He was so kind to me during dinner that it started to raise my estimation of him a little bit, but evidently he''s right back to fucking with me when it suits him.  It''s giving me whiplash.

    This first day wasn''t so horrible, aside from being viscerally hated for a few hours, but I can''t help but think that part of the reason it was okay was just because I didn''t have to deal with Khysmet that much.  Unfortunately, I''m not going to get that lucky every day.  I sigh as I think about it.  I have a lot of headaches to look forward to during the next six months.

 Chapter 9

    My first few weeks consist mostly of just getting into the rhythm of my new schedule.

    I don''t expect to be called back to breakfast after the first time, since Khysmet had said he usually eats alone.  However, I only eat breakfast in my room with Vizsla once before being called back the next morning, and every subsequent morning thereafter.

    It''s unfortunate, because I''m hardly at my best behavior first thing in the morning.  But I start to get the sense that the more I lower my filter, the less effort Khysmet puts into being irritating.  When I make that connection, I drop my filter so hard it bounces.  Instead of trying to hold my thoughts in and not being able to control when they explode out, I just tell him when I think he''s being a dick, and he seems to appreciate my candidness.

    A little too much, if I''m being honest.  He seems more pleased when I tell him what I really think of him than when I attempt to tolerate his antics.  Every unkind word earns me a very genuine, if self-satisfied smile.  Whenever he moves to pat me on the head again, he¡¯s ecstatic when I try in vain to slap his hand away.  And he absolutely revels in my sarcasm.  It¡¯s a bit mystifying, but there¡¯s a level of comfort in the feeling that I don¡¯t have to hold anything back.

    The flirting confuses and flusters me, moreso at first.  It isn¡¯t very frequent, just every once in a while, right when I start to get comfortable.  He never makes any sort of move and hardly ever even touches me; he¡¯ll just say something suggestive that makes my skin prickle, wait a second to gauge my reaction, then move on like nothing happened.  I¡¯ve become convinced that he only does it to watch me squirm.  I¡¯d love to stop giving him the satisfaction, but not squirming under his penetrating gaze proves difficult.  It¡¯s the only aspect of his teasing I can¡¯t really get used to.

    The times he asks me to accompany him in the afternoon are not as horrendous as I''d thought they''d be, especially as his presence becomes more tolerable.  Often, he wants to go to the library, where there''s a beautiful grand piano for me to play.  The windows there, which span multiple floors full of bookshelves, provide a breathtaking view straight over the cliff the castle sits on.  I can just noodle around on the piano and stare off into the distance while he reads and occasionally talks to me about the novel he¡¯s picked that day.

    A couple times he has me bring my lute and accompany him on walks through the expansive royal gardens.  They¡¯re breathtakingly beautiful, but man, am I miserable under the heat of the sun here.  The clothes I have been given are almost invariably made of a nice, cool cotton, but breathable fabric only takes you so far.  I mention my discomfort to him once, and the next day for breakfast, I get led into the garden for a picnic under the much cooler morning sun.  It¡¯s a little too intimate, which has me on edge the whole time, but it is fun.

    Sometimes he even has other plans ¨C either administrative matters that require more attention, his wanting to practice his swordsmanship with members of the castle guard, or whatever else might strike his fancy ¨C and he doesn''t need my services at all.  On those days, I get to wander the castle and work on my efforts to make as many friends as possible.  I''m filling my notebook of people''s names up at a steady clip, and I spend about half an hour before bed each night studying it.

    Most of the attending servants are very receptive to my friendly advances.  Many of them are quite young, and they are invariably kind and curious ¨C curious about me, and also about everything going on in the castle.  There''s no shortage of thirst for salacious rumors among them, but I don''t find the same sinister overtones in their questions as what I overhear from the court nobles in the great hall every morning.  For many of them it takes only a little persuading to get them to call me Cat, and they talk to me happily whenever they see me in the halls.

    The stable hands are exceedingly friendly ¨C too much so.  They''re loud and boisterous, and quite funny, but they flirt with me incessantly.  The guard Khysmet assigned to me is on edge every second I spend in their company.  For his sake more than anything else, I don''t make a habit of visiting the stables often.  I don''t think he''s been instructed to stop me from going anywhere, but I have a feeling Khysmet might not be happy with him "letting" me hang out there.

    Most of the guards don¡¯t talk to me very much.  They are extremely tight-lipped when they¡¯re on duty.  I can only imagine that they speak more amongst themselves in their barracks and other places in the castle that they use for breaks, but I have a distinct sense that I¡¯m not welcome in those areas, so I avoid them.  I still try to learn their names, though, and I ask how they¡¯re doing even though I don¡¯t typically get much more than a word or two in response.

    The kitchen is where I feel I am truly among my people.  The energy there makes me feel like I''m back with the Warblers.  They''re chatty while they work, and I bear witness to many little good-natured squabbles between them that are quite entertaining to listen to.  The head chef is a stern but fair woman named Lorna who doesn''t take anyone''s shit, and I love her from the moment she hands me a freshly baked pastry and tells me to piss off and stop bothering her staff.

    I even manage to start a conversation with two of the court chemists when I happen to encounter them on their way into a room I didn''t know was their lab.  They''re reticent at first, but once I express interest in what they''re working on, they open up quick.  I''m excited to have a chance to get to know some of the smartest scientists in the country.  I can''t tell if they like me yet, but both of them are positively jazzed to have someone asking questions about their work.

    No one of noble blood has said a word to me yet.  I find it hard to be disappointed by that.

    I¡¯m also trying to befriend the guard appointed to watch over me.  He¡¯s rather young ¨C I''d guess about twenty, give or take a few years.  His name is Rhys, and he obstinately refuses to call me Cat.  Nothing I say will sway him.

    He seems rather skittish in general, and it''s odd to me that Khysmet would have picked such a nervous person to watch over me.  Somehow I get the sense that it''s not because Khysmet lacks confidence in his abilities, though.  Whenever I move too close, he flinches and scurries away with surprising alacrity.  It almost seems like he''s scared of me, but I can''t fathom why.

    Not until I mention it to Khysmet one morning, anyway.

    "Oh, he''s not scared of you," he says, waving my concern away with a dismissive hand.  "If anything, he''s scared of me.  I told him if he touched you, I''d have the tips of his fingers removed."

    "You¡­ you what?" I splutter, physically recoiling in shock and disbelief.  "You can''t-  I mean-  You wouldn''t really do that, would you?  Is that something you''ve done to people?"

    He chuckles at my energetic response.  "No, it isn''t," he admits.  "I can''t say I''ve ever given an order to maim someone who works under me."

    "Well, does Rhys know that?" I demand loudly, not finding the situation very funny at all.  When he doesn''t answer, I rip a piece off of my toast and throw it at him, but that only serves to turn his subdued chuckle into a full laugh.

    "Okay, look," he says with a placating gesture, "not only does Rhys know that I''m not going to hurt him, that''s also not what I actually said to him."

    I ready another piece of toast, and it''s satisfying when he flinches and holds his hands up to deflect the projectile before I''ve even thrown it, though his laughter doesn''t stop in the slightest.

    "I did order him not to touch you," he concedes, "but I didn''t threaten him.  I promise you."

    I reluctantly stand down and lower my throwing arm.

    "Well, you better hope you didn''t."

    After that I don''t try so hard to befriend Rhys, since the last thing I want to do is get him in trouble.  I make sure to telegraph more clearly when I''m moving in his direction so he can back off more discreetly, and it''s not long before he''s much less nervous in my presence.

    My mornings in the great hall are still fairly disheartening.  After around a month and a half, the jabs at me have died down somewhat, but I still hear them every day.  I will say though, that other topics of conversation do start to take precedence.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    I overhear so much from my spot beside the west wall.  For one, I get to witness all the interactions that Khysmet has with the members of the public that come to see him.

    He is shockingly kind to his people.  When he speaks to those who come representing their towns to plead for his assistance, he never mocks or belittles them, never rejects them out of hand without first listening to their full stories.  More often than not, he agrees to help quite readily, though he is pragmatic about the amount of aid the kingdom is able to provide.  Not once do I even hear him say an unkind word about them after they leave, not even about the truly odd ones, like those who come to read aloud the dreadful poetry they have written in his honor.  His advisors mock them regularly, but Khysmet unflaggingly shuts that down.

    When it comes to the members of his court, however, he is not always so kind.  I don''t yet have the context for much of the political talk that passes between him and his ministers, advisors, lords, et cetera, but Khysmet is quick to tell them when he disagrees with or is displeased by them.  And there''s a lot of conversations that seem innocuous to me at first, but then Khysmet shuts them down hard, and I wonder each time if there was some sort of underhanded double-speak happening that I just didn''t recognize as such.  I hope that given time, I''ll be more attuned to what''s really being said.  Khysmet seems to navigate these conversations with ease, or at the very least with confidence, and I find I''m impressed despite myself.

    Watching these interactions only convinces me more that he gets off on telling people what to do, though.

    I do notice a marked difference between the way he interacts with other people and the way he talks to me.  His public face is very calm, very above-it-all.  Very kingly, I suppose you could say.  His general demeanor holds a lot of authority in and of itself, and he is treated with a great deal of respect by just about everybody.  I don''t see many people directly contradict him ¨C even when his advisors express differing opinions, they sort of talk around it so it doesn''t seem like they''re saying "no" in as many words.

    With me on the other hand, he''s much more animated.  I don''t think I even once see him have more than a reserved two-second chuckle in front of his advisors, but I personally witness him full-on cackle on multiple occasions.  His movements are looser, his face more expressive ¨C even the way he talks is more relaxed.  He affects what I would call a sort of boyish charm, if he was directing it at someone else.  As it is, I would call it an obnoxious series of tribulations inflicted upon me with an irritating level of enthusiasm.  But he does seem genuinely happy.

    I wonder if there¡¯s anyone else that he lowers his guard around, someone I just haven¡¯t met yet.  It really doesn¡¯t seem like it though.  Given all the time I spend with Khysmet each day, I think I¡¯d at least have run into them incidentally at some point.

    I wonder if he was lonely before he brought me here.

    The hardest part for me to get used to might be the lack of agency I have over my choices.  With the Warblers, it¡¯s not like I was making all the decisions or anything.  I was told what to do pretty frequently, in fact, and I didn¡¯t mind it whatsoever.  Maybe the reason I didn¡¯t mind was because the things I was told to do were generally perfectly reasonable.  Also, I almost always had the ability to say no, even though I didn¡¯t exercise it very frequently.

    Here, when I¡¯m told what to do, there¡¯s not often a rhyme or reason to what I have to do and why I have to do it.  When I ask, Khysmet often gives the maddeningly opaque reasoning of ¡°Just Because¡±.  The most egregious example of this happens at breakfast one day, the first time I tell him I want to go out into the city for a day with a couple people from the kitchens.

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°No?¡± I ask, taken aback.  ¡°What do you mean no?¡±

    ¡°I mean no, you can¡¯t go,¡± Khysmet says simply, as though stating an obvious fact rather than saying something ridiculous.

    ¡°Well why the hell not?¡± I demand.

    He shrugs.  ¡°It¡¯s dangerous.¡±

    ¡°The fuck do you mean ¡®It¡¯s dangerous¡¯, we¡¯ll be in broad daylight the whole time!¡±

    He cocks his head like he¡¯s carefully considering the logic of my argument, and not just thinking of more ways to torture me like I know he is.

    ¡°Okay,¡± he says, ¡°But I¡¯m coming with you.¡±

    I scoff.  Is he serious?

    ¡°No way,¡± I say.  ¡°You¡¯d make my friends nervous hovering around the whole time, and they wouldn¡¯t have any fun.  It defeats the whole purpose if you come.¡±

    He shrugs.  ¡°Then I guess you can¡¯t go.¡±

    I slam my hands down on the table and stand out of my chair.

    ¡°This is ridiculous!¡± I snap at him.  ¡°I¡¯m not asking for permission, I¡¯m informing you of what I¡¯m doing regardless of what you want.¡±

    He smirks and leans back in his chair, steepling his hands.  He looks at me with heavy-lidded eyes, exuding smugness from every pore.

    ¡°I think we both know that¡¯s not true.¡±

    I blink.

    I¡¯m going to kill him.

    He watches with apparent glee, flicking his tongue as I stand there, hands on the table, murder in my eyes, shaking with anger and the exertion of holding myself back from picking up a plate and breaking it over his head.  And then I realize that this is exactly what he wants.

    Well I¡¯m not going to give it to him anymore.  I close my eyes and take deep breaths.  I sit down.  I put my hands in my lap.  Then I go back to eating and don¡¯t even look in his direction.

    ¡°How badly do you want to go?¡± he asks, trying to reel me back in.

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°No?  No what?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to beg to go outside like a four-year-old,¡± I say.  ¡°I refuse.¡±

    He hums thoughtfully and leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the table and his head in his hands.

    ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll let you go¡­¡± he says, ¡°if you tell me exactly where you¡¯re going and promise to be back at least an hour before dark.  And you have to take Rhys with you.¡±

    I close my eyes.  My left eyebrow twitches.  I suck my lips in between my teeth and bite.  I tap my fingers on the table, slow at first but building to a frantic speed.  I take in a deep breath through my nose.  And I tell him.

    ¡°Good girl,¡± he praises.  ¡°Now was that so hard?¡±

    ¡°Someday I am going to smash a plate over your head,¡± I inform him.

    ¡°I look forward to the day that you try.¡±

    Upon later reflection, it¡¯s clear to me that he was going to let me go anyway.  If he really didn¡¯t want me going, there¡¯s no way he would have lost so much ground, going from a full ¡°no¡± all the way down to ¡°just tell me where you¡¯re going¡±.  He just wanted to see how much he could get away with telling me what to do.

    This is a common theme with Khysmet.  Because he gets off on it.  I can¡¯t figure out why no one seems to see that but me.

    It¡¯s a common trend among the whole castle staff.  No one will say a single thing against Khysmet.  They have a lot to say about just about every other member of the court, but never him.  Whenever I kvetch about the trials and tribulations he puts me through every day, I am always, without exception, gently but firmly corrected.  It¡¯s maddening.  I become generally popular with most of the staff, but I think complaining about him sets me back with a few people.

    I actually come to gain a sort of significant status amongst the staff, filling a crucial role that earns me points with pretty much everyone in every section of the whole castle.  I become an information broker.

    Listening to people in the great hall every morning has put me in a unique position wherein I hear a positively insane amount of gossip.  The things that people will talk about in a crowded room amaze me to no end.  What''s more, they will often come stand next to me and speak very low when they want not to be overheard.  I suppose they figure the sound of the harp will drown them out to everyone else in the room.  Unfortunately for them, I have an uncommonly good ear.

    I bear witness to so many personal arguments, private confessions, and other secret exchanges on a daily basis that I start to have a near encyclopedic knowledge of everything that''s going on within castle walls.  And I am very generous with distributing this information.  Members of the castle staff start coming to me just to ask what''s new, and to check things they''ve heard against my knowledge base.  When it comes to salacious rumors, I am the last word on truth and integrity in this place.  I don''t ever make shit up.  I don''t have to; the royal court is chock full of drama, and it''s all spoon-fed to me every single day.

    I take my role very seriously.  I keep my ears open constantly and try to tune in to as many conversations as I can, casting a wide net as it were, so I stand the best chance of hearing something new and otherwise unknown.  I can''t hear everything, but I don''t miss much.

    This is how, one day, sitting as usual at my harp along the west wall, I end up hearing something exceptionally strange, far beyond the typical run-of-the-mill gossip.  Something that I immediately know I can''t tell anyone.

 Chapter 10

    "You told me you''d put my cut in the drawer," comes a harsh whisper from a few feet away.  "Well, I looked all through the damn desk, and I didn''t see a thing."

    I perk up immediately.  Now this sounds interesting.  I listen as closely as possible, making sure not to betray my interest in any way physically, keeping my body relaxed and expression vacant.

    "Maybe you just didn''t look hard enough," replies a second voice, slow and sinister.  "I put it there myself.  I don''t believe I appreciate what you''re insinuating here¡­"

    "I''m not," the first man walks back, "insinuating anything, all right?  I just¡­ didn''t see it the first time.  I looked for the false bottom in the third drawer, and there was nothing."

    "Did you press the button under the desktop?"

    Silence.  Then,

    "No.  I didn''t."

    More silence, for longer this time.  I can picture the second man''s expression in my mind''s eye with perfect clarity, even though I have no idea what he looks like.

    The first speaks up again.

    "I didn''t know-"

    "Shut up," the second interrupts coldly.  "And think twice before you speak to me in public again."

    For the whole conversation, I kept my head facing forward, not letting on that I even noticed they were there.  But when I hear two sets of footsteps walking away, I risk a glance.

    Luckily, they''re both looking around the rest of the room for eavesdroppers, not behind them.  Because of all the time I''ve spent listening in on every conversation every morning, I recognize one of them immediately by the brown saddle markings on his scales ¨C he''s a high ranking financial minister named Sulfeng.  Sulfeng isn''t particularly outspoken compared to other ministers, and he tends to go along with popular opinion in the conversations I''ve listened in on.  Somehow I''m not surprised to learn he''s committing some kind of fraud.

    The other man is someone I don''t recognize, but I take note of his appearance: black with thin white stripes running vertically down his back and his limbs.  It shouldn''t be terribly hard to find out his name if I ask the right people.

    And, I think eagerly, I know exactly who to ask.

    This brief clandestine conversation has gotten me exceptionally excited.  Political intrigue?  Embezzlement?  Secret drawers full of illicitly acquired cash?  It''s making my heart pound.  I have to go investigate.  I can''t just tell someone what I heard, of course ¨C the only person of political consequence who would even listen to me is Khysmet, and I doubt he would take it seriously without some actual proof of wrongdoing.  But I have no intention of letting this go.

    So, I figure I better go get some actual proof.

    The second I hear the bells toll eleven, I run up to ask Khysmet if he wants my company after his meetings today.

    "Well," he says, looking a tad surprised to see me coming at him so animated, "I was thinking of spending my afternoon in the library, so yes."

    "Would it be okay if I meet you there?" I ask.  "I might be a little late, but I''ll get there as soon as I can."

    He cocks an eyebrow at me quizzically.

    "Got some urgent matters to attend to, do you?"

    I narrow my eyes defiantly.  "You say that like I couldn''t possibly, but believe it or not, I do."

    His smile is that of someone indulging a child''s fantasies, and I resist the urge to stomp my foot and pout so as not to complete the image.

    "Very well then," he says.  "See to your urgent matters and meet me in the library when you''re done.  I''ll allow it this time."

    "Oh I''m so eternally grateful to receive your permission, your grace," I say and curtsey deeply.  "Please continue to shower me in your favor, I beseech you."

    I''ve been getting more elaborate with my sarcasm over the weeks.

    ¡°Have fun,¡± he says, and pats me on the head.

    I don''t move to stop him anymore.  No matter how hard I try, I always just end up embarrassing myself, so better to just let him do it.

    I tell him I''ll see him later and run off to start my inquisition.

    ******

    I only have to talk to two attending servants to find out that black-with-white-stripes guy is a scribe named Rolf who works in the financial sector copying records for analysis and distribution.  Triangulating the location of the desk they spoke of is going to be a bit trickier, though.

    I reason it must be one of Sulfeng''s desks, either in his office or his bedroom, because I can¡¯t imagine he would put ill-gotten funds in a desk for public use lest it be discovered by accident.  It''s unlikely that it''s in Rolf''s desk if he didn''t know how to open the false bottom in the drawer.  I can''t rule out the possibility, since he might have been given a desk by his superior or something, but I also don''t think a superior would give him a fancy desk with an elaborate mechanism in the first place.  So, it¡¯s either in Sulfeng''s office or his bedroom. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Problem is, I have no idea where either of those are.

    I need to be discreet about how I go about finding this information.  The attending servants have exceptionally loose lips, and if anyone finds out I''m snooping around, it could easily get back to Sulfeng.

    I start by asking where the financial offices are, figuring that''s innocuous enough.  Thankfully, today is Wednesday, the day of the week that Khysmet meets with the finance ministers.  Plus, it''s lunch time, meaning that most people will be out finding food.  There''s only one scribe eating at his desk when I walk in.

    "Hello," I greet him brightly when I walk in.  I figure it would look more suspicious if I don''t.

    "Oh¡­ hello Miss Catarina," he says.  "Is there something you need?"

    I¡¯m not surprised he knows who I am, but I wish he didn¡¯t.  It highlights the fact that my being an obviously different race from everyone else in the castle puts me at a disadvantage if I want to sneak around.

    "I was just exploring the castle," I reply with as much nonchalance as I can.  "Most of the time I stay away from this area, since it''s usually full of people.  I noticed it''s pretty empty today, though."

    I wander around the room, pretending to look around aimlessly.  The scribe keeps an eye on me but doesn¡¯t question my presence further.

    It''s fairly clear which desks belong to the ministers, since they''re much bigger and on a raised platform, easily seen from the rest of the room.  I hop onto the platform and immediately know the desk I''m looking for isn''t here.  Not a single one of these desks has a third drawer, just very large second ones.  It has to be the one in Sulfeng''s room.  I thank the gods that I don''t have to hang around feeling for hidden buttons in front of this scribe who''s watching me intently as I try not to look like I''m snooping for anything specific.  I hop down away from the ministers'' desks and keep walking around the room like I¡¯m really just interested in checking out the whole place.

    When I start touching things on random scribes'' desks, he all but begs me to leave, a request I''m happy to comply with, apologizing for bothering him on my way out.

    Next, I find someone and ask who Sulfeng''s attending servant is, saying I have something I just have to tell her and implying that it''s extremely juicy gossip.  I''m happy to find that it''s someone I get along with, a young woman named Cevine.  I''m over the moon when I''m told that she''s in Sulfeng''s room right now, and I get pointed in the exact right direction.

    "Cevine!" I call out when I see her leaving a room with a cart of cleaning supplies.

    "Oh hey, Cat," she greets me, cheery as can be.  "What''s up?"

    "I was just looking for you," I say.  "Are you busy cleaning Sulfeng''s room?  Should I come back later?"

    "No, I just finished up."

    I cheer ecstatically in my head, make a mental note of which door she just came out of, then offer to walk with her on her way back to put the cart away.  I follow her around for about twenty minutes or so, telling her some tidbit of gossip I haven''t spread around yet.  I pray that she doesn''t ask me why I wanted to tell it to her specifically.  She doesn''t.  Once we''re far away enough from Sulfeng''s room and there''s a suitable spot to end the conversation, I say goodbye to her and retrace my steps.

    It''s almost two by this point, so Khysmet''s meeting with the ministers of finance are definitely over ¨C or at least they will be soon.  Sulfeng could very well be back in his room at this point.  It''s more likely he''ll be in his office, though.  I hope.

    I knock on his door, loud enough that if he''s inside he''ll definitely hear it, then duck around the corner into a different hallway.  After a couple minutes without the sound of an opening door or someone asking "who''s there", I go back to his door, open it myself, and slip inside.

    The layout of this room is more or less the same as my own, and the desk is plainly in view right upon entering the room.  Guess what?  Three drawers.

    I walk over and kneel down to look under the desktop, feeling around for a button.  And there it is, plain as day under my fingertips.  A quick click, and there''s the sound of something moving on one of the drawers.  The third one, in fact.

    I open it.  There''s the money, plain as day.  Mission accomplished.  I close the false bottom again, and move to make my exit.

    Then it occurs to me that if the money is still there, Rolf hasn''t come to pick it up.  The second this thought flashes through my mind, I hear a knock on the door.

    I look around the room frantically.  Should I hide in the wardrobe?  Or under the bed?  I go for the bed, even though it''s a bit further away ¨C no creaky doors.

    The bed is plenty high up off the floor ¨C perfect for me to scuttle underneath it ¨C and there''s a skirt around the mattress that hides me from sight completely.  By the time I hear the door open, all the fabric I moved on my way here has settled down.

    "Did you press the button under the thing?" Rolf mutters to himself in a viciously mocking tone as he walks into the room.  "Of course I didn''t press the fucking button you cranky old lizard.  Nobody told me about a fucking button.  Nobody tells me shit."

    I hear him jostling the desk, feeling around for the button and cursing more and more with each passing second that he can''t find it.  It takes a while.  Eventually, though, I hear the little click, and he cheers in triumph.

    There''s the clinking sound of coins.  I imagine he''s counting it out to make sure it''s all there.

    Minutes tick by, and I get impatient very quickly.  Isn''t he with the finance sector?  He should be faster at counting money than this.

    Eventually though, he seems satisfied.  He opens the door and walks out, his footsteps echoing down the hallway until the door closes all the way and I can''t hear them anymore.

    I peek out from under the bed just barely, trying to move the fabric as little as possible.  I don''t see any feet.  Exhaling a tense sigh of relief, I come out from under the bed and all but sprint to the door.

    I open it as quietly as I can and peer out into the hallway.  I don''t see Rolf, but I do see someone much worse.

    Sulfeng himself is walking down toward me at the far end of the hall.  He''s a long way down, but he could easily see me if I were to come out of his room.  I feel sweat bead on my forehead.  Has he already noticed his own door opening?

    I look more closely and notice that he''s reading from something while he walks, presumably some sort of paperwork.  He''s not looking up.  I''m not completely fucked yet, but I have to act fast.

    I make a break for it, ducking around the nearby corner as fast as I can without making noise, letting the door close on its own behind me so that by the time it makes a sound, I won''t be visible to Sulfeng.

    I stay perfectly still and listen.  The door closes.  Footsteps are still approaching.  They don''t get faster or slower, which I take to be a good sign.  I wonder if I should walk around the corner nonchalantly, hoping he sees me coming from somewhere other than his room and decides I couldn''t have been in there.  It would probably be better to save that tactic for in case I see someone come down the currently empty hallway that I''m in right now, though.

    His footsteps are regular the whole way down.  At the last second, it occurs to me that he might not even be going to his room, and I panic.  It only lasts a moment though, as I immediately hear his door open and shut before I have the slightest chance to do something stupid.

    Deep breaths.  In.  Out.  Walk at a normal speed toward the library.  I turn to an imaginary audience and bow.

    We pulled it off, folks.

 Chapter 11

    I don''t so much as look at the piano when I enter the library.  Instead I walk right up to where Khysmet is seated on a couch and plunk down right next to him.  He looks up from his book, flicks his tongue and stares at me with a quizzical brow.

    "Ask me where I''ve been for the last three hours," I instruct him.

    "Okay," he says.  "Where have you been?"

    "I can''t tell you."

    He blinks at me, confusion and amusement plain on his features.

    "Why can''t you tell¨C"

    "I can''t tell you here," I correct myself, cutting him off.  "Where''s somewhere that we won''t be overheard?"

    He stifles a grin, clearly just humoring me more than actually thinking I have any valuable information.  I don''t mind.  He can underestimate me all he wants ¨C I''ll be summarily wiping the smirk off his face in just a few minutes.

    "My private study has a very sturdy lock," he suggests.  "We can go there."

    I grimace.  I know his private study connects directly to his bedroom.  And to be locked in there with him¡­ Salacious rumors would abound.

    "Anywhere else?" I plead.  "Your office maybe?

    "My office is in an area with more foot traffic, and a few of my advisors have the key," he argues.  "It''s my study or nothing."

    I purse my lips at his ultimatum.  Ultimately, though, I nod in agreement and follow him out of the library.

    When I step into his study, I find it surprisingly cluttered.  I''ve been in his office before, on my first night, and it was quite clean and well-organized.  This room, on the other hand, may be far from what I would consider messy, but there are a lot of odds and ends laying around on shelves, and his desk is covered with books and papers.

    I tense up as I hear the lock click behind me.  If pressed, I would say I don''t really think that Khysmet will really try anything funny just because we''re behind closed doors.  He doesn''t seem like the sort of man who takes what he wants regardless of the other party''s feelings on the matter.  However, I will say that he''s teased me so much up until this point that it has me on edge.

    "Please, sit down," he says, and gestures to some comfortable looking chairs and a loveseat.  I sit on the loveseat and stretch out my legs on it quickly so he doesn''t have a chance to sit down right beside me.  He takes his seat in the chair closest to me.

    "So," he starts with an amused grin.  "What''s so important that you couldn''t tell me in public?"

    I squint at him searchingly and glance at the door.

    "You''re sure that no one will walk in on us?" I ask.

    "I have the only key on my person right now," he reassures me.

    "Okay¡­ good."

    I pause for a minute and inhale deeply for dramatic effect, then I come right out with it.

    "Sulfeng is stealing from the castle treasury.  I don''t know exactly how he''s doing it, but he''s definitely doing it.  At least one person is helping him out ¨C a scribe named Rolf.  There may be others; I only know of those two for certain."

    Khysmet is staring at me like he''s not sure he heard me correctly.  I think it takes a minute for him to process what I actually said.

    "That''s¡­ a serious accusation, Catarina," he eventually says.  "Where did you overhear this rumor?"

    "It''s not a rumor," I insist.  "I heard both of them arguing about Rolf''s cut of the money straight from their own mouths.  Then I went and found their hiding spot myself."

    Khysmet pales considerably at this.

    "You¡­ You actually found the money?  Were you seen?  You didn''t take it, did you?"

    "I don''t think I was seen, no.  It got a little dicey, though, since Rolf came into the room to collect it while I was there, and I had to hide.  Incidentally, it was hidden in the false bottom of one of the desk drawers in Sulfeng''s room.  There''s a button you press to open it.  Nothing in there now, since, you know, Rolf picked it up, but I expect if you quietly have it checked every once in a while, you may find evidence you can use to pin him on something."

    I watch Khysmet close his eyes and rub the bridge of his snout while I''m talking.  He''s quiet for a while after I finish.  Then, he starts laughing ¨C quietly at first, then building into an almost manic cackle.

    "Y- You''re actually serious, aren''t you?" he asks rhetorically between fits of laughter.  "I-  I can''t believe you actually snuck into¡­ And you didn''t even get caught?"

    Then he looks me level in the eye and says some of my favorite words to hear.

    "I seem to have seriously underestimated you, Miss Catarina."

    I beam in triumph.  But then he goes on.

    "I was fairly certain you still hated me, though."

    I blink, unsure why he''s bringing that up.

    "I¡­ I''ve met worse people, I suppose," I say, hesitant.  "Just not many."

    He stares at me, blood red eyes intense and questioning.

    "So why did you bother telling me?" he asks.  "Why not just let it go?  I would have been none the wiser if you had kept quiet about Sulfeng.  It doesn¡¯t impact you in any way, either.  So¡­ why tell me?"

    That¡­ is a good question.  I think hard about my answer.  Why was I so eager to tell him?

    ¡°I guess¡­¡± I start, ¡°because he¡¯s really stealing from the whole country?  Not just you?  Maybe?¡±

    ¡°Maybe?¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s pretty arrogant for you to think that theft from the royal treasury is a personal slight against you that I was trying to avenge.¡±

    He smirks.  ¡°I suppose it is rather arrogant, isn¡¯t it?  I still don¡¯t buy it that concern for national security is what had you so eager to needle Sulfeng, though.¡±

    ¡°Well, believe it, because that¡¯s the answer you¡¯re getting.¡±

    He gives me a long, evaluating stare, flicks his tongue, and taps his fingers together as though deep in thought.  After a long beat, he speaks again.

    ¡°Where did you overhear this conversation?¡± he asks.

    ¡°In the great hall.  I hear a lot every morning.  People are less discreet when they think their voice is being covered up by my harp.¡±The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Another long pause.  Then,

    ¡°I think I may have underestimated your usefulness to me.¡±

    I look at him skeptically, but don¡¯t say anything, curious to hear what he has to say.

    ¡°As much as I love and respect my people and my heritage,¡± he continues, ¡°we do have a tendency to solve problems in a more¡­ subtle way compared to many other cultures.  One might even call it underhanded.  The language of our politics is more indirect, and there¡¯s quite a lot that goes on behind closed doors.  What I mean to say is, I have a keen interest in having extra ears around the castle ¨C people I can trust to report on the activities and conversations of the members of my court that are a bit less forthright.

    ¡°I already have many people I know to be my supporters, who keep me well informed on what they hear.  However, if those who are conspiring against me believe someone to be a supporter of mine, they would be less inclined to say anything in front of that person.  Pretty straightforward problem, not easily solved once the supporter has been outed as such.

    ¡°You, as an outsider, are immediately suspect of just about everything.  However, you are also seen as uninvolved in the politics of our country, therefore free of allegiance either way.  I myself didn¡¯t expect you to have any interest in the surreptitious actions of my court members.  I certainly didn¡¯t expect that you would be coming to me about them.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never really been involved in political intrigue before,¡± I admit.  ¡°It¡¯s more exciting than I thought it would be.¡±

    ¡°Yes, well.  If I were to ask you to continue keeping an eye on the members of my court, what would you say?"

    I don''t have to consider that for very long.

    "I''d be interested," I say.  "Today was exhilarating, honestly.  And I''m going to be overhearing things no matter what, so I may as well put my unique position to use."

    He nods.  "Well, if I am to consider officially enlisting your services, I can foresee running into two rather significant roadblocks.¡±

    ¡°And those would be?¡±

    ¡°For one,¡± he starts, ¡°you¡¯re incapable of lying.¡±

    My mouth drops open in shock.

    ¡°I am not!¡± I protest.

    ¡°You have to admit, your emotions tend to run away with you.  You might be able to get away with keeping them under control for a while, but I haven¡¯t seen any evidence that you¡¯d be able to do so for any reasonable stretch of time.¡±

    I cross my arms and scowl.  Mostly because he¡¯s not wrong.  I have not lived a life that necessitated me stifling my emotions, thus I have very little practice.  I know this about myself quite well.  I¡¯m also a poor actor in general, and if questioned extensively by someone, I know I couldn¡¯t keep to a false story convincingly.  I search within myself for a workaround here, some option that might have a higher chance of success given my own limitations.

    ¡°I think¡­ I think that trying to concoct more elaborate lies is probably be beyond my capabilities.¡± I concede.  ¡°But I might be able to handle just playing dumb.¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡± Khysmet asks with a doubtful scoff.  ¡°I seem to recall you telling me that you hate being underestimated.¡±

    ¡°Well¡­ it¡¯ll take some practice, but if I start interacting more with members of your court, I''ll have plenty of opportunities to try.  They already think I¡¯m hopelessly vapid and self-absorbed.  I know this for a fact; they talk about me all the time.  If I act like I don''t know what''s going on, they''ll find it perfectly believable, since that''s what they already expect from me."

    "Practice, hmm?"  He considers it for a moment.  "Yes, I suppose there are plenty of no-stakes opportunities to do so in the near future.  I''ll give you the opportunity to prove yourself capable in this regard."

    "Gee thanks," I say flatly.  Would it kill him to at least pretend to have some faith in me?

    "So what''s the second roadblock?" I ask.

    Khysmet leans forward in his chair, fingertips pressed together in a steeple.

    "I need to be certain I can trust you implicitly, beyond a shadow of a doubt," he says.  "The fact that you came to me immediately about Sulfeng is, of course, a strong point in your favor.  However, I still don''t believe you''ve given me the real answer as to why you did, and that''s giving me pause."

    I press my lips together in a thin line and breathe deep in and out through my nose.

    "You want the real reason?" I ask.

    Khysmet nods and shrugs.  It''s pretty self-evident.  I take another deep breath, then sit up and lean forward too.

    "The real reason," I say, "is that Sulfeng is not a good man.  When I talked to his attending servant Cevine earlier today, she mentioned that when he''s alone with her, he acts like a total creep ¨C and that''s putting it very mildly.  She''s fifteen.

    "I''ve heard several members of the staff talk about him in the short time I''ve been here, and they''re not good stories.  I don''t care for him, and I don''t trust him, plain and simple.

    "You, on the other hand¡­"  I look Khysmet in the eye and square my jaw.  He''s watching me back with rapt attention

    "You," I say, "have been a complete dick hole to me the whole time I''ve known you."

    He looks unimpressed and tries to interrupt, but I talk over him.

    "But¡­" I say, "I haven''t met a single member of the castle staff that will say a single thing against you.  In fact, whenever I start complaining or bad-mouthing you, people rush unwaveringly to your defense.  And I know it''s not just because you''re the king, because they do not have the same reservations when it comes to talking about your father."

    Khysmet''s brow scrunches as though he wants to ask more about that, but he doesn''t.

    "Plus, you''re uncommonly generous to your people," I continue.  "I''m in the great hall every morning, and I''ve personally witnessed you being startlingly generous and kind on a regular basis.  It''s hard for me to reconcile with how much of a dick hole you are to me, actually."

    "What''s your point here?"

    "My point is this: Sulfeng has never spoken to me, therefore never been rude to me personally, whereas you are constantly harassing me.  However, judging by the opinions of the people you have power over, plus the actions I have personally witnessed you take, by my estimation, you are the better man.  To me, that''s more important than who I ''like'' or ''hate'' more.

    "So long as you remain the better man," I conclude, "you can rely on my support.  Guaranteed."

    Khysmet''s searching expression lingers on me for a long time.  Then, it gradually spreads into a shrewd smile.

    "I like that answer, Miss Catarina," he says.  He holds out a hand for me to shake, which I do, gripping it firmly.  He doesn''t try to tug me forward like he did last time, which I''m grateful for, even though I was tensed and ready for it this time.

    When I let go, he plants a hand on either thigh, then stands up out of his chair.

    "I''d like to head back to the library for what little time we have before dinner," he says.  "Come with me?

    "Sure," I reply and stand to follow.

    I feel triumphant.  I feel respected.  It''s a delicious sensation, and I am quietly reveling in it as I stick close behind Khysmet while he leads me out of the room.

    "So," he says, moving to unlock the door, "does that mean if you meet someone who is my moral equivalent, but they''re not ''a dick hole'' to you, that you''ll betray me in a heartbeat?"

    "I suppose so," I muse, "but you''ve got a significant head start in my personal moral evaluation that would take a lot to beat."

    The lock clicks, and he opens the door for me.

    "And you''re sure you can stay objective if my hypothetical counterpart simply treats you with basic dignity?" he teases.

    As I walk past him, I lean in close, blink up at him through my lashes, and speak in a smug purr.

    "I am not so easily swayed by honeyed words, your majesty."

    There''s a pregnant pause.  His eyes rove over me for a long moment, the expression behind them unreadable.  His posture is suddenly stiff, and I see his tail lashing out of the corner of my eye.

    He clears his throat thickly.

    "On second thought," he says, "I might stay and read in here.  Go find Rhys; I''ll let you go for the day."

    I cock my head quizzically, sensing a change in the atmosphere here.

    "You sure?" I ask.  "I could still keep you company here if you want."

    He takes a sharp breath in through his nose.  For the first time all afternoon ¨C maybe even in the whole time I''ve yet known him? ¨C he stops meeting my eyes.

    "Thank you, but there''s no need," he insists.  "I''ll see you in the morning."

    Still in the doorway, I stretch up on my toes a little and peer closer into his face, trying to move into his shifting line of sight.  He leans away from me and looks away more pointedly.  He''s acting very strange.

    "What''s wrong?" I demand.

    Suddenly I feel two hands, one on each of my shoulders, and Khysmet literally shoves me away from him and through the door frame into the hallway.  He keeps his grip on my shoulders firm and holds me at a distance, as though to make absolutely certain that I don''t try to come back in.

    "Nothing is wrong.  I''ll see you tomorrow."

    He says this definitively, then shuts the door in my face.

 Chapter 12

    I''m still a bit too chicken to try playing at dinner.  The prospect of a lot of drunk nobles lashing out at me is still one I''m not too keen on, even though in deference to my new role as castle narc, drunk people are more likely to blab about their illicit activities.  I''ll have to think of another way to initiate interactions with the ministers and nobility.

    My first idea is to wander the castle with my lute, waiting to encounter someone of some political standing so I can strike up a conversation with them, offering my musical services as pretext.  It would be a great way to practice getting talked down to without lashing out, while not being subject to a large group of people who hate me all at the same time.

    This has mixed results.  On one hand, I get talked down to a lot.  About one hundred percent of the time, actually.

    On the other hand, the conversations aren''t very long.  They only last as long as it takes for the person to give me a very disparaging "no", then walk away.  This isn''t much use if I need to practice my ability to suppress my emotions over time.  I''m getting nowhere with this tactic.

    I¡¯m laying on a couch in some drawing room complaining about this to Vizsla one day, watched by the ever-present Rhys standing in the corner, and she suggests something I hadn¡¯t thought of.

    ¡°Why not just play in the main dining hall at lunch?¡± she says.

    I break my staring match with the ceiling and look at her quizzically.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know the main dining hall gets any use at lunch,¡± I say.  ¡°Don¡¯t most people eat at different times in their rooms or offices, or in the smaller dining rooms?¡±

    ¡°A lot of people do, yes, but a modest spread gets put out in the dining hall every day, and a decent amount of people take their lunch there.  Not nearly as many compared to dinner, and they come and go between eleven and two.¡±

    I¡¯m fairly certain it¡¯s around three-thirty now, so it¡¯s too late to try today.  Khysmet had something to do that took him out of the castle this afternoon, so I¡¯m on my own for the rest of the afternoon and evening.  If I want to plan on trying it tomorrow, I should spend the rest of my time today making sure I have some of the new songs I¡¯ve learned down pat, because I know if some uppity aristocrat makes a specific request and I get even one line slightly wrong, I¡¯ll be mocked relentlessly.

    I sit up abruptly, making Vizsla jump a bit.

    ¡°Do you think,¡± I ask her, ¡°you could help me roleplay?  I would follow you around while you work and you would name songs for me to play, then belittle me if I fuck up.¡±

    Vizsla giggles.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I could be mean enough to make it feel real,¡± she says, ¡°but I¡¯ll try my best.¡±

    I run off to grab my lute.

    True to her word, her insults aren¡¯t very cutting.  They¡¯re too general; she mostly just tells me that I''m horribly untalented and makes some digs at my being human.  I¡¯ve heard the actual slights people make against me, and they¡¯re a lot more subtle and specific.  As much as I appreciate Vizsla¡¯s help, it¡¯s not going to prepare me for the real thing.

    I instead turn, eager and hopeful, to Rhys.  He is standing in the far corner, pointedly looking away because he already knows what¡¯s coming.  I approach him slowly with the biggest puppy dog eyes I can muster, getting as close as I can without causing him to run away.

    ¡°No,¡± he says before I¡¯ve said anything.

    ¡°Please?¡±

    "Absolutely not."

    It takes a lot of cajoling, but he reluctantly, yet inevitably, agrees to try and help.

    I start playing, mentally preparing for the verbal attack I have explicitly requested.

    But when I mess up the first time, he comes at me with an insult so specific and cruel, delivered with such derision that it makes me forget this is pretend.  I feel my heart jump into my throat and genuine tears beginning to bud in my eyes.

    ¡°Rhys, you¡­¡± I say, my voice cracking.  ¡°You don¡¯t really think that about me, do you?¡±

    ¡°What?!¡±  He physically recoils as though touched by a hot coal.  ¡°Of course n¨C You asked me to say it!¡±

    ¡°I know, it''s just¡­¡±  I shiver.  ¡°It felt so real.¡±

    ¡°I would never, ever say that, Miss Catarina, I swear!¡± he insists, gesturing emphatically.  ¡°I heard someone say it one time, and it stuck in my head because of how terrible it is, that¡¯s all!¡±

    I sigh in relief, then clutch my chest as my tears transform into those of joy.

    ¡°Rhys, that was incredible!¡± I say, voice thick with emotion.  ¡°Your delivery was filled with such passion and force.  You¡¯d be an amazing actor!¡±

    The gray scales on his face flush into a bright red and he turns his head away.

    ¡°I¡¯m just around the nobility a lot, so it¡¯s not hard to copy their mannerisms,¡± he mutters as explanation.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be so modest, Rhys, you¡¯ve got real talent!¡±

    He refuses to respond or even look in my direction.  Mentally, I¡¯m planning on introducing him to Suzanne next time the Warblers come back to Dimos, but I can sense that such an offer would be unwelcome right now, so I¡¯m not going to push the issue.

    ¡°Okay,¡± I say, rubbing my hands together, then picking up my lute.  ¡°Do it again just like that.  It caught me off guard last time, but I¡¯m ready for it now.¡±

    ¡°Fuck no.¡±

    I spend like fifteen minutes trying to convince him to fake-insult me again, but he won¡¯t budge.  Vizsla, whose jaw dropped at his initial fake insult and hung open for a full minute after, even helps try to talk him into it.  I¡¯m pretty sure any compliments on his acting ability end up taking us further away from the goal, so eventually we give up.

    Ultimately, I settle for just practicing the songs themselves.  I¡¯ll work on reacting to mean comments when I¡¯m in the actual trenches tomorrow.

    ******

    ¡°I¡¯m a little hurt that you didn¡¯t ask me to help you roleplay,¡± Khysmet says over breakfast the next morning.  "I can do a very convincing impression of cruel aristocracy."

    I snort.  "Impression?"

    I push the food on my plate around with my fork.  When I told Khysmet about my plans for lunch today, he was very supportive of the idea.  This, however, is too supportive.  The thought of him just openly insulting me, fake or not, makes me cringe.  The usual relentless teasing is bad enough as it is.

    "I promise I won''t mean it," he reassures me.  "I know you care deeply about my opinion of you."

    That makes me smirk.  It also reminds me that I do not, in fact, care about his opinion.  It was hard to hear it from Rhys, who I actually want to like me, but it actually probably wouldn¡¯t be so bad coming from Khysmet.

    I close my eyes and take a breath to help me get into character, sitting up straight, clasping my hands, and putting on a saccharine smile.  When I feel ready, I open my eyes and start the scene.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    ¡°Hello, sir,¡± I greet brightly.  ¡°Would you like to listen to some music while you eat today?¡±

    Khysmet is looking at me with amusement and flicking his tongue.

    ¡°Very well,¡± he says in a rather convincing bored drawl, ¡°but don¡¯t sing while you play.  I¡¯ve heard screaming cats with voices better than yours.¡±

    I¡¯m a little impressed.  That¡¯s definitely something I¡¯ve overheard in a hallway before, almost verbatim.  My grin does not falter, and I summon the spirit of vapid obsequiousness to respond.

    ¡°Of course, sir," I say as genuinely as possible, "I wouldn¡¯t want to disturb your meal in any way.  What would you like me to play?¡±

    Khysmet flinches and makes a face like he just tasted something horrible.

    ¡°What,¡± I say, ¡°no good?¡±

    He shakes his head emphatically.  "Way too convincing.  Definitely say that to the people you see at lunch, but never speak to me like that again."

    I grin.  Whatever I might think about Khysmet, at least he doesn''t want me to be a simpering yes-man.  He genuinely seems to appreciate my back-talk, which is perfect, since I delight in talking back.

    "How about this," I suggest, "you say something mean to me, and I''ll respond with what I would really say to that person if I could get away with it."

    "Sounds fun," he says, then he sits back in his chair and affects an air of faux scorn, waving his hand in exaggerated dismissiveness.

    "I''m amazed that you''re able to play your instrument effectively with those fat human fingers of yours."

    "My human pinky finger is twice as fat as your dick, dipshit, and you can''t do anything effectively with that."

    Khysmet chokes loudly.  He puts an elbow on the table and holds his head in his hand for a while.  I think I see him shake a little in silent laughter.  After a beat, he emerges more composed.

    "It''s a bit crude," he says, voice froggy, "but I''d pay good money to hear you say that to a couple of my more arrogant advisors."

    I make a request to leave the great hall fifteen minutes before eleven today, which he willingly grants, telling me to meet him in the library when I¡¯m done.  It gives me a chance to grab my lute and get in position, and also to compose myself.  I don¡¯t exactly know why I¡¯m so nervous about this.  It¡¯s not as though I¡¯ve never been insulted before.  I haven¡¯t been heckled that much on stage, but it has happened.  I''ve also had some encounters with exceptionally rude people in the street when we would be trying to drum up interest for a show.  It¡¯s unpleasant, but I know it¡¯s survivable.

    Perhaps it¡¯s because there¡¯s no one backing me up here.  I have lots of friends in the castle, but no one who could come to my defense without fear of excessive retribution.  I can¡¯t even come to my own defense.

    It occurs to me now that I should ask some of my friends in the castle staff what goes through their heads when they¡¯re talked down to, especially the attending servants who I know end up bearing the brunt of many nobles¡¯ wrath on a regular basis.  I feel insensitive for not thinking about this before now.  I can¡¯t believe I was asking Vizsla to roleplay scenarios with me before just asking how she personally handles the exact same situation, which I have no doubt she has many times before.  I¡¯ll apologize to her about it later.

    For now, I just take a deep breath and walk into the dining hall.

    There¡¯s a wide assortment of foods put out across several of the tables, but significantly less than there was at dinner the one time I went, where nearly every table was overflowing with platters, bowls, and pitchers.  There are proportionally fewer occupied seats as well, and the people are mostly separated into smaller groups.  For my purposes, it¡¯s an ideal situation.

    I¡¯m determined not to think too hard about it.  I pick the group closest to the door I just entered through, consisting of four women of various ages, and walk right up.

    One of them notices my approach and speaks up before I have a chance to say my opening line.

    ¡°Oh look, it¡¯s the king¡¯s little pet,¡± she remarks in an amicable tone that¡¯s at odds with her words.  ¡°Is there something you want, dear?¡±

    I put on my nicest, most innocent smile.  ¡°I was just wondering if you wanted to listen to any music while you eat, ma¡¯am.¡±

    The older woman to my right, who I recognize upon seeing her face as Lady Hoskhana, one of my more vocal detractors, scoffs derisively.

    ¡°I can¡¯t see why I should willingly choose to listen to the music of my people rendered so poorly by the incompetent, fleshy hands of a brainless ape,¡± she says haughtily.

    Yeah, that¡¯s pretty much what I expected.  Apparently, the fortunate thing about worrying about this all yesterday afternoon and this morning is that the real thing doesn¡¯t have the same impact as I thought it would.  I¡¯m about to bow out gracefully and try my luck elsewhere, when the first woman, to my surprise, speaks up.

    ¡°Oh she¡¯s not so bad,¡± she says.  ¡°I quite like her on the harp in the mornings.  Sometimes I go to the hall just to sit beside the windows and listen.¡±

    ¡°Th- Thank you, ma¡¯am,¡± I stutter with a slight bow.  ¡°I didn¡¯t realize that anyone besides his majesty liked my playing.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be silly, little pet,¡± says a third woman with a dismissive wave.  ¡°If your music was truly disliked, not even the king¡¯s favor would be enough to keep you around.¡±

    This is much better than I could have even hoped for.  I happily play a couple of their requests while they eat.  Hoskhana doesn¡¯t look at me or acknowledge me in any way the whole time, which is perfect.  In fact, I am mostly ignored except when they pick a new song.  I¡¯m not a fan of how they talk to me like I¡¯m a simple child, but since they¡¯re not deliberately mocking me about it, it¡¯s a bit easier to stomach.

    It¡¯s a good place to start, but if I¡¯m not feeling bothered and tested, then it¡¯s not good practice, is it?

    After a few songs, none of them has requested a new one.  I think they might have actually forgotten that I¡¯m here.  In this lull, I hear a male voice speak up from one table down.

    ¡°Hey, little mouse.  Over here.¡±

    I look in that direction and see, amidst a group of six men, one of them waving me over.  I bow to the folks at my current table and thank them for allowing me to play for them.  Not one of them even looks in my direction, so I take that to mean I¡¯m permitted to go.

    As I approach this new table, I have an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach.  The man who called me over is the only one even looking at me, the others talking amongst themselves, and there¡¯s a strange look in his eyes that I don¡¯t like.  He waits until I¡¯m right in front of him to speak up.

    ¡°Why haven¡¯t I seen you here at lunch before?¡± he demands.

    Cue my vapid smile.

    ¡°I wanted to learn a lot of Veilsung¡¯s music before playing at meals,¡± I say sweetly, ¡°and it took me a while to get a good repertoire.¡±

    ¡°Aww, how thoughtful of you, little mouse,¡± he says in a croon so sickly and simpering it makes goosebumps erupt on my skin.  ¡°Why don''t you sing Sons of the Desert for me, and we''ll see how well your ''repertoire'' is coming along."

    Aha.  Here it is ¨C a challenge.  The start of my real practice.  I can feel from the air quotes he put around "repertoire" that this man is going to push the limits of my resolve.

    I haven¡¯t even made it through the first verse before he interrupts.

    ¡°No, no, it¡¯s ¡®of all the seasons¡¯, not ¡®all of the seasons¡¯,¡± he says testily.  ¡°If you don''t know the lyrics to something, just say so, little mouse, so I can request something else."

    My hackles rise instantly.  I feel my left eye twitch.  Not because I''m being corrected so rudely, which is already irritating in and of itself, but because I said it right in the first place.  He either heard me wrong or he intentionally corrected me on a mistake I didn''t make.

    I can¡¯t say that, of course; I can¡¯t say anything against him at all.  That would defeat the purpose of the exercise.  So, I¡¯m going to grin and bear it.

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, sir,¡± I say, hoping he can¡¯t see how hard I¡¯m clenching my fist.  ¡°Thank you,¡± I get out with difficulty, ¡°for correcting my error.  Is there something else you would like to hear?¡±

    He proceeds to request three other songs, and he corrects me on a nonexistent mistake for every.  Single.  One.

    After the first time, the other men at the table start to snicker and add little comments when he interrupts me.

    I¡¯m beginning to hyperventilate with suppressed rage.  My eye won¡¯t stop twitching.  I¡¯m trying to say as little as possible so I don¡¯t have the opportunity to tell him that if he wants a song performed right, he should pull his head out of his ass and sing it himself.

    I have no doubt that he would just keep going, asking for song after song until the exercise starts to bore him, but I cut him off at four, giving the excuse that Khysmet requested my presence at a certain time, and I need to get going.

    ¡°I feel sorry for the king,¡± he muses before I can take my leave.  ¡°I don¡¯t know how he tolerates so much incompetence from someone with such a simple and pointless role.  When you see him, give him my sympathies.¡±

    I feel a vein pop in my forehead.

    ¡°Of course, sir, I¡¯ll be certain to relay your concerns in full.¡±

    I manage to walk out of the dining hall, but once in the hallway and out of sight, I break into a run.  I fly down the corridors and into my room to start beating the ever-living hell out of my pillows.  I scream and curse and pick up whatever unbreakable objects I can find and hurl them violently across the room.  I even pick a chair that looks like it has enough padding to survive the fall and flip it over with all my might.  When I¡¯m finished with my tantrum, I throw myself bodily onto the bed and lay there face down for a while, intermittently screaming.

    When I¡¯m all screamed out, I get up and start putting the room back in order.  I push the chair back up on its legs, pick up all the socks and towels from disparate corners of the room, and put everything back into place.  No matter how pissed I am, I¡¯m not going to make more work for Vizsla when she comes to tidy up.

    This isn¡¯t going to work.  I need to find a way to keep my anger in check.  Practice will help, but I¡¯m lacking any sort of strategy to even make it longer than a couple minutes.  Next chance I get, I¡¯m going to tour the whole castle asking every single member of the staff how they handle dealing with assholes day in and day out.  There must be someone with a method that will work for me.

    For now, though, I need to head to the library to meet Khysmet.

 Chapter 13

    Upon walking through the library door, I ignore the piano completely and walk directly to the couch nearest to Khysmet¡¯s chair and unceremoniously flop face down onto it.

    ¡°I take it your experiment didn¡¯t go well?¡± Khysmet says to the back of my head.

    Instead of answering, I just groan loudly for a few seconds.  He snickers, but doesn¡¯t ask any follow-up questions.

    When I¡¯m mentally ready, I turn my head to the side so I¡¯m not talking directly into the couch when I ask this question.

    ¡°Hey,¡± I say, ¡°you know the guy with the thin yellow stripes?  The little one, not the big gangly guy.  Really gravelly voice, wears a lot of rings.  You know the one?¡±

    Khysmet nods.  ¡°I know him.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s his name?¡±

    ¡°I believe it¡¯s Myron.  He¡¯s one of my ministers, in the department of commerce if I¡¯m not mistaken.  Why do you ask?¡±

    "It''ll make it easier to find his room so I can put itching powder on his pillows and sheets, hide all his soap, and glue all his left shoes to the floor."

    Khysmet closes his book and leans forward to better address me.

    "I thought you were going for a sort of unimpeachably innocent stupidity," he says.  "That would be missing the mark a bit, don''t you think?"

    I sigh deeply.  He¡¯s not wrong, of course.  No matter how much I¡¯d like to, I can¡¯t just go around committing acts of petty revenge on the whole castle.  That¡¯s hardly in the realm of exercising self-control.

    ¡°Khysmet,¡± I ask, ¡°what do you do to keep yourself calm when people are being assholes to you?¡±

    ¡°Easy,¡± he says, leaning back and steepling his fingers with a self-satisfied smile, ¡°I just remember that with one word I can crush them like an ant between my fingers in just about every conceivable way.  It helps to remind the assholes in question of this fact as well ¨C that generally makes them more agreeable.¡±

    I prop myself up on my elbows to more effectively give him the most withering and disgusted look my face is capable of making.

    ¡°Hey,¡± he says, ¡°you asked.¡±

    Rather than dignifying that with a response, I just flop my face straight back down onto the couch.

    ¡°I do have a request that could potentially prove of use to you and your vapidity practice,¡± he says.  ¡°It¡¯s a private dinner.  Just myself and a small handful of others.  They¡¯re all from out of town, so the stakes are lower since you won¡¯t need to worry about their sustained retribution should you slip up and cuss someone out.¡±

    I perk up a little.

    ¡°That sounds promising,¡± I say.  ¡°When is it?¡±

    ¡°Two nights from now.  I¡¯d like to temporarily move the harp to the dining room and have you play that.  You don¡¯t have to try and start conversation yourself, but I would be surprised if no one comes to talk to you.¡±

    ¡°Who are your guests going to be?¡±

    ¡°The Marquess of Gaulkhend and his wife, daughter, and two of his sons.¡±

    I hum thoughtfully.  ¡°Are you sure it¡¯s a good idea for me to be there?  This isn¡¯t an important dinner that I¡¯ll ruin if I lash out at someone?¡±

    ¡°Miss Catarina, if you ruin this dinner, I shall be overwhelmingly grateful to you,¡± Khysmet says.  ¡°The whole premise of this dinner is truly dreadful, and if it is cut short, I would be all the happier for it.¡±

    This really grabs my full attention.  I sit up and scootch to the edge of the couch eagerly.

    ¡°Dreadful how?¡±

    He smirks.  ¡°Focus on your anger management first.  I¡¯ll tell you more on the day of.¡±

    I pout dramatically and plead for even just a little hint, hoping in vain to sway him, but unsurprisingly, he doesn¡¯t budge.  Ultimately I give up and plod over to the piano, deciding to exercise my ¡°anger management¡± right now by only occasionally playing intentionally discordant notes to punish him for his reticence, relishing his every wince.

    ******

    By the time the dinner comes around, I have interrogated just about every member of the castle staff.

    Most are unhelpful to me.  There¡¯s a lot of advice about taking deep breaths and counting to ten, which is not useless per se, but certainly not enough to stem the full extent of my rage ¨C a fact that I know because it¡¯s something I¡¯ve already tried.

    The second most common technique is just to focus on the consequences of talking back, the punishments that might be incurred, even possibly getting kicked out onto the street.  This, ironically, has the opposite effect on me, spiking my anger to near-unprecedented levels on behalf of everyone on the staff, that this is something they have to face if they don¡¯t bow down to those who consider themselves above the common folk.  I need to go stand in a corner and count to ten while taking deep breaths to recover when someone gives me this advice.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Some people offer mantras to repeat in my head, or say to picture myself in a ¡°happy place¡± away from whoever is triggering my anger.  But the single most beneficial suggestion comes from a completely unexpected source, given the suggestion itself.

    ¡°I just picture myself committing unspeakable acts of violence on the person that¡¯s bothering me,¡± fifteen-year-old Cevine offers while sedately scrubbing some clothes in a wash bin.

    It takes me a minute to process her words, and even then I¡¯m still not sure I heard her right.  Whenever I¡¯ve spoken to Cevine ¨C who incidentally seems a lot happier ever since Sulfeng was arrested for embezzlement and she was assigned to general cleaning and upkeep ¨C I¡¯ve never gotten any hint that she might have some sort of violent streak.

    ¡°Unspeakable acts of violence¡­¡± I say.  ¡°Like what?¡±

    ¡°Oh you know,¡± she says mildly, ¡°like holding someone¡¯s head underwater until they drown, or pulling all of their teeth out with pliers.  Maybe taking a hammer to their kneecaps.  Things like that.¡±

    I close and open my mouth soundlessly for a couple minutes, totally unable to even begin to formulate a response to that.  Eventually I just settle with,

    ¡°And¡­ that works?¡±

    ¡°Oh yes,¡± she responds.  ¡°The trick is to picture it as clearly as possible, with as many details as you can, especially the different sensations.  The warm, tacky feeling of blood, the weight of the weapon in your hand, the gurgling choking sounds and the strain of your muscles as you try to keep someone from getting away.  Think about the coppery smell in the air¡­ maybe even the taste of it.¡±

    ¡°The taste of it?¡± I choke out.  ¡°What is it in your murder fantasies that you¡¯re tasting?¡±

    ¡°A couple times I pictured tearing Sulfeng¡¯s throat out with my teeth,¡± she says with a self-satisfied smile.

    I look at her with new eyes.  Mentally, I make a note to never, ever mess with Cevine.  Also possibly to never underestimate anyone ever again, because if Cevine is able to conceal a vicious streak so completely, literally anyone could.

    ¡°Where are you getting these ideas?¡± I ask her.

    ¡°I read a lot of mystery and thriller novels,¡± she says with a shrug.  ¡°Don¡¯t knock it till you try it.  I¡¯m telling you, it really helps.¡±

    It¡¯s the most unique suggestion anyone offers me, bar none, and the only one that I¡¯ve literally never even thought to try.  I internally vow to apply it at dinner that night.

    As for dinner that night, Khysmet waits until only a few hours beforehand to finally reward my patience.  I don¡¯t know what I expected when he referred to the premise as ¡°dreadful¡±, but it¡¯s much funnier than I could have hoped.

    ¡°You may have noticed,¡± he starts, ¡°that I do not currently have a spouse, nor any sort of progeny set to inherit the throne should I find myself prematurely deceased.¡±

    ¡°I had noticed that, yes,¡± I say, my interest piqued.

    ¡°You might also be aware,¡± he continues, ¡°that acquiring a spouse, then subsequently an heir or two, is in fact something that is expected of most nobility, a subset of the population among which I count myself.  And perhaps you also know that arranging marriages can be a way for leaders of different administrative regions to curry political favor and secure monetary and material support for themselves and their people.¡±

    I nod eagerly.  ¡°Yes, I am aware of all that.¡±

    ¡°Then it will not surprise you to learn that I frequently find myself prevailed upon to meet with the daughters of various nobles and entertain the notion of taking one of them as a wife.¡±

    A toothy grin splits my face.

    ¡°That¡¯s what this is about?¡± I ask.  ¡°You really call the prospect of talking to a woman who¡¯s interested in you ¡®dreadful¡¯?¡±

    He heaves an exasperated sigh.

    ¡°It¡¯s not that simple.  For one thing, most of them aren¡¯t interested in me ¨C they just want the title of Queen.  And the whole premise reduces all of them to nothing more than pawns for their parents to push around, which is inherently sickening to me.¡±

    I tilt my head in thought.  Honestly, that sentiment increases my estimation of him, that he doesn¡¯t want to be party to the use of women as material property to be exchanged.  I didn¡¯t have him pegged as a romantic type either.

    ¡°That makes sense,¡± I say, ¡°but you shouldn¡¯t just automatically reject these women before you even meet them.  You never know when you might encounter someone you actually like, even in a situation that stacks the odds against actual human connection.¡±

    He sighs again, displaying a level of wretchedness and self-pity I would not have thought him capable of before now.

    ¡°The kind of woman I¡¯m looking for would never even agree to participate in this whole charade.  And I can''t very well go around asking to meet with women who have expressly declared they don''t want to marry me, can I?" he laments, shaking his head miserably.  "I may yet die a bachelor.¡±

    I¡¯m trying very hard not to laugh.  Instead, I redirect to a different question.

    ¡°Who would become king then?¡± I ask.

    ¡°The throne would go to my brother, which I wouldn¡¯t have a single problem with.  He¡¯s a very reasonable and intelligent man whom I respect deeply, and he would make an excellent king.  He¡¯s got two very young heirs already, and a third on the way.  If I didn¡¯t know it would go to him and his, I might feel a bit more pressure to procreate.  As it is, I¡¯m holding on to the hope of marrying for love.¡±

    I fail to repress a snicker at the wistful tone in his voice.  He glares at me, but there¡¯s no heat behind it.  I kind of like this sappy romantic side to him.  It¡¯s unexpected and oddly endearing.

    ¡°So why do you want me here playing the harp?¡± I ask.  ¡°Not just to create a romantic mood, I take it?¡±

    ¡°Absolutely not,¡± he says emphatically.  ¡°I want you here playing on the harp so that I have something to listen to besides cloying small talk.  Also, as I mentioned earlier, I¡¯m holding out hope that you might lash out at one of these people, perhaps even ending the night early should you say something truly cutting.¡±

    I smirk.  ¡°I¡¯m still planning on trying to keep it under wraps, but you may end up getting your wish despite my best attempts.¡±

    He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, smiling as though lost in a pleasant reverie.

    ¡°If you do let your self-control slip,¡± he says, ¡°please, make it count.¡±

 Chapter 14

    My harp has been moved from the Great Hall into a drawing room that opens up into a modestly sized dining room, situated in a sort of medial area between the two.  I¡¯ve been considering it since Khysmet suggested this, and I think it might be better to get another harp for these sorts of occasions.  The amplified bass tones from the special resonator box on this harp might be a bit overpowering in this small of a space.  I¡¯ll have to be careful to keep my volume down, and remember to see if I can¡¯t convince his majesty to source me a new one for more intimate locations.

    Khysmet is waiting idly in the sitting area, facing the door, not talking to or even looking at me.  My function in tonight¡¯s dinner is a sort of ¡°to be heard but not seen¡± role, one that I''m happy to slip into.  I know he said I''ll probably be addressed at some point, but I''d prefer to stave off that moment as long as possible.  If someone comes through the door and I''m already talking, it would set the wrong precedent.  I pluck at the harp wordlessly while we wait.

    A servant who I recognize as Sahresh, the woman from my first day who, incidentally, still doesn''t seem to like me, walks through the door, leading in the five guests.  Khysmet rises to greet the Marquess and his family, and thus begins the hours of mindless small talk and idle chatter that will eventually threaten to make me fall asleep in my seat.

    I am blissfully ignored throughout dinner, which pleases me greatly.  I¡¯d much rather listen, though the quality of conversation is rather dry.  I must say, I immediately see what Khysmet meant when he called this a sickening charade.

    The Marquess is jocular and talkative from the get-go, and he wastes no time before starting to tirelessly plug the benefits of a union between his march and the royal family.  He goes on and on, and I personally find it quite impressive how he manages to never say even one sentence of any import.

    His wife is a more reserved woman, who spends most of the time commenting on the castle and its decor, often comparing it to their own estate.  From the way she talks, it sounds like she believes herself to be playing a perfect matchmaker, that she thinks herself to know Khysmet very well and is setting him up with her daughter based on their complementary personality traits.

    Their daughter, whose name is Keiya, is, on the surface, quite shy and deferential.  However, there''s a deliberateness in her words and mannerisms that gives me the impression that it''s at least partially a facade.  She seems eager to please, and she laughs a lot in a way that doesn''t ever feel entirely genuine.  The way she looks at Khysmet verges on what I would call simpering.  I can''t stop myself from thinking, Bad call, he doesn¡¯t like that.

    One of the sons, the one named Vespyn, creeps me the hell out.  He seems jovial and chatty like his father, but strikes me as¡­ slimier somehow.  He got the same fake laughter gene as his sister ¨C odd, since the Marquess himself has a very genuine and rich laugh.  There''s something about the way he phrases things that seems to constantly hint at double meanings, and he always sounds very smug about that.  I don''t trust him.

    The other son, Silas, is reticent throughout the whole meal, and when he does speak, he makes it crystal clear that he has no interest in conversation and does not want to be here.  He''s my favorite.

    Khysmet is perfectly polite and professional the whole time, through all the fake laughs, puffery, slimy comments, and general unpleasantness.  I think the best descriptor for his demeanor might be detached.  I recall what he said to me in the library earlier.  These people aren¡¯t exactly being assholes in so many words, but I still think he might be mentally picturing¡­ How did he phrase it?  ¡°Crushing them like ants between his fingers¡±?  Something like that.

    After dinner, they all migrate to the sitting area.  Most everyone finds a seat, but Vespyn stays standing, sort of roaming the room during conversation.  My shoulders start to tense up from nerves when I notice that he¡¯s gradually, but undeniably, wandering in my direction.  Of everyone here, I want to talk to him the least.  Fortune is not smiling upon me on this day.

    He meanders closer and closer.  Now he¡¯s moving more deliberately in my direction, and I can feel his eyes on me even though I¡¯m still staring at my own fingers.  Then suddenly, he¡¯s encroaching upon my personal space, standing right in front of me so I can¡¯t not look at him.  Unable to pretend I don¡¯t see him any longer, I meet his eyes and slip into character with a big, vapid smile.

    ¡°Hi,¡± he says in a low voice, splitting off from the rest of the conversation in the room to talk just to me.  ¡°I don¡¯t believe we¡¯ve met.  What¡¯s your name?¡±

    His voice is unpleasantly oily.  It¡¯s like having a room temperature stick of butter rubbed into my ears.  Somehow, I manage not to wince.

    ¡°It¡¯s Catarina, sir,¡± I reply.  ¡°Nice to meet you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard about you,¡± he says.  ¡°I heard that the king captured an uncommonly pretty little mouse that he lets scurry around in the castle.¡±  His tongue flicks out while he runs his eyes up and down my body.  ¡°The rumors don¡¯t do you justice.  You¡¯re quite beautiful.¡±

    Yuck.  I barely manage to suppress a repulsed shiver.  I wish I could tell him to go jump off a bridge and do the world a favor.  Unfortunately, I realize with a sinking feeling in my gut, the role I¡¯m playing demands the exact opposite response.

    ¡°Thank you, sir,¡± I say, obsequious as can be.

    He¡¯s leaning so close, and he¡¯s not keeping his eyes to himself at all.  I¡¯ve been leered at before ¨C it probably happens every morning in the Great Hall without my knowing, in fact.  It certainly happened regularly while I was with the Warblers, but back then, I was allowed ¨C even encouraged ¨C to retaliate.  I can¡¯t splash a drink or pull a knife on this guy, though.

    Vespyn cocks his head to the side and hums down at me appreciatively.

    ¡°I bet his majesty keeps you on a tight leash, hmm?¡± he says in a slick purr.  ¡°I know I would.¡±

    At this comment, I feel my anger rising up past my disgust.  I know the whole pet analogy is not inapt, but it¡¯s getting very old.  I certainly don¡¯t want to hear about what this creep would do if he ¡°owned¡± me.  My blood starts to boil, and I can tell now, with absolute certainty, that if this guy keeps going in the direction he¡¯s headed in now, I¡¯m going to explode at him.  It¡¯s completely inevitable.  The trajectory of my rage is stretching before me in a perfect arc that I can do nothing to stop.

    Then I remember Cevine¡¯s advice.  A ray of hope, in my hour of need.  I cling to it like a lifeline with everything I have.

    The time has come to choose violence.

    I look at the Sungian in front of me with new eyes, taking him in, sizing him up.  What pain should I inflict upon him first?  I think that most of all, I would like to take out his beady yellow eyes, so he can¡¯t rub them all over me, or anyone else, anymore.

    As clearly as I can, I envision reaching up to his face and holding it between my palms.  Then, I mentally take both my thumbs and push them, slowly and deliberately, into his eyeballs.  I can feel the wet, goopy texture of his eyes mash around my thumbs, getting under the nail, then see the tears and gore start to stream down his cheeks.  He tries to thrash his head around, but I have it firmly held in my palms.  I can picture his scream with such perfect clarity that I can hear it clash discordantly with the music coming from my harp right now.

    Immediately, I feel my anger ebb, receding away like the tide.

    I blink.  His eyes are back to normal, and I can¡¯t hear his screams anymore, but the odd center of calm remains.  I feel¡­ peaceful.  Serene.  Untouchable.  It¡¯s like his creepy little leer is sliding right off of me.  I¡¯ve been holding a tense grin since the start of my silent reverie, but now it¡¯s relaxed into a real one.  I heave a small, contented sigh, and let go of all the tension in my body all at once.

    Vespyn doesn¡¯t seem to have noticed my lapse in attention, nor does he seem to care that I didn¡¯t respond to his previous statement.  He starts running a languid finger along the curve of my harp.

    ¡°You¡¯re pretty good on this thing,¡± he remarks.  His tongue flicks out again.  ¡°I wonder if he¡¯d let me borrow you to come ¡®play music¡¯ for me for a while.¡±

    I don¡¯t really care for his insinuation that I¡¯m doing anything besides playing music for Khysmet.  I know it¡¯s a common rumor believed by many members of the court, but as of now, I can say definitively that I hate it more when it¡¯s thrown right in my face.  I feel my anger rising again.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    This time, I reach out when he¡¯s flicking out his tongue and grab it with one hand, then take a knife and slice it clean off.  It¡¯s wet and writhing even after I remove it.  He falls to his knees, pawing at his mouth with his hands, blood and spit dribbling down between his fingers.

    I draw my lips into a pout, affecting some faux insecurity.  I flutter my eyelashes vapidly and look up at him.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, sir,¡± I say as though I¡¯m really not sure of the answer to his question.  ¡°You¡¯d have to ask him.¡±

    He leans in closer than ever, coming up right in front of my face now.

    ¡°You look nervous, little mouse,¡± he purrs.  ¡°Am I scaring you?¡±

    I stab him in the neck, and his blood gushes hot and wet into my lap.

    ¡°No, sir,¡± I say.  ¡°I¡¯m not scared.¡±

    He reaches out and takes a lock of my hair between his fingers, rubbing it gently.

    ¡°You should be,¡± he whispers.

    I pull his intestines out with my bare hands and¨C

    Suddenly, a voice rings out and cuts my daydream to ribbons.

    ¡°I¡¯ll thank you,¡± Khysmet says, ¡°not to harass my harpist.¡±

    He doesn¡¯t speak very loudly, just loudly enough to jolt Vespyn out of his creepy little intimidation attempt.  Vespyn reluctantly lets go of my hair and straightens up.  He doesn¡¯t move any further away, though.

    ¡°My apologies, your majesty,¡± he says, oily as can be.  ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to encroach upon your property.¡±

    I can see better when Vespyn moves out of my face.  Khysmet has risen out of his chair and is standing in an authoritative pose, glaring icy daggers at him.

    "Why don¡¯t you take a seat, Vespyn," he says.  "It''s rude to mill about the room."

    Vespyn¡¯s tail lashes viciously, almost striking me.

    "It''s rude to drag your little toy into this meeting,¡± he hisses.  ¡°Surely you can only have done so to make a mockery of us.¡±

    Khysmet¡¯s eyes narrow.  I can feel his aura of authority seeping out and saturating the atmosphere.  It¡¯s suffocating even though I¡¯m not on the receiving end of it.

    ¡°Sit. Down.¡±

    His words are quiet, but the command has an air of total finality to it, like there¡¯s no other option available but to follow it. There is no threat of what might happen if the command is not followed, because there is no if.  Resistance is pointless and submission is inevitable.  I have heard this tone before, but this is dialed up to an unprecedented level.

    Vespyn stays standing for an unusually long amount of time, longer than I would have thought him capable of.  But eventually, inevitably, he submits.  He walks away from me over to the furthest possible chair, and takes a seat.

    As one might expect, conversation after this altercation is extremely painful and stilted.  I play very quietly, but I keep playing, because stopping and sitting in silence would be so much worse.  They don''t stay for much longer.

    Sahresh comes back to escort them out of the room.  After everyone is gone, Khysmet walks to the door, closes it, and stays there in front of it with his back to me.  I can see his shoulders heave with deep, ragged breaths.  He''s silent for a long time.

    Eventually I can''t take the silence anymore.

    "Um¡­ Khysmet?" I say hesitantly.

    He flinches when I speak.  Then he turns around and walks straight for me with purposeful strides until he''s right in front of me, only inches away.  Then, in a move I am completely unprepared for, he grabs my chin in his smooth, dry hand and starts turning my face left and right, up and down, examining me closely.

    "He didn''t hurt you, did he?" he asks urgently, flicking his tongue.  He brushes my hair out of my face to get a better look at my forehead.  Then he tilts my chin upward to examine my throat and neck.

    "No, he only touched my hair," I say.  My face is heating up under his close examination.  His touch is almost perfunctory, even clinical, but there''s a tenderness to it as well.  It''s unexpectedly soothing, but at the same time titillating.  He¡¯s so close that I can smell the heady scent of bergamot and mahogany rolling off his body.  My chest keeps getting tighter the longer his touch lingers.

    Eventually, he seems satisfied and releases me, though he hovers close and still looks at me like he thinks he may have missed something.

    "I was worried he might have scratched you," Khysmet says.  "I know human skin is fragile, and I thought he might have gotten you with his claws even unintentionally."

    "No, I''m fine," I insist.

    He sighs deeply, but there¡¯s still a lot of tension in his body, a tightness around his eyes and mouth.  He looks at me with a level gaze.

    "What did he say to you?" he asks gravely.

    "Oh, he was just being a general creep, is all,¡± I say with a nonchalant shrug and a grimace.  ¡°Calling me your pet and saying he''d like to put me on a leash.  Stuff like that."

    To me, this is not that big of a deal.  I¡¯ve heard much worse than that before in much scarier situations.  Here at least I knew for a fact that I wasn¡¯t in any danger.  What could he possibly have done in a brightly lit room full of other people, including his parents and Khysmet, who I know would have him kicked out on his ass in a second flat if he actually tried to hurt me?

    Khysmet, on the other hand, does not seem to see it that way.  He says absolutely nothing, and his expression is a mask of icy anger like nothing I¡¯ve seen on him before.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see his tail lashing furiously back and forth.  I want to say something to lighten the mood, to let him know it¡¯s not as big of a deal as he thinks and everything is fine.

    "Hey, I did a great job not lashing out, though," I say proudly.  "Didn¡¯t break character once!  You would have been so impressed."

    He exhales a breath shaky with anger and shakes his head.

    "I wish you had lashed out,¡± he says.  ¡°He certainly deserved it.¡±

    Then Khysmet turns his head and looks into the distance somewhere to my left, as though staring down an imaginary adversary.

    ¡°I almost killed that slimy bastard in cold blood,¡± he spits viciously.

    His voice holds a vitriol that curdles the air like acid, and I''m blown away by the bloodthirsty ferocity in his words.  The way he said it, and the look in his eyes when he did, gives me the distinct impression that it''s not an exaggeration, not hyperbole.  He was genuinely homicidal.

    I feel a chill run down my spine.  I¡¯ve never seen him like this.  I¡¯ve never seen him truly angry.  Rage is radiating off his body in waves; the air crackles with it.

    Khysmet starts pacing the room, lost in his thoughts.

    "As it stands now,¡± he says in a cruel mutter mostly to himself, ¡°I''ll see to it that his life from this point forward is a long, miserable slide into abject poverty and perpetual agony.  He''s made a very unwise decision today, and a very poor choice in an enemy."

    My blood runs cold.  Not because of the sentiment, but because I know that he has every ounce of power necessary to make good on those words.  But would he actually go through with it?  Something in his eyes, set in a face that is a mask of rage, tells me that he¡¯s planning it out right now.

    I¡¯m no stranger to anger.  But mine tends to be hot and bubbling, passionate, acute.  I get mad, leave the source of my rage, go throw some things around, and I¡¯m generally okay.  Yes, I¡¯m an angry person, but it doesn¡¯t stick around very long.  Before long, I settle down and cool off, so long as I¡¯m removed from the cause of my irritation.

    I get the feeling that Khysmet is not the same way.  He¡¯s not going to explode at someone and walk away to settle down.  As I watch him pace the room muttering to himself, he strikes me as someone who believes in the old adage ¡°revenge is a dish best served cold¡±.  I wonder how many grudges he¡¯s holding right now, with Vespyn being the most recently added to the list.

    I can¡¯t help but feel like his revenge plan is a way-over-the-top reaction to somebody being creepy to me, though.  But there¡¯s no way in hell that I¡¯m going to say that to him.

    He happens to glance over in my direction in his pacing, and stops in his tracks, seemingly just now remembering that I¡¯m in the room.  He again heads in my direction with purposeful strides, though he stops before getting too close this time, seemingly hesitating.  There¡¯s a look in his eyes that I can¡¯t quite read.

    ¡°It¡¯s getting a bit late, Miss Catarina,¡± he says, voice thick with an emotion I can¡¯t place.  ¡°Why don¡¯t you head to bed?¡±

    I furrow my brow, a little worried about him.  ¡°You sure you don¡¯t want company for a little longer?¡±

    He chuckles dryly and a pained expression flashes across his face.  ¡°I¡¯m afraid you wouldn¡¯t find my company very pleasant at the moment.  I insist you take off for the night.¡±

    I blink up at him a couple times, then nod.  I stand up and head for the door, but pause for a second when I get there.  I turn around and look back at him.

    ¡°Good night, Khysmet,¡± I say.

    Some of the tension on his face softens, and he gives me a small smile when he responds.

    ¡°Good night, Miss Catarina,¡± he says.  ¡°Sleep well.¡±

    Then I open the door and walk through it, leaving him behind to pace and brood in solitude.

 Chapter 15

    For the next few weeks, I focus on playing my lute daily at lunch with wild success.  Envisioning visceral murder is taking me far.  It brings me to an interesting headspace wherein everything seems to melt away, and I¡¯m sort of floating dreamily through incendiary conversations.  It definitely makes me seem dumb, vapid, and innocent, which is quite funny given the thoughts that are really running through my head.

    I end up having to ask Cevine for novel recommendations, because I can only be so creative when it comes to making up torture methods.  I can tell it¡¯s going to start getting repetitive at some point.  The books she suggests are really dark, and they are chock full of ideas.  My mental library of violence is very well enriched.

    Lunches may be successful for me in the sense that I¡¯m getting good acting practice, but I¡¯m just not overhearing anything worthwhile. And I haven¡¯t heard anything besides gossip in the great hall since the matter with Sulfeng.  I just know that dinners are where I¡¯m going to be able to pick up something good, but I¡¯m still hesitant to put myself in that situation, especially not after the altercation with Vespyn.  Even at lunch where I¡¯m not getting ganged up on as much as I would at dinner, people are still often cruel.  I thank the gods that Khysmet isn¡¯t there to witness it, since he¡¯s always at his meetings.  That wouldn¡¯t be the case at dinner, though; he¡¯d be there through the whole thing.  It''s just not practical to give him a reason to want to assault every other person in his court.

    So for now, I¡¯m waiting in limbo, just practicing my acting abilities, distributing gossip through the castle staff, and doing whatever Khysmet wants me to do on any given day.

    It¡¯s been three weeks of limbo so far, and I¡¯m waiting outside his meeting room.  He¡¯s out late today.

    When he does open the door and come up to greet me, he looks uncommonly chipper.  It makes me nervous.

    ¡°I have," he says, tapping his fingers together eagerly, "an exciting proposition for you, Miss Catarina.¡±

    ¡°Oh boy," I say with maximal sarcasm.  "I am quivering in anticipation already.  Do tell.¡±

    He starts walking down the hall and I follow.  No clue where we''re going today, but he clearly wants me to come with.

    ¡°Before I tell you anything," he says, "your participation in this proposition is entirely contingent upon your answer to my next question.¡±

    ¡°Okay, what''s the question?¡±

    ¡°I overheard an interesting snippet of conversation in the dining hall the other day," he says innocuously.  "It was between two servants, and they were talking about a person whose name I¡¯ve never heard before.  Somebody named Cat?¡±

    A jolt goes through my body.  Some part of me knew that this conversation would happen eventually, but I had been holding onto hope that it might not come for a long time yet.  Given how many members of the serving staff told me they didn''t feel comfortable calling me Cat except in private, I thought they would keep it under wraps among members of the court.  I should have known that with dozens of people calling me Cat regularly, one would slip up sooner than later.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t think much of it," Khysmet continues.  "It¡¯s a name I haven¡¯t heard before, an odd one for someone from Veilsung.  But I can¡¯t possibly know everyone in the castle, can I?  It''s not that strange that I didn¡¯t know one name out of hundreds.  However, one of the servants mentioned something very specific about this Cat person that really stuck out to me.  She mentioned being asked by her to acquire a certain kind of paste for fixing stiff lute pegs...¡±

    My forehead is getting sweaty, and my knees are starting to feel weak.  I wonder what the chances are that I could just slip away without him noticing.  Probably quite low.

    ¡°Catarina¡­" Khysmet says like a parent about to scold an unruly child.  "Do you have a nickname that I don¡¯t know about?¡±

    I take a deep breath through my nose, in and out.

    "Yes," I admit.  "I do."

    A sly smile spreads across his face.  He flicks his tongue.

    ¡°So," he says eagerly, "can I call you Cat, then?¡±

    ¡°No," I say immediately.

    His face falls into a sullen pout.

    "I- I like hearing you call me ''Miss Catarina''," I stutter, fidgeting.

    I don''t know how to explain why I do, but I really do.  I''d prefer he not know how much though.  Fortunately, he doesn¡¯t seem to pick up on my slightly flustered tone.

    Khysmet sighs dramatically.  ¡°How disappointing," he laments.  "I thought we had become such good friends.  Well, since we¡¯re not good friends, I suppose you don''t get to participate in my exciting proposition."

    I snort.  "I think I''ll live."

    "Well since you''re begging," he says, "I''ll at least tell you about it.  There''s a big sporting event taking place in Dimos tomorrow that I am expected to attend.  Normally, it''s boring as hell, and I have to stay the whole day.  I was thinking that this year, I could bring you along so I have someone halfway interesting to talk to."

    "Well golly, you make it sound so fun,¡± I say sarcastically.  ¡°How will I survive not being invited to this boring-as-hell event?"

    "Fine,¡± he concedes, ¡°you don''t have to let me use your cute little nickname.  I''ll let you come anyway."

    I stop in my tracks and cross my arms.  Khysmet keeps going a few steps before realizing I''m not next to him, then stops himself and turns around to face back at me.  He looks at me expectantly.

    "You say you¡¯ll ¡®let¡¯ me come¡­" I say hesitantly.  "Meaning that I have a choice?"

    I already know the answer to this question, but I want to hear him say it.

    He smiles darkly and flicks his tongue.  Then he closes the distance between us, coming to stand in front of me.  He pats me on the head.

    "Be sure to wear comfortable clothes," he says.  "It gets hot being outside all day."

    ******

    The event starts early in the morning, so Vizsla wakes me up at the crack of dawn.  I insist on choosing a dress that doesn¡¯t have anything that cinches tight against my body.  It¡¯s hot enough inside the castle where the sun isn¡¯t beating down constantly.  I need my skin to be able to breathe as much as possible.

    After pondering it for a while, I decided it is a good call to wear my thigh holster so I can bring my knife.  I¡¯ve always kept a knife on me when wandering through town ¨C any town.  You never know what might happen.  Even though I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll be surrounded by guards the whole time today, I¡¯d rather have some backup.  It always feels reassuring to have the leather against my leg.  I¡¯ve kept it sharp since I started occasionally going out into Dimos with my friends, since I¡¯m not sure how well it can cut through snake scales.  Hopefully I won¡¯t have to figure out whether or not it¡¯s up to snuff.

    The arena isn¡¯t terribly far from the castle.  It¡¯s carved out of the side of the mountain like a big scoop was taken out of the earth.  On three sides, the central clearing is surrounded by tiered seats, making a big U shape, and the fourth side opens out where the edge of the clearing starts curving down the mountain again.  Under and behind the seating areas, there is a network of cavernous rooms, some that fill with street vendors of all kinds, and some for the athletes and other performers to congregate and prepare to enter the arena.

    I¡¯m enamored with the architecture.  I wish I could just run around through all the underground areas and explore.  I wonder what happens in this space when there¡¯s no events going on.  What are the odds that I could sneak in and just wander through the empty rooms and check everything out?  Probably not very high.

    Khysmet has to sit up in this boxed-in area on the south side of the U shape, not too high and not too low, the place from which he shouts out the opening remarks at the very beginning of the event and will eventually shout the closing remarks at the end.  Nothing much for him to do in the middle.  It¡¯s got a perfect view of the clearing, but is totally cut off from all the other people in the stands.  I kind of hate it.  Isn¡¯t the point of public events to get together with your friends and a bunch of strangers and experience the shared joy of pointless entertainment?

    I express this sentiment to Khysmet, and he nods sagely.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Yes, that would be why I find it to be so horrendously boring each year.  Occasionally, some of my advisors will drop by here and there, but most are not terribly good conversationalists.¡±

    ¡°What makes you so sure I¡¯ll be any better of a conversationalist?¡±

    ¡°Miss Catarina, the bar is so low, it¡¯s subterranean.  If you make a single statement relevant to what¡¯s actually taking place on the field, you¡¯ll be doing better than most of them.¡±

    I hum thoughtfully.  ¡°What sort of sports are involved in this event, anyway?  Anything good?¡±

    ¡°Quite a few contests of strength and accuracy, which I don¡¯t personally find to be that interesting.  What¡¯s the appeal in watching someone throw a large rock a short distance?  I just don¡¯t get it.  The duels and hand-to-hand combat, however, are quite fun to watch.¡±

    I haven¡¯t been to many sporting events.  I¡¯m usually the one putting on the entertainment, not watching it.  From the start, I¡¯m at the edge of my seat.

    Khysmet called the feats of strength uninteresting, but the things these people are throwing around are bigger and heavier-looking than I was expecting.  The hammer throw specifically scares the shit out of me.  People are getting real air with that thing, and I¡¯m convinced one of them is going to slip and let it go in the wrong direction and take me out.  I hide behind Khysmet during that whole event, much to his amusement.

    After the regular archery competition, they do a trick archery demonstration, and it¡¯s the most entertaining thing I¡¯ve ever seen in my goddamn life.  I¡¯m leaping out of my seat in excitement every three minutes.  They¡¯re running and jumping around doing flips and firing three arrows one after the other so fast I can barely see it, all with perfect accuracy.  When the demonstration is over, I loudly lament the fact and sit and pout for the next few competitions.

    The combat isn¡¯t as amazing as the trick archery, but it is still extremely entertaining.  Partly because Khysmet gets more animated during those events.  He has a lot to say about each combatant¡¯s technique, and he even starts waxing poetic about intricate strategies and understanding one¡¯s opponent.  It''s kind of cute how earnest he is about it.

    At one point, when the participants of a duel get close to our side of the field, I notice something strange.

    They¡¯re circling each other waiting for an opening, then the one facing my direction opens his mouth to hiss and two massive fangs emerge from the roof of his mouth.  It almost makes me jump.  I always wondered why none of the serpent folk I¡¯ve met seem to have fangs like regular snakes, but at some point, I stopped questioning it.  I¡¯m questioning it now, though.

    ¡°Hey, Khysmet?¡± I ask.  ¡°Do all Sungians have fangs?¡±

    He chuckles.  ¡°Yes, Catarina, we all do.¡±

    ¡°So¡­ why haven¡¯t I ever seen anyone else¡¯s fangs before right now?¡±

    He laughs more.  Like what I¡¯m asking is much funnier than I realize.  I¡¯m a little scared to know why that is.  I turn to give my full attention to him, fully ignoring what¡¯s happening in the arena, because my curiosity on this subject is intensifying very quickly.

    ¡°Well,¡± he says, ¡°for one, they¡¯re retractable.  For another, there¡¯s just not a lot of use for them in polite society.  They¡¯re only really used for posturing.  Like in fights, or¡­ similar activities.¡±

    I¡¯m leaning in with rapt attention.

    ¡°Do you have venom?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Yes, we do have a sort of venom.¡±

    My eyes widen.  ¡°So if you bit me, would I die without an antidote?¡±

    He¡¯s holding in laughter so intensely, he can¡¯t even meet my gaze.

    ¡°If I bit you,¡± he reassures me, ¡°you would be in no immediate danger.  Evolution curbed most of the negative effects of our venom.  As it is now, it has¡­different uses.¡±

    ¡°Different uses?  Like for potion making?  What does it do?¡±

    Khysmet sucks a deep, centering breath in through his nose, then looks at me square in the eyes.

    ¡°It¡¯s an aphrodisiac, Cat.¡±

    I blink.  Then blink again.  ¡°It¡¯s what?¡±

    ¡°It heightens the senses for a brief period of time.  The only time we really bite each other is during sex.  The worst it can do is give you a slight headache when you come down.¡±

    I scoff.  No.  That''s not possible.  He has to be messing with me.  There''s no possible way that Sungians run around biting each other on the dick.  Of all the bullshit things he could possibly tell me, this is the absolute least believable.

    "There''s no way that''s true," I say.

    "It''s true.  I swear to you."

    "I don''t believe you."

    He smirks and gently takes me by the hand, pulling my arm out straight toward his face.

    "Care for a demonstration?" he offers suggestively.  Then he opens his mouth and extends his fangs inches from my skin.  "It''s your first time, so I promise I''ll be gentle."

    Every nerve in my body kicks into overdrive.  My face heats up instantaneously.  That should NOT be hot.  That should be absolutely terrifying.  So why is it that when his fangs slide out, every single muscle in my lower abdomen clenches at once?  There may be something deeply wrong with me.

    As much as I want to sit here bug-eyed and confusingly aroused, I tug my hand away from his grip, and he lets me go, retracting his fangs and flicking his tongue.

    "I still don''t believe you," I accuse, rubbing my recovered wrist.  "You''re just trying to poison me."

    He gives me a positively withering look.

    "Yes, that would make the most sense, wouldn''t it?" he says.  "That I want to kill you right here in public, as a joke."

    I purse my lips, mad that he''s right ¨C it really doesn''t make any sense.  I''m not going to back down, though.

    "I''m not letting you bite me until I''ve checked with a third party that you''re not messing with me," I say definitively.

    He lights up.  "So you''re saying when someone else confirms this information, you will let me bite you?"

    "Th- That is not what I said!"

    "I''m not hearing a ''no''," he says in a sing-song voice.

    "This conversation is over."

    By some miracle, he actually does let it go, though he acts exceptionally pleased with himself the rest of the day.  That little conversation makes the rest of the combat somewhat hard to watch, though, since on the occasions that I catch a glimpse of someone baring their fangs at their opponent, a tiny jolt goes through me as I relive my moment of weakness.  Sometimes I glance at Khysmet during those times to find him watching me instead of the fight and flicking his tongue.

    It¡¯s a long, hot day, and toward the end, maybe an hour or so before sunset, I find myself getting antsy in my seat.  People have been bringing us refreshments during the day, which has been great and all, but I really wanted to check out the public vendor stalls inside the caverns.  I want to get up and walk around and explore and talk to people.  I express this urge to Khysmet and, predictably, he is not super stoked about the idea.

    "The arena is packed today," he says, brow furrowed.  "It will be extremely chaotic around all the vendors, especially since it''s right around dinner time."

    I shrug.  "So I''ll take a guard.  It''ll be fine."

    "I don''t like it.  I''d rather you stay close by."

    I can tell right away from his tone that he actually doesn''t want me going, as opposed to his usual attempts to arbitrarily bother and tease me into submission.  Being obstinate won¡¯t get me anywhere here.  I have to bring out the big guns.  I cross my forearms on the arm of his chair and lean in, blinking up through my lashes.

    "Please?" I beg.  ¡°I¡¯ve been sitting around all day, and I just really need to stretch my legs.  I¡¯ll be quick, I promise.  Please?¡±

    I can see on his face plain as day the exact second that his resolve crumbles away like a pillar of sand.  I never beg.  Not to him anyway.  It¡¯s even more effective than I thought it would be.  To my surprise, his face even starts to take on a slightly pink hue.  Now that¡¯s interesting¡­  I lean in more for a closer look.

    He takes a hand and puts it over my whole face and gently but firmly pushes it away.

    ¡°Ack!¡± I choke.

    ¡°Fine,¡± he says.  ¡°You can go for fifteen minutes.  But after that, I¡¯m coming after you and you will not enjoy what happens when I find you.¡±

    I grin toothily, then get up and find a guard to accompany me.  Rhys isn¡¯t here sadly, but I¡¯m sure I can manage with someone else.  I pick a man who I recognize, named Omagh.  He¡¯s been more talkative with me than most of the other guards.  I ask him to come with me and then lead him through the door out of the boxed area we¡¯re in.

    On the way in, I¡¯m pretty sure I saw a sign directing the way to the vendor stalls, so I retrace my steps to that, Omagh hot on my heels.  Sure enough, I come across the sign again after only a minute or so of walking through hallways and down stairs, and I excitedly follow the direction the arrow is pointing.

    In the span of seconds, we go from having no one else around to being enveloped in a throng of Sungian bodies, all packed into a huge room that stretches a long ways in both directions.  I even see some humans, elves, and other races dotted amongst the crowd.  When I look up at the ceiling, I can see it curve around in the distance.  There are a couple guards in front of the opening we just walked through that leads back to the isolated hallways.  I make a note of where it is relative to the designs on the wall and ceiling, and of the stalls closest to it.  It won¡¯t be hard to find again, even through the crowd.

    I wander from vendor to vendor, watching them cook and perusing their wares.  Most of the stalls are selling food, but there are a lot of them that sell little trinkets, and I¡¯m enamored with the variety of bits and bobs available.  I run through my allotted time very quickly, according to the big clock high up on one of the walls, and I¡¯m thinking about how irritating that is, when I turn around to look for Omagh and find he isn¡¯t there.

    I sigh.  We must have gotten separated at some point.  I¡¯m a couple inches shorter than the average Sungian, so I think he might have a hard time finding me again if I don¡¯t find some high ground.  I notice that there are some benches along the edge of the long room, so I decide to go stand on an empty one and make myself more visible.

    I climb up and peer over the crowd.  Omagh is bright green, so hopefully that makes him slightly easier to spot, though it¡¯s not an uncommon color for Sungians.  I¡¯m only looking for a minute or so before I decide it would be better to just go back to Khysmet without him.  I¡¯d rather be on time and get shouted at for losing my guard than have to deal with the consequences of being late, whatever they might be.

    I hop down and move to rejoin the crowd, but before I take more than a step forward, I feel a hand wrap around my upper arm.

 Chapter 16

    The hand tugs hard, and I nearly lose my balance, but manage to stay on my feet somehow.  I turn to face the man attached to it.  He¡¯s big.  And, based on the strong smell of alcohol coming from him, pretty drunk.  I go to tug my arm away gently, but he holds fast.  I¡¯m not going to be intimidated yet, though.

    ¡°Do you need anything, Mister¡­?¡±

    He ignores my request for his name.

    ¡°You look lost, little mouse,¡± he says in a deep voice.

    What¡¯s with the ¡°little mouse¡± thing?  Every damn time someone wants to be a creep, that¡¯s what they call me.  Is it a cultural trend?  Is that what Sungians call all mammalian races?  The lack of originality amongst creeps is invariably disappointing.

    ¡°I¡¯m not lost,¡± I say, ¡°I¡¯m meeting my friends at this bench.  They¡¯ll be here any minute.¡±

    He gives me a sickening grin.  ¡°Will they now?  That¡¯s too bad.  They¡¯ll be disappointed when they can¡¯t find you here.  You¡¯ll be coming with me instead.¡±

    He tugs on my arm again and starts pulling me away from the bench, sticking close to the wall.

    My mind kicks into overdrive.  Okay.  I know I won¡¯t be able to get away from him right now.  He¡¯s expecting me to put up a fight, so he¡¯ll be prepared for it.  If I try to struggle now, all that will do is give him information on the amount of force necessary to restrain me.  Not struggling might raise some red flags, though, so I put only a fraction of my strength into getting away, making sure not to tip my hand.  If he underestimates me, it will be easier to find a window of escape.  And I know enough about the superiority complexes of Sungian creeps to know that he will definitely underestimate me.

    He¡¯s big, and he¡¯s drunk, which means he¡¯ll likely be slower than me and definitely more clumsy.  The arm he has a hold on now is on the same side of my body that my knife is on, so it will be hard to draw it right now.  If I try, he would probably notice and put me in a more troubling hold.  Best to let him lead me wherever he¡¯s going.  I know better than to shout for help, too.  In a crowd this size, it would just be drowned out immediately and have no other effect than to agitate this man more.  There¡¯s a chance someone would hear and come to my rescue, but that chance is very small.

    There¡¯s one thing that really worries me, and that is the fact that he has claws, and I don¡¯t.  This puts me at a significant disadvantage.  The likelihood of me getting out of this situation unharmed is slim to none.  If I¡¯m careful about how I take him on, I can hopefully manage to mitigate some of the damage.  I¡¯m praying I get out of this with only a few scratches.

    He leads me along the side of the room, behind vendors and stacks of crates, sticking to the shadows.  I¡¯m sad to notice that the direction he¡¯s taking me in is opposite to the way back to Khysmet¡¯s private box.  That¡¯s sub-optimal.

    I¡¯m extra sad when he pulls me into what I¡¯m sure is our destination ¨C an opening along the wall leading into a hallway, modestly sized, but not too narrow to move around ¨C and there are two other men waiting for us.

    That complicates things.

    At least I can tell from the way they''re swaying on their feet that they¡¯re both drunk, too, more so even than my captor.  I¡¯m not super jazzed that it¡¯s three on one now, but being completely sober tips the scale somewhat in my favor.

    ¡°Look what I found,¡± creep number one says, dragging my arm so that I¡¯m in front of him and changing holds so that he¡¯s got his arm around my throat.

    The moron is leaving my right arm, my knife arm, totally free.  I whimper pitifully and use it to feebly grab at his arm as though trying to prise it away from my neck, pretending that an effort in futility is the only thing I¡¯m going to attempt with it.  He doesn¡¯t bother to restrain me further.

    ¡°A human?¡± asks creep number two.  ¡°Where did you find one of those?¡±

    Creep One chuckles.  ¡°She was just wandering around lost.  I don¡¯t know how she found her way here.¡±

    ¡°Kinda cute,¡± says creep number three, ¡°in that funny-looking way that humans have.  Pretty dress.¡±  He reaches down and tugs at my skirt.  I hear fabric tear, caught on his claw.

    I whimper and kick out a little, hoping to deter him from pulling my dress up too far and revealing my knife.

    Creep Three pulls back and laughs.  ¡°Feisty little creature.  Don¡¯t be scared, little one, we¡¯re not going to hurt you.  Much.¡±

    Internally, I¡¯m grinning.  You think this is feisty?  You haven¡¯t seen anything yet, pal.

    They start talking amongst themselves, discussing what to do with me.  One of them rifles through the bag fastened around my waist, but there''s nothing of any real value in it.  I''m deemed "too strange-looking" to fuck.  They seem to agree that I''m someone of consequence based on the way I''m dressed, but they don''t really know what to do with that.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    Eventually, during their conversation, when I feel that they''ve all gotten complacent enough, I feel Creep One''s hold loosen on me slightly and take the opportunity to strike.

    Quickly, praying Sungian physiology shares some of the same weak spots with humans, I jab my right arm back directly into where Creep One''s solar plexus should be.  Based on the choked groan and the way that he doubles over, I''d say I lucked out ¨C serpent folk are vulnerable there, too.

    Then I stomp down hard onto his instep.  Sungian feet are shaped a bit different, so I don''t know if it will collapse his arch in the same way it would for a human, but he''s at least wearing sandals, so it should hurt anyway.  When my foot comes down hard, he certainly howls like it does.

    I''m not sure if Sungians have external genitals, so the usual groin punch might not be effective here.  Instead, when I bring my leg up to step on his foot, I hike my skirt up, modesty be damned, take my knife out with my right hand, plant my foot, and with a big wind-up swing of my arm, stab him right where I think his dick should be and twist.

    He folds like a cheap suit and crumples to the floor, screaming like a banshee.  I step to the side to make sure he doesn¡¯t knock me off balance on his way down.

    Creep Three recovers from shock first and lunges for me, telegraphing his moves with a degree of transparency that only alcohol can engender.  I sidestep easily and sweep his legs.  He trips and falls face-first into the corridor wall.  I¡¯d love to make sure he doesn¡¯t get up, but Creep Two comes at me right after him, claws outstretched.

    I can¡¯t react fast enough to sidestep his swipe.  Instead I let him sink his claws into my shoulder, and when he pulls towards himself to complete his slashing motion, I go with it and use the momentum to plunge my knife straight into his lower abdomen.  With all my might, I slice into his belly ¨C straight across, turn, then upwards.  His scales part like butter around the blade.  Sungian skin might be thinner than I anticipated, I think ¨C at least on their stomachs anyway.

    His guts start spilling out of the incision.  He falls forward onto me and I turn such that he slides off my back onto the floor.  I feel bad for Creep Two.  It¡¯ll be a slow, painful death.

    I turn back around to face the remaining Creep, adjusting my knife in my hand so I have a better grip and crouching into a more stable ready stance.  He¡¯s just now recovering from falling into the wall.  Blood drips down his snout from his nose and mouth.  I hope his encounter with the wall knocked some teeth loose.

    He looks at me with white hot rage in his eyes, face a mask of hate.

    ¡°You little BITCH!¡± he snarls, then gets ready to come at me again.

    I lick my lips in anticipation.  He¡¯s drunk, in pain, and angry ¨C the perfect cocktail for making incredibly obvious and stupid moves.  He¡¯s practically begging me to take him down, and I¡¯m happy to give into his demands.

    That¡¯s when the cavalry arrives.

    Shadows appear against the light coming from the corridor entrance.  It¡¯s a couple of castle guards, one of them being Omagh, who rushes forward and plunges his sword straight through Creep Three, then pulls it back out and knocks the quickly dying man off his feet.

    And just like that, it¡¯s over.  I stand down, chest heaving and body shaking as I begin to come down from my adrenaline spike.  I look down at my handiwork, one man curled into a ball mewling pitifully and clutching his groin, and another in the process of dying, trying to push his intestines back into his body.  Some strange, bloodthirsty part of me is disappointed that the third kill was stolen from me.  I think that¡¯s the adrenaline talking.

    Omagh starts walking toward me, asking if I¡¯m okay, but before he can reach me, Khysmet pushes him aside brusquely and strides past him.  He steps over bodies like they''re not even there and comes right up in front of me, his motions rigid and jerky.

    I look up to meet his eyes.  His face is white as a sheet, and it looks like he¡¯s in great pain, but other than that, I can''t tell what he''s thinking from his expression.  When he thought Vespyn might have hurt me, he was clearly concerned, but he''s not speaking now.  Is he mad?

    He gently stretches his hands out and places them on my face, turning my head like he did before to check for injuries.  Gradually, he repeats this motion over my whole body, investigating in particular everywhere he sees blood.  There''s a lot of blood.  On the front of me, at least, most of it isn''t my own, but I let him do his thing, figuring he needs it more than I do.  I''m a little embarrassed when he gets down on his knees and examines my legs, partially lifting my skirt and running his hands up my legs in front of the guards that are still here waiting for instruction.  I still don''t say anything though.

    When he stands up again and touches my shoulder to get me to turn around, he grazes the claw marks there, and I wince and hiss air through my teeth.  His already colorless face pales further still somehow and his body goes rigid as a board.  I turn to give him a better look.  It doesn¡¯t feel like a grievous wound or anything, but I¡¯d still like for him to check it out and reassure me.

    That¡¯s not what happens.  He stares at the wounds on my back and says nothing, just breathes raggedly and touches me on my other shoulder, maybe to check for somewhere else he sees blood.  I can feel his hand shake against my skin.  Maybe it looks really bad, and he''s worried that I''m seriously hurt.  I need to reassure him that I''m okay.

    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s not as bad as it looks.  I promise,¡± I say.  I smile back over my wounded shoulder, wincing a little.  ¡°You should see the other guys.¡±

    He meets my eyes, but still doesn¡¯t say anything, just looks from my face down to my shoulder and back a couple times, eyes filled with a desperate sadness and fear that breaks my heart.  Eventually he opens his mouth, but when he does, it¡¯s not to talk to me.

    ¡°Please take Miss Catarina back to the castle as soon as possible,¡± he says in a monotone voice.  ¡°Take her straight to a healer.¡±

    ¡°Yes sir,¡± one of the guards says, and he comes forward to take me by the arm and lead me out of the corridor.

    I turn my head to watch him on my way out, but he doesn¡¯t look at me again.  Instead, I see him take the sword out of Omagh¡¯s hand and walk up to the man whose genitals I mutilated.  Right before I round the corner, I see him raise it high, then I hear rather than see the schlick, schlick, schlick of metal cleaving flesh, over, and over, and over again as I am led out of the corridor and back to the castle.

 Chapter 17

    The healer in the castle had some really fancy salves that increase the speed of healing exponentially.  I¡¯ve heard of stuff like that before, but never actually seen it.  I asked the healer about it, and she said they¡¯re rather hard to make, and can be dangerous if the wound isn¡¯t bound correctly, so they¡¯re usually only reserved for either life-or-death situations or very tiny wounds and must be applied by someone who knows what they¡¯re doing.  When I express concern, she confirms that even though my wound is far from tiny, it''s not in fact life-or-death; Khysmet just insisted I get the best treatment possible.  It only takes a couple hours for my injury to be reduced from open claw wounds to a fresh scar, though the speedy recovery comes at the cost of tiring me out excessively.

    Predictably, I am told to take time off and stay in bed while I recover.  Since my injury heals so quickly, though, and I''m not actually feeling the emotional distress and shock that people seem to think I should be feeling, when I wake up after my extra long nap without pain and with hardly any trace of injury, I figure I¡¯m good to go back to work again.

    What I didn¡¯t figure on is that when I get ready the next morning and head to breakfast to meet Khysmet, he¡¯s not there.

    I ask around.  Apparently, he¡¯s been locked in his private study since coming back from the arena.  Almost no one has seen or heard from him, and absolutely no one knows when he¡¯s going to come out.

    I¡¯m not sure what to do.  I don¡¯t see any point in going to the great hall in the morning if he¡¯s not present, so I just don¡¯t go.  I just sort of wander the castle, talking to the staff and addressing the rumors that have been spread about me ever since I came back from the arena covered in blood.

    There are two different versions of the story of my encounter at the arena floating around the castle.

    Among the court nobles, the story boils down to me getting raped in an alleyway and needing to be rescued by the castle guards.  It¡¯s not particularly flattering, and makes me out to be a sort of helpless damsel in distress who can¡¯t go anywhere without getting attacked.  Also, I¡¯m not sure why in this version, I get raped.  I suppose that they all think that¡¯s just what happens to women who are attacked in alleyways, so they assume that it happened to me.  I don¡¯t know.

    In the second version, spread through the castle staff, I took on three men, each one twice my size, in a vicious knife fight in an alleyway, and mercilessly slaughtered every one.  Depending on who you ask, I may have allowed myself to be captured in order to sate my bloodlust.  Whenever someone comes up to ask me if this rumor is true, I always have to correct them that I didn¡¯t kill the third man, plus I only mutilated, not killed, one of the others.  Other than that, though, it stays pretty accurate.  Honestly, I feel like it¡¯s kind of difficult to exaggerate this story.

    Lots of people ask to see my scar.  I think the incident earns me a new level of respect with the castle staff.  I am now somewhat feared.

    Rhys has not left my side since I returned.  I think he blames himself for not being there to prevent the whole situation, which I try in vain to reassure him is ridiculous.

    In all honesty, if he had been there, I would never have gotten separated from him.  In the past, when he has followed me out into the city to accompany me and some friends to go shopping or what have you, he¡¯s always stuck incredibly close.  Khysmet may have instructed him not to touch me ¨C an order which he generally follows very carefully ¨C but when I¡¯m out of the castle, he¡¯s on me like white on rice.  I can never get more than a few feet away from him.  Apparently keeping me safe supersedes the order not to touch me.

    But that doesn¡¯t make it his fault that I got attacked.  There¡¯s no way he could have known what would happen.  I hate how hard he is on himself about this.  If I¡¯m ever permitted to leave the castle again, I know he¡¯ll be accompanying me whether I like it or not.

    Day three after the incident, and Khysmet is still nowhere to be found.  I¡¯m getting worried.  It¡¯s strange that he hasn¡¯t even come to check on me.  I would have figured he would be hovering over me throughout my whole recovery process, given how concerned he¡¯s gotten before about even the possibility of my injury.  I hope he¡¯s okay.

    I wander through the day again, closely followed by Rhys the whole time, feeling uncertain about what to do.  Then, in the evening after dinner has finished, when the cleanup for it is over and the kitchens are nearly empty, I hear something that spurs me into action.

    I¡¯m in the kitchen, sitting on a counter and kicking my feet, hanging around and talking to the few remaining cooks, when one of Khysmet¡¯s attending servants, Annika, comes in with a plate of food.  Finding it odd that she¡¯s bringing food into the kitchen, I ask her what¡¯s going on.

    ¡°It¡¯s King Khysmet,¡± she says in a nervous tone.  ¡°I¡¯ve been bringing him something to eat for every meal, but I don¡¯t think he¡¯s touched anything.  Not even once.  I just keep taking him food and switching out the plates.¡±  She looks like she¡¯s about to cry.  ¡°I- I don¡¯t know what to do.  I don¡¯t know how to help him.¡±

    I press my lips together in a thin line.  He¡¯s not eating?

    Annika looks at me with wet, desperate eyes.  ¡°Cat¡­ do you think you can do something?  Talk to him, maybe?  He¡¯s in his study right now.¡±

    I¡¯m already getting down from the counter even before she asks.  I place a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

    ¡°I¡¯m on it, Annika,¡± I say.  ¡°Deep breaths, okay?  I¡¯ll get him to eat something.¡±

    I''m honestly not so sure that I''ll be able to get him to eat if nobody else can, but I at least am not afraid to get forceful with him if need be.  Annika may not be willing to tell him to stop being such a baby and eat something, but I sure am.

    I walk through the hallways to get to his study, Rhys following closely behind.  When I get to Khysmet¡¯s door, though, I send Rhys away, insisting that I¡¯ll come and get him if I need him.  He hesitates, but eventually nods, leaving me to deal with the king alone.

    I knock on the intricate door.  Nothing.  No response can be heard coming from inside.

    Well, that¡¯s not going to stop me.  I open the door and enter his room.

    It¡¯s a mess.  I thought it was cluttered before, but this is on a whole other level.  Loose papers are everywhere, along with discarded clothes, random books, and knick-knacks that seem to have been deliberately thrown across the room.  I¡¯m guessing he¡¯s instructed his attendants not to clean anything.

    Khysmet himself is sitting at his desk, head down, scribbling frantically on an official-looking piece of paper.  He doesn¡¯t acknowledge my intrusion whatsoever, nor does he look up when I approach.

    It¡¯s not until I set a hand on his shoulder that he jolts and turns to address me.

    I think he must have been expecting one of his attending servants, because he looks like he¡¯s about to chew me out until he sees that it¡¯s me.  When he does, his whole demeanor changes.

    His eyes widen, his breath catches in his throat.  He freezes in place.

    ¡°Cat¡­¡± he chokes out in a weak rasp, the desperation in his voice utterly heartrending.

    I open my mouth to respond, but before I can say anything, he lunges out his hands and tears desperately at my dress, tugging me forward into him, his claws ripping through the thin cotton.  He pulls me in and buries his face against my torso, wrapping his arms around my back and pulling me against himself as flush as possible.

    It catches me off guard completely.  I don¡¯t know what I was expecting when I came here to talk to him, but it wasn¡¯t this.  I can¡¯t help but yelp a little when I first feel his frantic hands on me.  I stare down uselessly as he rubs his face into the spot right at the bottom of my ribcage.

    ¡°K- Khysmet?  What are you¨C¡±

    I yelp again as I am interrupted by him pulling me down into his lap, ripping me off my feet with ease.

    Once I¡¯m in his lap, he moves his face from my lower sternum up to the exposed area of skin at my upper chest and neck.  Then, in another move that I am completely unprepared for, he starts licking me, flicking his tongue out over and over and fluttering it against my bare skin.

    My whole body flushes, and even though at first I''m more concerned and confused than anything, the sensation still has heat pooling low in my gut.  The way he''s holding me leaves me little room to do anything but wiggle fruitlessly on his lap, which only results in me grinding against him unintentionally.  I can''t help but wiggle, though, the feel of his tongue on my skin so sensual it''s making me writhe.  It''s thick and wet, but not excessively so, the forked tips a little ticklish as they brush across my skin.

    He licks a path from the center of my upper chest up all the way to the shell of my ear and back down again, wresting little sounds from me as he skims across incredibly sensitive spots on my body.  I think maybe I should be embarrassed about the noises I''m making, but it feels so good that I¡¯m finding it hard to care.

    Then he starts moving down my body, towards the gap between my breasts.  Eventually, he encounters the hem of my neckline, and I figure he''ll stop there, but he moves his arm and with one claw rips a neat vertical slit a couple of inches down the center of my dress, extending his access to my cleavage.  He keeps going, licking down between the swell of my breasts, burying his face in the gap¨C

    "Woah!  Khysmet, hang on, please, just¨C" I start floundering, bringing my hands to his face to push him away.  I was getting lost in the moment, but his ripping my dress and springing my tits free jolted me out of my haze of arousal.

    He pushes back against my hands, desperately trying to get his face back against my flesh.

    "Just wait a second, please!" I beg.  Then I notice a concerning sensation against my hands.

    As I push against his face, I realize that he''s not just cool to the touch like usual ¨C he''s freezing.  Not only that, but he''s shaking like a leaf.  I look into his eyes, and see that they''re glassy and unfocused.  He''s not well.  He really hasn¡¯t been eating, has he?

    "Khysmet," I say, trying to force him to look at me.  "How long has it been since you''ve eaten?"

    He''s still struggling against my hands, still shaking.  I cup his cheeks and bring my face forward until we''re nose to nose.

    "Khysmet," I repeat, "how long?"

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    He falters in his struggle, his eyes coming into focus somewhat and looking at me like he''s just now seeing that I''m here.  He takes a shaky breath in.

    "Three days," he rasps.

    "Come with me," I say, "I''m taking you to the kitchen."

    He allows me to stand up off his lap.  I reach down and grab one of his hands, tugging gently but insistently until he gets up onto his feet.  Then I lead him out of his room and down the hallway.

    I don''t let go of his hand the entire way.  I can feel him stumble occasionally, and he''s constantly wandering to either side, seemingly unable to keep a straight line.  I keep looking back to check on him, and I squeeze his hand reassuringly every once in a while.  Sometimes he squeezes back.

    I''m a little embarrassed to be seen with my dress ripped and my tits half hanging out, but they''re still covered enough that I''m not flashing anyone, so I''ll just have to suck it up.  Taking care of Khysmet is more important than my modesty right now.

    When we get to the kitchen, there''s only two cooks there, doing prep work for tomorrow.  I pull Khysmet over to the first chair I see and push him down into it.  I cup his cheeks in my hands to make him look at me again.

    "What are you hungry for?" I ask.

    He blinks up at me for a few seconds, seeming to go in and out of focus.

    "Eggs," he eventually says.

    I sigh and turn towards the cooks watching curiously from their prep station.

    "Do you think you could whip his majesty up some eggs to eat?" I ask them.

    "There''s a few trays of deviled eggs in the ice chest," one of them says.  "Is that okay?"

    I turn to Khysmet, who is clawing at my waist to keep me from moving away from where I''m standing between his legs.

    "Is that okay?" I repeat to him.

    He nods.

    I turn back to the cook.

    "Do you think you could bring them over here?"

    "Of course," he says, then goes to fetch them.

    While we wait, Khysmet leans his head forward and rests it against my sternum, not insistently like before, just gently leaning against me.  I sigh and start rubbing my hand along the top of his head in a soothing petting motion.  He practically melts against me, humming contentedly at my touch.

    The cook brings a couple trays over, and I thank him, silently willing him not to notice my torn neckline.  If he does, he doesn''t show it, and goes back across the kitchen to the prep station right after setting the trays down.

    Khysmet doesn''t move, still staying leaned against me.

    "Hey," I say, nudging him a little.  "Come on, you have to eat."

    "Feed me," he instructs without moving his head from its resting spot.

    I scoff.  "I''m not going to feed you.  You''re a grown-ass man.  Feed yourself."

    He shifts so his chin is resting against my chest, looking up at me defiantly.

    "I''m not going to eat unless it''s from your hand.  Feed me, or watch me slowly starve to death.  Your choice."

    I blush at the demand, glancing at the cooks to see if they caught that, hoping maybe they''re far away enough that they didn''t hear.  When I look at them, I see them immediately turn away and go back to what they were doing.  Great.  We have an audience for this.

    I don¡¯t want to feed him.  It feels way too intimate, which I realize sounds ridiculous given the fact that I just let him get to second base with his tongue.  At least no one was watching while that happened, though.

    I know that by asking me to feed him in the first place, he¡¯s just doing what he always does ¨C seeing how much he can get away with demanding of me.  Seeing how uncomfortable he can make me.  I want to do what I always do and push back until he drops his demands down to something I can handle, but something is holding me back.  I¡¯m worried about him.  He needs to eat, as soon as possible.  I don¡¯t want to find out how stubborn he¡¯s willing to be on this one.  I bite my lip.  I suppose I can handle this demand.

    I take a deep breath to steel myself, then reluctantly pick an egg half off the tray and hold it in front of him.

    "Open up," I say brusquely.

    Khysmet readily obliges, and I move my hand forward until he closes his mouth around my fingers, licking across them in the process and making my spine tingle.  I withdraw my hand gently, rubbing against his smooth, dry lips as I do.  He stares me down as he swallows.  I feel my heart pound against my ribcage.  I pick up another egg.

    We go slowly.  Sometimes he looks directly at me while he takes the food from my fingers, and sometimes he closes his eyes and runs his tongue along my hand.  I''m not sure which is worse.  Or better.  I don''t know.  I''m trying not to think about how I feel about what I''m doing right now.

    I make sure not to rush him.  Sometimes he has to take a break, leaning his head against my ribcage and groaning softly, probably a little sick from not eating for so long.  When that happens, I just wrap my arms around him and stroke his head gently, sometimes making little soothing sounds, until he recovers.

    After I get about thirty of the little egg halves in him, he''s looking much better and not nearly as shaky.  If he were human I would have tried to get him to eat something else too, but as I understand it, for Sungians, eggs are a fairly complete meal.  When he tells me he''s had enough, I pop the last egg I''m holding into my mouth instead, not wanting to set one I''ve already touched back with the rest.

    Khysmet''s hands are still settled around my waist, still holding me close between his legs.  He rubs his thumb idly on my side.  His deep red eyes have much more clarity than they did before, and now as he looks up at me I can clearly see a deep and poignant sorrow reflected in them.

    He takes a hesitant breath.

    ¡°I¡¯m not¡­¡± he starts.  ¡°I¡¯m not mad at you for what happened.¡±

    I blink.  He''s not mad?  Then why hasn''t he talked to me in three days, apparently starving himself in the process?  I keep quiet and let him go on.

    ¡°I¡¯m not even mad at myself really," he says, "not after thinking about it for a while.  I regret letting you go, but also I don¡¯t think it was the wrong decision.  I want you to enjoy your life here, and I can tell it¡¯s important for you to get to run around and experience new things.¡±  He pauses and hangs his head a bit.  ¡°I did have to let Omagh go.  He¡¯s a good man, but I just can¡¯t trust him again after that.¡±

    I nod, but don¡¯t say anything.  I understand the decision.  I¡¯m just glad Khysmet didn¡¯t take some sort of rash action against him.  Omagh is a good man, and he wouldn¡¯t deserve that.

    ¡°When he came to tell me he had lost you,¡± Khysmet continues, ¡°I told myself not to panic.  I immediately went to track you down, since I know your scent better than most and can pick it out more easily in a crowd.¡±

    I knit my brow quizzically.

    ¡°Do Sungians have good senses of smell?¡± I ask.  ¡°I didn¡¯t know that.¡±

    ¡°Yes, we do.  The thing we do with our tongues?¡±  He flicks his out to demonstrate.  ¡°It significantly augments our sense of smell.  If you had decided to leave the arena completely and wander the streets for hours, I could still have tracked you down.¡±

    ¡°Huh,¡± I say.  ¡°I always thought it was just an expressive reflex.  Like a person biting their lip, you know.  It means something, but doesn¡¯t actually serve any purpose.¡±

    ¡°Nope.  It is a reflex, but it definitely serves a purpose.¡±

    I think back on the time I¡¯ve spent with Khysmet, all the times I¡¯ve ever seen him do that, looking at them in a new light.

    ¡°...So,¡± I say, ¡°you sniff me a lot, then.¡±

    He smirks up at me from between my breasts and flicks his tongue again.

    ¡°You happen to smell incredibly enticing.¡±

    One of the cooks coughs when he says that.  I flush an even darker red than I already am and glance in their direction, but they both have their heads down, hard at work.

    Khysmet goes on as though nothing happened.

    ¡°So I was leading the guards, following the trail of your scent,¡± he continues.  His breath hitches in his chest.  ¡°And suddenly I smelled blood.  Lots of blood.  Right from the direction that you had been heading.¡±

    He tightens his grip on my waist and looks up at me as though in agony.

    ¡°Cat¡­¡± he says, ¡°I¡¯ve never been so terrified in my entire life.¡±

    My heart skips a beat.  He really cares that much about me?

    Before I can process that further, he goes on.

    ¡°When we first met,¡± he says, ¡°you told me that you had never been ¡®effectively mugged¡¯.  I remember distinctly, because I thought to myself, ¡®Effectively mugged?  What the hell does that mean?¡¯¡±  He chuckles weakly.  ¡°After seeing the carnage you caused with one little knife, I think I understand.  The look on your face when Omagh killed the last one wasn¡¯t relief, it was disappointment.¡±

    I press my lips into a line and look away sheepishly, feeling oddly exposed.

    ¡°I know you¡¯re going to want to leave the castle again,¡± he says.  ¡°I want you to know ¨C I¡¯m not going to keep you caged in here, even after what happened.¡±

    ¡°I think that being human is what made me a target,¡± I admit with a sigh.  ¡°I don¡¯t think one little concealed knife is going to be enough if something similar happens again.  I was lucky that they were all drunk.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you got dragged into an alley by three men, all twice your size, and you¡¯re still saying you got lucky.¡±  He laughs wryly and shakes his head.  ¡°But yes, next time you go out, I would like you to be more visibly and accessibly armed.  Also, I¡¯m coming with you.¡±

    I knit my brow.  ¡°You can¡¯t come with me every single time I leave the castle.¡±

    He looks up at me with a challenge in his eyes.

    ¡°Wanna bet?  I¡¯ll put you on a leash if necessary.¡±

    I physically recoil from him.  ¡°Dear gods, please no.¡±

    He chuckles and pulls me back close.

    ¡°Oh,¡± I say before he can fire something back, ¡°speaking of people who will never let me leave the castle unaccompanied again¡­ Whatever led you to not blame yourself for my little incident, can you try sharing your wisdom with Rhys?  I don¡¯t think he¡¯s going to arrive at that conclusion himself.¡±

    Khysmet shrugs.  ¡°I¡¯ll do what I can, but I don¡¯t think it will have any effect.  Admittedly, some of my self-forgiveness only came after seeing you covered in buckets of blood that weren¡¯t your own, looking hungry for more.  It made me realize you¡¯re not as helpless as I thought you were.  Don¡¯t get me wrong, I¡¯m still going to do everything I can to protect you ¨C but you¡¯re clearly a force of nature that I couldn¡¯t possibly even hope to control.  Maybe kill someone in front of Rhys, and he¡¯ll understand.¡±

    I hum thoughtfully.  The logistics of that might prove difficult, since I really don¡¯t kill that many people on a regular basis.  I¡¯ll keep that in my back pocket, though.

    ¡°It¡¯s late,¡± Khysmet remarks.  ¡°Why don¡¯t I walk you to your room?¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t I walk you to your room?¡± I counter.  ¡°You were pretty shaky on the way here, you know.  I¡¯m not convinced that you can even find your way back.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m feeling much better now that you¡¯ve nursed me back to health.¡±

    I purse my lips and shoot him a doubtful look.  He changes tack.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want you wandering around with your dress like that for anyone else to see.¡±

    Before I can react, he reaches up with one claw and with a sharp movement, rips my dress open slightly further down my chest.

    I gasp loudly, then smack him on the side of his head for that one.  The only thing my assault does is make him laugh, though.  Asshole.

    ¡°Fine!¡± I shout.  ¡°Just don¡¯t blame me if you can¡¯t find your room and end up passed out in the hallway somewhere!¡±

    I walk away without waiting for him to get up.  I would hang around checking to make sure he¡¯s okay and not too shaky upon standing, but he just lost the privilege of my sympathy.  From behind me I hear him stand, stumble slightly, then follow me out of the kitchen like a lost puppy, running a little to catch up.

 Chapter 18

    I am terrified to hear what people are saying about me when I wake up the next day.  The nobility already think there¡¯s a sexual aspect to my relationship with Khysmet, so I don¡¯t really care what gets spread around on that front.  But the castle staff generally like and respect me.  I shudder to think of what our little public spectacle will do to my reputation.

    Yesterday, I was seen as a badass who single-handedly slew three men in an alleyway.  Today I might just be some upstart outsider who¡¯s suspected of sleeping with the king.

    First thing in the morning, it looks like my fears have been realized when Vizsla will hardly even look at me while helping me get ready.  I sigh deeply and figure just asking her directly right now is better than waiting to hear the rumor from someone else.  Also, I¡¯d love to contradict any exaggerated aspects of what she heard, since I do care what Vizsla thinks of me, and having her be hesitant with me is honestly painful.

    ¡°What did you hear?¡± I ask.

    She jumps.  ¡°W- What do you mean, Cat?¡±

    I give her a withering look.  We both know very well that she knows what I mean.

    ¡°Okay, okay¡­¡± she says, breaking after just a few seconds of my glare.  ¡°I heard that last night you and the king were groping each other in the kitchen in front of two cooks.¡±

    ¡°Oh my gods, absolutely not!¡± I deny vehemently.  ¡°I just helped get him to eat, is all.  It was a little indecent, but nothing that bad.  Is that really what people are saying?¡±

    Vizsla nods.  ¡°I mean, I¡¯m really happy for you and his majesty, but I just couldn¡¯t believe you would actually do something like that where other people might see you!¡±

    I would and have done many indecent things in public places, but now is not the time to discuss my sexual proclivities with this teenager.

    ¡°Wait,¡± I say, a bit confused, ¡°you¡¯re happy for me?¡±

    ¡°Well yeah,¡± she replies as though it¡¯s obvious.  ¡°You make King Khysmet very happy.  He was so much more reserved before you got here.¡±  She grins shyly.  ¡°It¡¯s nice to see him smiling all the time now.¡±

    Over the course of the day, I get a lot more people coming up to congratulate and thank me.  It would seem that the general opinion is that I am a good match for the king, that he has perked up significantly ever since my arrival.  Apparently, there was a commonly held concern that I didn¡¯t seem to have the same affection for Khysmet as he does for me.  People are glad to learn that I have "come around" to him.

    All the fuss seems a little premature to me, though.  Despite what the rumors would have one believe, nothing of consequence actually happened.  I mean, he didn¡¯t even really say much of anything, other than that the threat of losing me is the most terrifying thing he''s ever experienced.

    Actually, now that I think about it, that''s saying quite a lot.  It''s basically a confession.

    I''m the one who hasn''t actually expressed anything.  Just because I let him lick my hands and my tits doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯ve ¡°come around¡± to him.  As of now, I haven¡¯t even told him that I like him, not once.  I don¡¯t even know if I do like him.  Do I like him?  I definitely at least tolerate him at this point.  When I think about the prospect of directly saying to his face that I like him as a person, it just feels like it would be a concession.  Like that¡¯s exactly what he wants, and I¡¯m instinctively unwilling to give it to him.  That¡¯s probably a bad sign.

    However¡­ I will say that this encounter from the other night has¡­ awakened something in me.  Before now, I''ve had some instances of sexual tension with Khysmet, some moments of weakness wherein I would yearn to know him more intimately.  Now that I''ve actually had his hands on me, though, it''s like there''s a pit of gnawing, ravenous hunger that has opened in my womb, and every time I see him it gapes open and begs to be sated.

    It''s very inconvenient.

    Khysmet is also acting strange since the incident.  I sort of expected that he would be extra smug and flirt with me more aggressively now that I''ve even slightly responded to his advances.  I''ve given him an inch, so I figured he''d be trying to take a mile.  But instead of being more aggressive, he dials it all back significantly, even being a little less confrontational in his normal capacity of teasing me.  He also spends a lot of time in the library in the afternoons but without talking about what he''s reading like he normally does.  Then when I look over at him he''s nearly always staring at me.  It''s unnerving.

    So the dynamic ends up being that within five seconds of being in the same room with him, I''m soaking wet, but he''s barely talking to me.  The fact that my predicament isn¡¯t being externally addressed only intensifies my desire.  When he¡¯s not talking to me, my mind just ends up wandering, and the places it goes to are not conducive to self-restraint.  It''s getting to the point where if he were to even start to make a move, I''d jump on his dick before he could finish his first sentence.  And yet he keeps giving me nothing to work with.

    Meanwhile, the castle staff keep coming up to me and expressing their joy at my reception to his advances.  It sort of rubs a little salt in the wound given that his advances have stopped advancing.  However, between all the different comments I hear about Khysmet in the process, I end up learning a lot about the history of his love life.

    Evidently, he had a wild streak as a teenager that lasted up until his early twenties, and he had several passionate trysts during that time, but in the decade since then, romantic relationships have been few and far-between, not to mention very short-lived.  Since his parents, the previous king and queen, died in an accident five years ago and left him with the crown, there has been virtually no one he¡¯s shown the slightest interest in.  It would seem that running a country doesn''t leave a lot of extra time for dating ¨C or so the popular opinion seems to have been.

    I know that to be bullshit, though.  First off, he has plenty of extra time.  Case in point: he''s been dicking around and bothering me nonstop since I got here.  It''s not like a ton of free time just suddenly opened up for him to bother me with ¨C he already had his schedule set up before I even got here.  "No free time", my ass.

    Secondly, he told me personally, right before that dinner with the Marquess, that his real problem is that he''s picky as hell and unwilling to give people a chance.  I''m paraphrasing here, but that''s what it boils down to.

    Not giving people a chance is something I¡¯m happy to fault him for.  I doubt he¡¯s even been looking for someone since he became king, based on what I know about him.  Pickiness, however, is something I can understand when it comes to romance.  I mean, if you know what you want, why would you settle for anything less?  To me, Khysmet seems like someone who knows exactly what he wants and isn¡¯t afraid to demand it.  I can respect that.

    That brings us to an interesting point.  Apparently, the picky person in question has picked me.  And if he''s barely been with anyone else for ten years, it seems he doesn¡¯t pick lightly.

    I would almost think that makes his intentions quite serious, if he hadn''t established from the beginning that he was only bringing me on as "entertainment".  From the very start I have been toyed with, poked and prodded to see my reactions, played with like a cat plays with a mouse.  My very presence here is completely at his mercy.  If nothing else, I am under his employ, therefore I can only possibly have so much agency in our relationship.  There¡¯s a massive power imbalance that makes it impossible to envision a version of being with him that isn¡¯t at least somewhat degrading to me.

    So does he see the potential for a serious relationship with me, or does he just want entertainment?  Could he see me as an equal or will I always just be a subordinate?  Am I a potential partner or his favorite toy?  Thinking about it makes me dizzy.

    My head has been spinning with questions lately, and most of them don¡¯t have easy answers.  There is one, however, that has been bothering me which has a very definitive answer, and will be very easy to find out.  I have to ask it, or it¡¯s going to drive me crazy forever.  One morning in the great hall, I see one of the court chemists milling about, the one named Nolara, and I take the opportunity.

    I call her over, and she, after looking around to make sure I''m not actually signaling to someone else, walks up to stand beside me and my harp.

    "I have a quick question for you," I say, keeping my voice down and glancing at Khysmet to make sure he''s not looking.

    "Yes?" she replies.  "What is it?"

    "I wanted to know what the uses are for Sungian venom."

    Nolara adjusts her spectacles and launches into a detailed explanation.

    "Well," she says, "it''s commonly understood that our venom''s primary effect on most animals is to augment, for a brief period, the subjective experiences of our senses.  It makes colors seem brighter, sounds seem louder, tastes more powerful, et cetera.  It has seen use by soldiers and athletes in order to heighten their reflexes in battle or sport, but research has shown this to be ineffective, as the sensory augmentation often overwhelms and distracts the subject rather than giving them an edge.  Concentrated Sungian venom is occasionally used as a method of torture, since it also intensifies the experience of pain.

    "Most commonly, however, it is injected directly from the source into a Sungian''s partner during sexual intercourse, as it amplifies the experience of pleasure and can bring about more intense orgasm."

    "Son of a bitch."

    "I''m sorry?"

    "Nothing," I say quickly.  "Sorry, I just heard about its properties from someone else, and I didn''t believe them ¨C looks like I was wrong.  As always, your answers are incredibly elucidating.  Thanks for your help."

    She nods and smiles.  "Any time, dear."

    I look back at Khysmet and find that he''s staring in my direction with a smirk on his face.  I flush a deep red and look away.  There''s no way he knows what I was talking about, right?  Surely I wasn''t that loud.  Then again, I realize with a groan, if he heard even a snippet of what the chemist was explaining to me, he could easily have deduced what I asked.  Nosy bastard.

    My latest hobby is finding extremely specific Veilsung songs and playing the instrument accompaniment without singing, in order to surreptitiously communicate with Khysmet.  He doesn¡¯t always get them right away, but there are a few that I use more often than others which he picks up on immediately.  Right now I start plucking a cautionary folk tune about a man who gets his snout cut off for sticking it where it doesn''t belong.  I glance back and see that he''s giving me a withering glare.  Excellent.  Message received.

    I¡¯m grinning indulgently and silently congratulating myself on being annoying, when I unexpectedly overhear the new most interesting conversation I¡¯ve ever heard in the great hall.

    ¡°¨Cwe have to meet in the catacombs?  I hate it down there.¡±

    ¡°Keep your voice down.¡±

    Then nothing.

    I strain my ears for more.  Are they whispering now?  If they are, I can¡¯t hear it.

    I look around subtly, seeing if there¡¯s any groups of people that look like they¡¯re having a secret conversation, but no one in particular catches my eye.  They may have already walked away.

    My curiosity is immediately piqued.  So someone is having secret meetings in the catacombs, are they?  Also, what and where are the catacombs?

    I¡¯m even more thirsty for information than when I overheard Rolf and Sulfeng.  That was so cut and dry.  Someone¡¯s stealing money?  Okay, well where is the money?  Oh, you found it?  Guess you¡¯re done.  Sneaking around was fun, but there was no depth to the issue.  Only took me about four hours to gather the necessary information, then it was just a matter of waiting for Sulfeng to make a move again and put a new drop in his desk drawer.

    This, on the other hand, raises so many questions.  I¡¯ve never even heard of catacombs under Dimos before.  Or are they just under the castle?  Where¡¯s the entrance to them?  Who is having meetings there?  Why would they need to meet underground?  What are they doing that requires that degree of privacy?  I desperately need to know absolutely everything, and I need to know it as soon as possible.

    First off, I need to know more about the catacombs themselves.  I think for a long time about who would be best to ask.  I have a feeling the information I¡¯m looking for might not be widely known.  It¡¯s a far cry from idle gossip.  It¡¯s possible it might even raise some questions about why I¡¯m asking and where I heard about them from in the first place.  Also, I have a feeling that if there is an entrance to the catacombs from the castle, its location might be kept under wraps.  So if I¡¯m looking for someone extremely discreet and with intimate knowledge of the castle layout, there¡¯s only one person I know I can turn to.

    When Khysmet comes out of his meeting, I¡¯m practically bouncing on the balls of my feet, having been spending the past few hours swirling questions around in my brain.

    ¡°I have some questions to ask you about potentially clandestine topics,¡± I tell him eagerly.

    He looks at me with a very neutral expression.

    ¡°Alright,¡± he says simply.  ¡°Let¡¯s go to my office.¡±

    He walks away without waiting for a reply.  I fall into step behind him, pouting deeply.  What is his deal lately?  I never thought I would miss his relentless teasing, but this, this indifference, is somehow worse.  Also, now that I¡¯m walking behind him, I find myself unintentionally staring at his broad back and wanting to know what it looks like under his shirt.  My skin starts to heat up as I think about it.  I¡¯ve never seen him even in a partial state of undress.  I feel a desperate need to remedy that.

    When we reach his office, I walk inside and plunk down onto the sitting area couch.  Disappointingly, he doesn''t even sit near me, instead walking over to his desk to fiddle around with something.

    "So," he says from across the room, "what''s your question?"

    "I need you to tell me everything you know about the catacombs."

    He snorts.  "That''s not a very ''clandestine'' topic.  They run under many parts of Dimos and are widely known about.  They''re even mapped relatively thoroughly."

    Ah.  So they¡¯re not as secret as I thought they¡¯d be.  Oh well, better safe than sorry.

    "Do they connect to the castle?" I ask.

    "Not that I know of.  If they do, the entrance is likely concealed, or at least in a spot that isn''t obvious."

    My brow furrows.  "I thought you said they were well mapped?"

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    "Relatively well mapped,¡± he corrects, ¡°compared to the size of them at least.  They sprawl underneath almost the whole city.  Plus, even though the catacombs might be mapped, there are definitely tunnels connecting to them that are not.  I''m sure there are tunnels and caves that run under the castle that I don''t know about.  I didn''t spend much time exploring the castle in my youth; my brother was the one who knew all the nooks and crannies."

    I kneel on the couch cushion and prop myself up on the arm rest to look at him more directly.  He''s still messing with something on his desk, not looking at me.  Why isn¡¯t he looking at me?

    "The reason I''m asking,¡± I say, ¡°is because I overheard someone talk about having a secret meeting in the catacombs.  I was hoping if they only ran under the castle or something, the meeting place might be easier to find.  But it sounds like it could be anywhere in the city."

    "Secret meeting, you say?¡± he says with mild curiosity.  ¡°Interesting."

    He doesn¡¯t sound that interested, which pisses me off.  Well he might not care about the furtive gatherings of his subjects, but that¡¯s not going to stop me from investigating.

    "I think I''ll start looking around for hidden tunnels,¡± I inform him.  ¡°Even if their meeting place isn¡¯t right underneath the castle, it might be close by.  Maybe a tunnel from the castle would connect there."

    "Sounds like a fun little project.  I''ll allow it,¡± he says neutrally.  ¡°Let me know if you find something before you just start wandering underground, though."

    I frown.  Patronizing asshole.  Does he really think I would just blindly wander a secret cave system alone without telling anybody where I was going?

    "Of course I will," I say, "I''m not stupid."

    "I''ll write to my brother and see if he knows any good places to start looking," he offers.

    "Thanks, that would be a big help."

    He finally looks up at me and I feel a zing run through my body when he meets my eyes.  Immediately heat pools low in my gut from his penetrating gaze.  This uncontrollable desperation is getting old.

    "Anything else?" he asks.

    "No," I say, "that''s pretty much it."

    "Good."

    Khysmet sets down whatever he was pretending to work on at his desk and strolls over to the door.  I get off my knees and sit back down normally, watching him as he unhurriedly reaches for the doorknob.  The click I hear when he slides the lock shut sends an anticipatory thrill down my spine.

    He approaches me slowly, taking his sweet time as he walks up directly before me, then crouches down to just below eye level and places one hand on either side of my legs, caging me in.  I can feel wetness pooling between my legs, and my heart is pounding against my ribcage.  I exhale a shuddering breath that I didn''t know I was holding when he flicks his tongue, tasting the air around me.

    "I want you to know," he says in a slow, deliberate tone.  "The smell of your constant arousal has been driving me insane for days."

    My breath catches in my throat.  So he hasn''t been completely ignorant of my predicament.  What then, has he been giving me the cold shoulder on purpose?

    I look him square in the eyes.

    "So do something about it," I say, a challenge implicit in my tone.

    He smiles with a dark heat that has my stomach in knots.  I''m desperate to know what he has in mind.

    "Our last encounter," he says, "as you may recall, was not explicitly consensual.  I seem to recall pinning you down in my lap in a delirious haze being a highlight of the evening."

    I cock my head.  I hadn''t really thought about it like that.  It was unexpected, but I never felt like I was in any danger or anything.  I didn''t even try to stop him until he started ripping my dress, and then he did stop once he snapped out of it.

    "It caught me off guard, yes, but¡­"  I bite my lip.  "I didn''t mind."

    He chuckles softly.  "Yes, well.  I still feel as though I didn''t really put my best foot forward, as it were.  In general¡­"

    He gently places one hand on my knee and runs it slowly up my thigh, watching me carefully for any sign of rejection.

    "I would like to receive a more enthusiastic ''yes'' from you before I take what I want."

    He''s leaned in closer, caging me in further, his face just inches from mine.  I can barely think, my mind is growing so thick with a lustful haze.

    "For example," he continues, "if I were to ask you right now if you want me to touch you until you come, screaming my name, here on this couch, what would you¨C?"

    "Yes," I say before he''s even finished talking.

    He smirks at my eagerness.  "Yes what?" he prompts.  "Be more specific, Cat."

    Is he trying to embarrass me by making me ask for what I want out loud?  Or just enjoying telling me what to do?  Well if it''s the first, I''ll have to disappoint, because I have significantly less shame than he might think.  And if it''s the second¡­ I''m so desperate that I don''t even care.

    "Yes," I say, meeting his gaze directly, "I want you to touch me and make me come.  Right here, right now."

    The hunger in his eyes intensifies to an unprecedented level.

    "Very good," he purrs in praise.  Then he nudges me to move into a more reclined position and starts pushing up my skirt to expose my underwear.

    "Wait¡­¡± I hesitate, remembering something that makes me nervous.  ¡°What about your claws?"

    He smirks and lifts up his right hand.  The way Sungian claws come out of their fingers looks sort of like human fingernails, but they¡¯re much thicker and extend a short distance before curving into sharp points.  On this hand, however, I see that they¡¯ve been ground down quite a bit, significantly blunted.

    "I trimmed them a few days ago,¡± he explains.  ¡°Right after I realized how badly I need to feel you come undone around my fingers."

    A shiver of excitement runs down my spine.

    "So wait,¡± I ask, ¡°does that mean I don¡¯t have to worry about you ripping any more of my dresses?"

    He puts his right hand back down and puts up his left so I can see the claws on that one still have all their sharp tips.

    I smile, finding the asymmetry rather funny.

    "Don''t you feel a little lopsided?" I tease.

    He snorts and raises a brow.  "I tend to prefer function over form."

    Then he slides his left hand down my underwear and with a sharp yet smooth movement, hooks in his claws and shreds them to ribbons, exposing me completely in one fell swoop.

    I gasp and flinch in response, every single muscle in my abdomen clenching at once and arousal practically flooding out of me.  Khysmet looks insanely pleased with himself.  He cocks his head as he admires the view, and my skin grows hotter the longer he stares.  When he places a hand on either side of my cunt and spreads me wide open, I feel like I''m going to combust.  He hums thoughtfully and lets my lips close again.

    "Now,¡± he says, tracing circles with his fingers slowly up the inside of my thigh.  ¡°I''ve been reading up on human anatomy as of late, so I think I have a general idea of how best to pleasure you¡­¡±

    I blink.  Is that what he¡¯s been doing in the library this whole week?  Every time he''s been staring at me he¡¯s been pondering the anatomy of my genitals?  He could have just asked.  I''d have been happy to give him a crash course.

    ¡°¡­But I''m going to need you to be extra loud so I know when I''m doing something right, okay?"

    I exhale a weak chuckle.  "Oh, I don''t think you''ll have to worry about that."

    "So if I were to do this¡­"

    He dips one finger slightly into me, wetting it, then drags it up my slit to my clitoris and starts rubbing into it with tiny circles.  Instantly, I feel pleasure shoot through me in radiating spikes, so sensitive from being hot and bothered so long without release.  My back arches into his cool touch, and I throw my head back and exhale in low, breathy moans.  As requested, I don¡¯t attempt to stifle my voice.

    He removes his hand.  I hiss in frustration.

    ¡°Interesting,¡± he says mildly.  ¡°What about this?¡±

    He lines two fingers up to my entrance and presses in slowly.  I hum in appreciation as he pumps them in and out of me at an even, leisurely pace, then moan when he curls his fingers forward and hits the sensitive spot there.  When I meet his eyes I find that he''s watching me closely, head cocked in interest as he measures my reactions.

    When he takes his fingers out, I again bemoan the loss.  He doesn''t make me wait long, though, before dipping his head down and licking a long stripe up between my folds, stopping at my clit and letting his tongue writhe against it.  My breath hitches at the sensation, and I instinctively grind forward against the pressure.

    He chuckles at my eagerness.  ¡°Do you want me to fuck you with my tongue, Cat?¡±

    I melt at the offer.  ¡°Oh gods, yes.¡±

    ¡°Yes what?¡± he prompts.

    ¡°Yes, please, I want to feel your tongue inside me.¡±

    "Good girl."

    He readily obliges, sliding his tongue, long and thick, deep into my throbbing cunt.  The sensation of it squirming inside me is indescribable, and when he uses his thumb to start circling my clit, I feel my orgasm start to build rapidly.

    Before I can get very far, though, he withdraws his tongue and angles his head toward my thigh instead.  I look down to see what he''s doing, and watch as he opens his mouth and lets his fangs slowly slide out, a jolt running straight through my ovaries as he does.

    ¡°Do you want me to bite you?¡± he asks, watching my reaction closely.

    I hesitate, nervous.  Those fangs look even longer up close.

    ¡°Promise it won¡¯t hurt?¡± I ask.

    He chuckles.  ¡°It¡¯ll pinch a little, but trust me, the pain won¡¯t last long.¡±

    I take a deep breath in, hold it a second, then nod as I shakily exhale.

    He looks at me intensely.  ¡°I¡¯m going to need a much more enthusiastic yes for this one, Cat.¡±

    I think harder about it, about if I really want this.  The way my body responds whenever I see his fangs slide out, plus my intense, burning curiosity, brings me to the conclusion that I will need to know what it feels like eventually.  Might as well let it happen now.  I trust him not to hurt me.

    ¡°Yes," I say definitively.  "Yes, I want you to bite me.  Please.¡±

    He smiles darkly.  ¡°Well," he says, "since you¡¯re begging¡­¡±

    His fangs slide out again and he leans in close.  His thumb is still circling my clit, and I close my eyes and focus on that sensation.

    When he latches on, there is a sharp pinch in my leg and the pressure of his jaws around it.  I flinch and whimper, but as his venom drips down the side of my thigh, the pain diminishes greatly, drowned out by a flood of other senses ¨C the soft feeling of fabric against my body is now making my skin tingle, the smell of Khysmet''s bergamot and mahogany scent floods over me in a wave, and the sound of his low moan before he unlatches thrums into my chest.  And most overwhelming of all, the feeling of his thumb against my clit is sending unbelievable pulses of pleasure through my whole body.  My moans crescendo uncontrollably, and I grind my hips in frenzied thrusts, seeking more friction.

    He inserts his tongue back into my cunt, and the sensation consumes my entire being.  The writhing pressure against my inner walls is intensified by the venom, and it''s pushing every single thought out of my brain, leaving me with nothing but the pure flood of my senses.  I''m careening toward the edge so fast it''s blinding, pressure building in my core, every muscle in my body starting to twitch with the tension of my impending orgasm.  I¡¯m practically screaming at this point and grinding hard into Khysmet¡¯s face, seeking every ounce of pressure and friction I can find.

    Right before I reach my peak, Khysmet withdraws his tongue for just a second.

    "Now be a good girl and come, Cat," he instructs.

    He licks back into me and when his tongue hits the deepest point inside me I instantly explode around him, muscles tensing uncontrollably as I find my release, calling his name along with several expletives in a hoarse moan.  I''ve never had an orgasm this intense before; it tears through me in an all-consuming fire, and I lose track of every other sensation and thought.  Wave after wave of agonizing pleasure radiates out of my core, spreading to every corner in my body.  I''m overwhelmed by ecstasy, my whole being shuddering with it.

    Khysmet withdraws and lets me start my comedown, which is punctuated by several aftershocks of pleasure that almost make it feel like I¡¯m coming again.  I mewl pathetically as I ride them out.  It takes a long time before I regain awareness of my surroundings.

    When I come to, I realize Khysmet must have stepped away without my noticing, because he¡¯s coming back with a little cup and a sealed container of something in his hand.  He offers the cup to me.

    ¡°Antivenom,¡± he explains.  ¡°Otherwise you¡¯ll have a nasty headache, especially since it¡¯s your first time.¡±

    I take the cup gratefully and down the liquid in it, then set the empty container on the nearby table.  He holds out the container.

    ¡°And some salve to rub on the bite marks to speed up healing.¡±

    I open the top to find a green paste inside.  I scoop a little out with my fingers and rub it over the two little red dots on my thigh.  They hardly bled at all.  Before my eyes, they heal into near featureless skin with barely a ghost of a scar.  I put the lid back on the container and set it next to the cup.

    After seeing that I¡¯m all fixed up, Khysmet sits down on the couch next to me and motions for me to scootch close.  I notice the clear outline of his cock straining against the fabric of his pants and wonder if he¡¯s going to address that in any way, but he just has me lay down and rest my head in his lap, looking up at him.  He gently runs his clawed fingers through my hair.  I close my eyes and breathe deeply, soothed by the sensation.

    ¡°I knew it,¡± I say.

    ¡°Knew what?¡±

    ¡°I knew you get off on telling people what to do.¡±

    Khysmet scoffs.  ¡°I do not,¡± he insists, ¡°get off on telling people what to do.¡±

    I open my eyes and glare up at him.

    ¡°You literally just instructed me to come,¡± I point out.

    He shakes his head and rolls his eyes as though unable to believe that I would even suggest such a thing.  However, after a moment of thinking, he hesitantly makes a small concession.

    ¡°It¡¯s only fun if I think someone will say no,¡± he says.

    I blink up at him in confusion.  ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°If I just tell someone what to do, and they do it without argument, that doesn¡¯t do anything for me.  It¡¯s only interesting if someone fights back,¡± he explains.  ¡°In my life as it is and has been, most people do what I ask of them.  Generally, if someone contradicts me on something, it¡¯s for political reasons, which is fun in its own way, but I don¡¯t have a lot of people in my life anymore who will tell me no to my face on a personal level.  That¡¯s what drew me to you in the first place.¡±

    He smirks down at me.  ¡°From the moment we met, I could tell that you are a person who is eager to tell me to piss off.  I was worried when you found out I was king, you¡¯d hold back, but fortunately that didn¡¯t last very long.¡±

    I take a moment to process his words.

    ¡°So¡­ are you saying that you would want me to say ¡®no¡¯ to you in the bedroom?¡±

    ¡°First of all, I¡¯m loving the implication that you wish to continue getting to know me carnally,¡± he says smugly.

    My face heats up.  I start to correct him, but he interrupts me before I can say anything.

    ¡°To answer your question, though¡­¡± he says, ¡°no, that¡¯s not really it.  It¡¯s more like¡­ It¡¯s more like I want to have to work for a yes.  I don¡¯t like having yesses just given to me.  If someone is eager to tell me no, then I know that when they do give me a yes, it¡¯s because I earned it.  And I¡¯m a patient man.  I can wait for my yes.  Honestly, if you had gone the whole two years without ever reciprocating my advances, I would have been still happy just having you around to tell me to fuck off every day.¡±

    It takes some time before his explanation sinks in, but when it does, a wicked grin spreads slowly across my face.  I have a brilliant idea.

    Khysmet jumps a little when I suddenly sit up.  I crawl across the couch until I¡¯m straddling his lap, my hands braced against his firm chest, grinding slightly against the bulge in his pants.  He looks concerned about the expression of sinister glee coloring my face.

    ¡°You,¡± I purr smugly, ¡°have just made a very grave tactical error, your majesty.¡±

    He furrows his brow quizzically, but waits for me to continue.

    ¡°You¡¯ve just revealed your weakness, one I am indescribably eager to exploit," I say with pronounced dramaticism, leaning further in with every word.  "Consider it revenge for everything you''ve put me through so far.  I am going to spend every second of the foreseeable future torturing and teasing you, dangling myself in front of you like fresh meat, and every time you try to make a move, every time you so much as attempt to touch me, I will deny you.  You will not hear a yes from my lips until you are panting and begging for it.  I will erode every ounce of patience you have until you are a hollow husk of a man, and I¡¯m going to enjoy every second of breaking you.¡±

    He¡¯s looking at me in what I can only describe as awe, and I feel his cock twitch against me even through the layers of fabric between us.  I grind down on it to give him a little taste of the hell he is about to endure.  He groans shakily in response, his eyes sliding shut.  Then he opens them and looks at me hungrily.

    ¡°Promise?¡± he says.

    I smile and hum a smug little laugh.  Then I lean in close and raise my hand to his face to tap one finger gently against his snout.

    "No."

    I enunciate this very clearly, then rise up out of his lap and walk to the door.  Halfway there, I realize what''s left of my underwear is dangling off my hips uncomfortably, so I pull my skirts up, rip them the rest of the way off, and throw them on the floor.  Then I keep walking, unlock the door, and exit the room without once looking back.

 Chapter 19

    I''ve never really had much in the way of power, and to be honest, I''ve never really seen the appeal of it.  Having influence over people and events is just not something I generally desire.  I''m happy just living my own life to the fullest and enjoying experiences as they come.  My existence has on the whole been a simple one, but I''ve never minded that one bit.

    This, though?  This I could get used to.

    I''m making good on my threat to torture Khysmet, and he is putty in my hands from day one, when first thing in the morning at breakfast, I stride over and confidently take my seat in his lap.

    He wraps one hand around my waist to steady me, and I slap it away, pointing an accusatory finger in his face and clearly enunciating the word "no".  The expression on his face is priceless.  He¡¯s looking at me like I just fell out of the sky.  I feel him get hard underneath me so fast it¡¯s not even funny.

    I insist on feeding him, figuring since he liked it so much before, it would be excellent torture now.  I ask him to feed me, too, making a big show of sucking on his fingers, flashing bedroom eyes.  I giggle and kick my legs and lean against him and ghost my lips over his neck, totally shameless.  And every time he tries to touch me in the slightest when I didn¡¯t expressly ask him to, I push his hands off me and deny, deny, deny.  By the time we finish eating, he¡¯s breathing heavy and oh-so desperate.  Not begging yet, though.  I¡¯m excited to learn how long he¡¯ll hold out.

    My onslaught is relentless.  Nearly every moment I spend in his presence, I¡¯m touching him in some way.  I treat his lap like my personal throne.  When he wants to spend the afternoon in the library, I refuse to take my seat at the piano, instead having him sit on a couch so I can lay down and spread my legs across his, letting the hem of my dress ride up to an indecent point on my thighs, either playing my lute or just straight up refusing to provide musical accompaniment and reading a book myself.  I follow him into his office and drape myself over his shoulders while he works, mashing my breasts against his back and often reaching my arms down the front of his shirt to feel his bare chest.

    One time he makes the mistake of suggesting we take a walk through the gardens, maybe figuring if I can¡¯t sit on him, my powers will be diminished.  Unfortunately, he forgot to take into account that amidst the taller hedges, we are blocked from view from literally everyone, and I take the opportunity to execute a bolder move than usual.

    Once we¡¯re fully out of sight, I physically push him until he¡¯s backed straight into one of the bushes.  I start tugging at his shirt, untucking it from his pants, and run my hands greedily underneath, feeling his scaled abs and lower back, then teasing my fingers underneath his waistband.

    ¡°Did you know,¡± I say conversationally, calling on information I learned from Portia months ago, ¡°that regular snakes have two penises?¡±

    Khysmet chokes on a breathy laugh, his hands twitching with the effort of not touching me.

    ¡°Is that a fact?¡± he asks.

    ¡°Mhmm,¡± I hum.

    Then I openly put a palm against the bulge in his pants and rub circles against it, enjoying the throaty moan that the move earns me.

    ¡°I only feel one here, though,¡± I remark idly.

    His head is thrown back in pleasure at the touch, his hips grinding into it a little, a move which I decide to allow.

    ¡°So sorry to disappoint,¡± he says, voice faltering.

    I hum thoughtfully, making a big show of feeling the full length and girth of him, measuring it in my hand.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be disappointed, your majesty,¡± I purr.

    He actually runs away from me for that one, abandoning me in the garden and making an excuse that there¡¯s something he forgot to take care of.  I graciously allow him to make his retreat rather than attempting to follow.  He does not make this mistake again.

    The effect that all this has on Khysmet is endlessly entertaining to me.  The usual calm, authoritative demeanor he maintains with everyone else but me is cracking.  At first he¡¯s just distracted, spacing out and occasionally needing to ask others to repeat themselves.  Very quickly, my harp in the great hall is relocated to be in the back corner where I¡¯m not in his field of vision.  I still have a way to torment him, though, playing instrumental renditions of the dirtiest Veilsung drinking songs I know, plus anything with an innuendo in the title or lyrics.  I enjoy watching his tail twitch and his fingers tap feverishly on the arms of his chair.

    Eventually, he starts to become more and more on edge, especially with his ministers.  Where usually he would deny their requests or demands with calm, cool authority, he¡¯s now started to snap at them when they push too hard.  Also, he¡¯s spending more afternoons helping train the guards ¨C that¡¯s generally where he goes if he has to run away from me ¨C and according to Rhys, he is much less forgiving of errors than he usually is.

    I can¡¯t hear as much gossip from my new position in the great hall, but I still catch some snippets.  Surprisingly, none of the nobility is talking about me, even though I know for a fact my public displays of affection have been witnessed by several of them.  They probably just view it as confirmation of what they¡¯ve been saying about me all along.  They are, however, talking about Khysmet constantly.  Everyone seems to be mystified as to what¡¯s wrong, and there¡¯s a lot of speculation about what could be causing his irritation.  I don¡¯t ever end up hearing one correct guess.

    The castle staff is still pretty friendly with me on the whole, but there¡¯s quite a few of them who won¡¯t meet me in the eye now.  Before, I was eager to deny the allegations of public indecency, but now, they¡¯re perfectly accurate.  So, I¡¯m just going to wait and hope that over time Vizsla will be able to talk to me without blushing again.  Probably not until after Khysmet breaks, at which point I intend to dial it back.  That could take a while.

    Though a lot of my time is taken up by inflicting pain on his royal majesty, I spend all my free time searching for any potential entrance to the catacombs.  Khysmet¡¯s brother, Prince Akharos, writes back very quickly, and though he doesn¡¯t have a definitive answer on whether or not there even is a tunnel leading to the catacombs that can be accessed from the castle, he suggests some good places to start, along with an even more helpful list of tunnels he¡¯s found that definitely don¡¯t connect to the catacombs, only going in circles or connecting to other parts of the castle.

    I feel like the most promising place to check is the dungeons, and that''s where I want to start.  Prince Akharos wrote that by the time he was old enough to be permitted in the dungeons unaccompanied, he was more or less over his exploring phase.  Khysmet, however, is less than enthused about my intention to visit a dark hole in the ground full of criminals.

    ¡°It¡¯s not like I¡¯m going to go into any cells that are already occupied,¡± I argue, curled up in Khysmet¡¯s lap in the library.  ¡°I want to ask the guards if there are any cells where prisoners have mysteriously disappeared or something.¡±

    ¡°Cat, I don¡¯t want you running around down there,¡± Khysmet says.  ¡°Right now we¡¯re holding some prisoners that are awaiting trial for extremely heinous crimes.  I don¡¯t want you even near them.¡±

    I sigh and pout, petulantly tracing little circles on his chest with my fingers.

    ¡°I¡¯m bringing Rhys with me,¡± I argue, ¡°and he wouldn¡¯t let anyone so much as look at me funny.  Plus there are guards down there already.  Also, all the prisoners are behind these things called bars, that prevent them from leaving their little rooms.¡±

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    He chuckles, but his tone is still grave.  ¡°The thing about bars is that you can reach through them.  It would be all too easy for someone to take a swipe at you from their cell.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll go in armed,¡± I say.  ¡°The little knife belt you gave me hasn¡¯t seen any use yet.  You know I can take care of myself.¡±

    He sighs.  ¡°I know that if I say no, you¡¯ll just try to go anyway, but you do know that I can tell the guards down there not to let you in, right?¡±

    I move so that I¡¯m straddling his lap and give him big puppy dog eyes.

    ¡°Please?¡± I beg.  ¡°I promise I¡¯ll be careful.¡±

    He looks at me for a long time, and I can see his will eroding before me.  It¡¯s nice to witness how weak he becomes whenever I beg.

    ¡°Fine,¡± he eventually concedes.  ¡°I¡¯ll allow it.  Only because I know that if someone tries to grab at you, you¡¯ll cut their hand off.¡±

    I grin darkly.  ¡°I wouldn¡¯t hesitate.¡±

    ******

    The dungeons are cold, dark, wet, and horrible-smelling, which from my understanding, is exactly what dungeons should be.  I¡¯ve never seen the inside of one of these places, and my curiosity is off the charts, especially given that I''m also looking for a secret entrance to some secret tunnels.  Rhys doesn''t seem to share or even understand my eagerness and reluctantly plods along close behind me.

    They are located underneath the southeastern tower but disconnected from the rest of the castle, only accessible via a small door in the tower wall at the bottom of a narrow staircase that delves deep down into the earth.  Even just putting my foot down on the first step immediately makes me claustrophobic.  It sends a thrill up my spine.  I try to contain my excitement and stop myself from skipping gleefully down the creepy stairs.

    I open the door and am greeted by a cacophony of foul odors, as well as two guards sitting around a table playing cards and a large rat cleaning itself in the corner of the room.

    "Hi Sten.  Hi Poskhe," I say.  "How''s it going?"

    "Hey Cat," says Poskhe.  "His majesty mentioned you''d be coming down here.  Can''t say I understand why."

    "I''m just exploring," I say nonchalantly.  "I read somewhere that there are tunnels under the castle and I wondered if there''s a secret entrance in the dungeons."

    I figure this explanation in and of itself is innocuous enough and won''t raise any red flags.  As expected, Sten and Poskhe both just look at me with amusement and don''t question my motive to be anything other than idle curiosity.  I am well known to frequently be both idle and curious.

    "Which cells are occupied, so I know not to get close to them?" I ask.

    "Every cell that''s unoccupied has its door open," Sten explains.  "Should be easy to tell."

    "Okay, thanks," I say.  "Do you know if there are any cells that prisoners have disappeared from before?"

    "Not to my knowledge," Sten says with a chuckle.

    Damn.  Oh well, guess I''ll just go cell by cell.

    I have absolutely no idea what I''m looking for, so it''s slow going.  I hold my torch up and look close at every wall, checking for any sections that might be a different color of rock, or that have oddly deep grooves between stone bricks.  I push on them in every different spot, in every different direction.  I knock on walls with the hilt of Rhys''s sword to see if there''s some kind of hollow sound anywhere.  Cell after cell, wall after wall, every square inch of rock I investigate, I come up dry.

    After hours of searching, leading me all the way to the back of the dungeon''s hallway.  I come to the conclusion that if there is an entrance to the catacombs here, it''s too well hidden for me to find.  In a last ditch effort that has Rhys in knots, on the way back out, I start asking the prisoners if perchance they happened to notice some sort of secret door in their cell.  Predictably, most tell me to fuck off, if they answer at all.  I also get a couple shaky no''s that pull at my heartstrings.  I know many here are just awaiting trial.  I wonder what the scared ones allegedly did to wind up in these cages.

    As I get closer to the front door, I unwittingly start to get a little lax about my personal safety, knowing that Sten and Poskhe are so close by.  I must have walked too close to the bars of the cell next to me, because out of the corner of my eye, I see a hand shoot out and reach for a dagger on my belt.

    My knife is through his bars and at his throat before he can even touch one.  Beside me, I hear Rhys draw his sword, but he¡¯s about half a second behind.

    I look the man at the end of my blade up and down, sizing him up.  He¡¯s a wiry lizard with unusually long claws and an unstable glint in his eye.  He seems surprised and very displeased to be in his current situation.

    "Cute," I say to the prisoner, "but what exactly were you planning on doing with that after taking it?  You know the guards here have swords and spears, right?"

    He hisses and flashes his fangs at me, tail lashing, seemingly undeterred by the knife at his throat.

    "I was planning on slitting your throat, you filthy cunt,¡± he snarls.

    I snort.  "That''s kind of pointless.  I feel like you''re just lashing out because you got your hand caught in the cookie jar."

    He sneers and chuckles dryly, then spits on me, catching me on the cheek.

    "Fuck you.  And get this thing away from my neck.  You''re no more a killer than I am a ham sandwich."

    Well that was rude.  I was going to just walk away, since there¡¯s not a lot he can really do from behind bars.  However, he¡¯s really going to great lengths to piss me off here.  Threatening me, trying to steal from me, and spitting on me are all bad enough, but underestimating me is a cardinal sin.  I decide that if he¡¯s going to try to play the tough guy, I can humor him and tough-guy back a little.

    I smile sweetly and twist the knife into the skin of his throat.  He hisses in pain.

    "Rhys, what cell is this?" I ask without looking away from the prisoner.

    "Um,¡± Rhys says, then pauses to check the number carved in the stone wall above the cell.  ¡°It¡¯s cell eight."

    "Hey Poskhe,¡± I shout loud enough that the guards in the front room can hear me, ¡°what¡¯s the guy in cell eight in for?"

    Poskhe responds right away.

    "He''s suspected of torturing and killing a family of three in cold blood," he calls back.  ¡°Being held here until his trial.¡±

    My grin widens.  "Well what do you know, Cell Eight, I have a higher body count than you,¡± I inform him with delight.  ¡°All self-defense of course, just like this would be.  I¡¯d really prefer it if you don¡¯t give me a reason to kill you, but if you do, I won¡¯t lose a wink of sleep over it."

    Cell Eight looks at me like I just grew a second head.

    "Self-defense?¡± he says incredulously.  ¡°I''m in a cage, moron."

    "I have a witness who watched you lash out at me through the bars and the fucking king in my back pocket,¡± I say.  ¡°If I say it''s self-defense, that''s what it is."

    He tries to stare me down, searching my face as though still trying to determine if I would actually kill him.  I can see him hesitating, a tiny bit of uncertainty creeping into his expression.  The second I see him falter, with a flick of my wrist, I dig my knife into the bottom of his jaw and swipe it toward me, cutting a line from there to his chin.  He howls and recoils, and I use the opportunity to step away and head for the exit.

    "You BITCH!" he screams at my receding back.

    I wave at him without turning around.

    ¡°Nice meeting you, Cell Eight,¡± I call in a singsong voice.  ¡°Good luck with the trial.¡±

    A long string of expletives and threats follow me on my way out.  I stop by the guards¡¯ table before I head out the door.

    ¡°Please tell me the evidence against that guy is strong,¡± I say as I sit down in an empty chair, wiping spittle off my face.

    ¡°A witness saw him leaving the house and ditching a bloody knife,¡± Sten tells me, shuffling cards while he talks, seemingly unbothered by the altercation.  ¡°Only a matter of time before he hangs.¡±

    I sigh in relief.  ¡°Thank the gods.  It would be a pain in the ass to have him running around loose looking for vengeance.¡±

    ¡°Find anything interesting?¡± Poskhe asks, with a smirk that says he knows the answer to the question.

    ¡°Not here,¡± I reply, pouting at his lack of faith in me.  ¡°I have many other places to check, though.  This is just stop number one.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find something soon, Cat,¡± Sten says in a pacifying tone.  ¡°In the meantime, want us to deal you and Rhys in for a round or two?¡±

    I pause for a second and deliberately let the sound of Cell Eight¡¯s screaming fill the silence with long, drawn out descriptions of all the ways he would torture me.  It''s quite graphic, actually.  I''ll give him points for creativity, though.

    ¡°I think I¡¯d have a hard time concentrating,¡± I say.  ¡°We¡¯ll see you guys later.¡±

 Chapter 20

    After two weeks, I''m running out of places to look for my secret entrance to the catacombs.  I¡¯ve gone through every place on Prince Akharos¡¯s list to no avail, but I''m not giving up hope.  I still have some ideas in my back pocket.

    There¡¯s one spot that¡¯s been nagging at the back of my mind since about halfway through the list.  I haven¡¯t checked it out yet, because I think there may be a good chance that I could drown if I open the wrong door, but since I¡¯m running out of options, it looks like the time has come to weigh my curiosity against my self-preservation.  Unsurprisingly, my curiosity wins by a landslide.  I don¡¯t want to make the decision for Rhys, though, as he¡¯ll have to come along with me, so I check with him before I go.

    ¡°You think we could drown,¡± he repeats.  ¡°As in you¡¯re not sure?¡±

    ¡°I have no clue,¡± I admit.  ¡°It¡¯s possible that the chance of drowning is actually zero, but I just don¡¯t know enough to say either way.¡±

    ¡°Well that¡¯s not really a lot to go on, but if you¡¯re still just looking within the castle, I don¡¯t think there are many places where you would drown by opening the wrong door.  I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    Rhys has been looking at me differently since the incident in the dungeons.  I can''t tell if it''s fear, respect, or even distaste I see in his eyes ¨C he can be a little hard to read.  I hope he doesn¡¯t think less of me for threatening someone in a cage.  I doubt that¡¯s it, though, since he most likely would have done the same thing if I hadn¡¯t reacted first.  He probably would have threatened the man just for trying to touch me, let alone insulting and spitting on me.  Maybe he¡¯s unhappy that he didn¡¯t have the opportunity.

    He¡¯s been very good about humoring me in my search, and I¡¯ve appreciated his company on what is quite likely to turn out to be nothing more than a wild goose chase.  He does whatever I ask of him, helping me push on walls, move bookcases, lift grates, and scour rooms for hidden switches or gaps in the walls.  I hope this isn¡¯t boring to him.  I¡¯m finding it a bit tedious myself, and I¡¯m the one who actually wants to do it.  He never complains, though, and I¡¯m grateful to have a companion in this strange errand I¡¯ve undertaken.

    After leaving the great hall one morning, getting confirmation in advance from Khysmet that he has plans that don¡¯t involve me this afternoon, I head off to continue my search, Rhys following behind.

    The place to which I¡¯m leading us is somewhere I learned about somewhat early in my stay here, after asking one of the chemists about the castle plumbing.  I was confused how we could have running water despite being above the highest point of the mountain.  She explained to me that one of the castle towers, the northernmost one, is actually a sort of water tower.  It¡¯s a huge, hollow tube of stone, paved with a special mortar designed to withstand extreme pressure without cracking, built directly above an underground spring.  The spring constantly fills the tower, and pipes lead out of it at various heights, taking water to every floor of the castle.  Any excess is diverted at the top of the tower down an external aqueduct that leads into Dimos to provide running water to other parts of the city as well.

    So, I¡¯m going to the northern tower.  I figure that if it¡¯s built around an underground spring, there might be a doorway nearby that leads underground.  I have no idea how it¡¯s constructed, though, or if there¡¯s any exposed water somewhere that one of us could fall into, or if I might accidentally hit a switch that empties the tower or something.  Really just going in blind, here.

    First I head outdoors to walk around the outside of the northern tower, to see if there are any external entrances.  We walk around it a couple of times just to be sure, but it doesn¡¯t look like it¡¯s accessible from outside.  So, I take us back inside, and go on the ground floor to where the northern tower should attach to the castle.  All I see here is featureless wall, though it¡¯s curved outwards, confirming we¡¯re in the right place.  I ask Rhys if there¡¯s a lower floor in this part of the castle, and he confirms it and leads us to a nearby staircase down into darkness.  Rhys lights the lamp we brought, then we head down.

    There are floors below the ground floor in some parts of the castle, but not all.  This section of basement is relatively small.  It¡¯s really only the hallway beside the northern tower, and I only see three doors along the wall, and none of them lead into the tower.  I think it¡¯s strange that Prince Akharos didn¡¯t mention this place on his list.  Once I start opening doors, though, I see why.  None of them are very big, and they seem to basically be supply rooms.  One of them is full of nothing but sealed buckets.  Another is full of tools that I don¡¯t recognize and many different sizes of wooden boards.  The third seems to be a sort of disused chemist¡¯s lab, but without the usual wide variety of ingredients that labs typically contain.  There¡¯s just a few large covered vats and some equipment.  None of these rooms seem to have any secret entrances.

    I turn to the curved wall of the northern tower.  I don¡¯t see a door, but I can sense that if there is one at all, this is where it will be.  I start running my hands over the wall, combing over every inch of it for secrets.  I get all the way to the opposite side of the wall with no luck and am about to lose heart, when I see it.  At the end of the curved wall, right where it meets a perpendicular wall at the end of the hallway, there is an indent in the stonework.  It¡¯s a vertical slit that leads a short distance in before it stops.  I put my hand in the slit and find that it leads to a second indent perpendicular to that, forming a handle in one of the stones.  My heart rate jumps through the roof.

    I turn to Rhys.

    ¡°This is the part where we might drown,¡± I say.  ¡°It¡¯s a door into the water tower.¡±

    He blinks at me in confusion.  ¡°Water tower?¡±

    ¡°Water tower,¡± I confirm.  ¡°I think this door opens toward us, though.  If there were water right behind it, a door that opens out probably wouldn¡¯t be able to handle the pressure without being forced open, so I don¡¯t think we¡¯re really in any danger.  Are you ready?¡±

    He stares at me for a second, eyes wide, then nods.

    I pull on the handle.  A large door, previously flush with the stone wall, swings out towards us.  The space behind it is rather well lit from an unidentified light source.  Clearly visible are another curved wall, seemingly with a smaller diameter, and a stone staircase sandwiched between the curves leading down to the right.

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    I giggle like a schoolgirl and jump up and down with unfettered glee.

    ¡°Son of a bitch¡­¡± Rhys mutters in awe beside me, leaning into the open doorway and looking around.

    ¡°What, did you doubt me or something?¡± I tease.

    ¡°Maybe for a split second,¡± he admits sheepishly.  ¡°I¡¯ll be sure not to make that mistake again, Miss Catarina.¡±

    I take a step through the doorway.  When I look up, it¡¯s clear that the light is coming from the sun, filtering down between the slats of a lattice high above.  From what I can see before the space between the walls curves off to the side, there are several floors of ladders and wooden scaffolding climbing all the way to the top, probably circling the whole tower.

    I start down the curved staircase eagerly, Rhys following closely behind.  It seems to lead all the way around the northern tower in a long, lazy arc.  The outer wall is made of cobbled stone at first, but that quickly makes way for a smooth expanse of solid rock, as though it was carved directly into the earth.  Not long before the staircase loops around on itself completely, the outer wall of the tower opens abruptly into a large cavern.  The sunlight reaches into the cavern, and though it¡¯s much dimmer, the whole space is still clearly visible.  It looks like the inner circle extends all the way to the cavern floor.

    As we reach the bottom of the staircase I run my hands along the center wall.

    ¡°I think I get it,¡± I say, thinking aloud.  ¡°The center part is the water tower, leading all the way down to this cave, where the spring is coming from.  And the space between it and the outer tower is probably for maintenance reasons.  Like, if it were ever to spring a leak, you could climb the scaffolding to patch it.  And if there¡¯s a serious breach, instead of just exploding straight out of the walls into the castle or the open air, the water would have somewhere to go.  Like a backup tower.¡±

    Rhys is wandering the cavern, staring in amazement.  I ask him to walk in one direction and call out if he sees a tunnel, and I¡¯ll go the opposite way and do the same.  I keep my eye out the whole way around, but I don¡¯t even see an indent in the wall big enough for a person to fit into.  We meet again on the opposite side of the cavern.  He didn¡¯t have any luck either.  No tunnel.

    I sit down on the floor and put my head in my hands, trying to think.  I tap my fingers against my temples.  There must be something I¡¯m missing here.  I guess I can just go around pushing on the walls again.  It¡¯s a big cavern, so it¡¯ll take a while, but I don¡¯t really know what else¨C.

    ¡°Hey¡­¡± Rhys starts hesitantly, interrupting my train of thought.  ¡°If this is supposed to be where the water goes when the tower leaks¡­ Wouldn¡¯t that mean that somewhere down here, there would be a drain?¡±

    I blink.  Then look up at him and blink again.  Then I scramble up to my feet so fast it makes him jump.

    ¡°You¡¯re a genius, Rhys!¡± I shout, and almost move to hug him before I remember how uncomfortable that would make him and stop part way.  ¡°Let¡¯s see if we can find a part of the room that¡¯s lower than the rest.  There isn¡¯t a lot of standing water here, even though it would at least get wet from the top of the tower during the rain, so it must be well drained.¡±

    Together we wander the cavern, observing the floor to check for any slight slope to the ground.  Between the two of us we manage to triangulate the lowest point of the floor.  There, in the wall, is a small hole, oblong in shape and low to the ground, that neither of us noticed before.

    ¡°Is that it?¡± he says.  ¡°That¡¯s the drain?  It¡¯s pretty small.¡±

    ¡°I have an idea,¡± I say.

    I walk up to the section of wall directly above the hole and push.  A section of stone wall swings inwards slightly.  I let go of the wall and it swings back until it¡¯s once more flush.

    I push it in all the way and look through the opening down the long, sloping, honest-to-god, motherfucking tunnel, leading as far as I can see straight into total darkness.

    This time I can¡¯t stop myself from hugging Rhys.

    He goes rigid while I squeal and rock back and forth.  I keep it short, though, and let go of him in favor of running around the room victoriously, whooping and pumping my fists in the air.  I run until I start to get out of breath, then go back to the hidden door and push in again.

    ¡°Okay, Rhys, can you give me the lantern?¡± I say.

    ¡°You¡¯re going in now?¡± he asks incredulously.

    ¡°Just really quick,¡± I say.  ¡°I need to see if it¡¯s possible to open the door from the other side.  You stay here in case I can¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Um.  Okay.¡±

    He hands me the lantern, and I take a couple steps into the tunnel.  I turn around to see that he¡¯s keeping the door open, looking at me with a degree of concern.

    ¡°Come on, I trust you to let me out,¡± I say encouragingly.  ¡°I¡¯m only going to be in the dark for a minute or so.  I¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    He stares at me for a minute, then reluctantly nods and slowly lets the door close.

    The darkness is somewhat mitigated by the drain hole near the ground, and more so by the lantern, but it is still soul-crushing.  I feel the narrow walls squeezing in on me immediately.  I silently remind myself that there''s plenty of air in here, despite how stale and earthy it tastes, and try to breathe normally.

    The section of wall in front of me certainly doesn''t look like a door, and I thank the gods that I came through from the other side, because if I was wandering a tunnel and came up to this door, I would assume it was a dead end and turn around.  Fortunately, though, since I know what I''m looking for, it doesn''t take long to discover an indent that forms a handle and lets me pull the door open from this side.

    Rhys looks absurdly relieved, considering I wasn''t out of sight for even thirty seconds.  It suddenly occurs to me to ask him a question.

    "Hey Rhys," I say, "can you smell if there''s been anyone in this cavern recently?"

    He cocks his head as though wondering why I''m asking, but doesn''t ask before flicking his tongue experimentally.

    "No one''s been down here for a long time," he says.  "I don''t even know how long.  There''s not even a stale scent of a single other living being down here.  It just smells like dirt."

    I hum in contemplation.  "So whoever is meeting in the catacombs is not getting there through this tunnel.  Worse than that, we don''t even know that this tunnel leads to the catacombs at all."

    He cocks his head.  "Where do you think it does lead?"

    I grin at him wickedly.

    "Guess we''ll just have to find out."

 Chapter 21

    It''s about four when I get back to my room from below the water tower.  Ultimately, I agreed with Rhys that starting cave exploration today would not be wise, partly because we need proper equipment for it and partly because I did tell Khysmet that I would tell him before doing anything.  I''m not sure where he is now, but I''ll plan to intercept him later.

    First, I take a bath to wash off both the dirt smell from the cavern and the scent of Rhys that I''m sure is on me from when I hugged him.  I have a feeling that if Khysmet smelled it, he''d exact some sort of retribution, and I would rather avoid that unnecessary altercation.

    Once I''m clean I head down to the kitchens for an early dinner, snagging some of the things that were made in advance for the dining hall tonight.  I''m buzzing with energy and struggling to stop myself from explaining what I''m so excited about, but fortunately the cooks aren''t talking too much to me, since they¡¯re all prepping for tonight¡¯s meal.

    Then I stop by the library to find some books on certain subjects I am suddenly very interested in, specifically underground exploration and map-making.  I have a feeling that if this tunnel does connect to the catacombs, it''s not going to be a straight shot.  I''ll need to keep track of intersections and changes in direction and maybe even altitude, and I''m sure there are techniques and equipment that can help me with that.  I just need to learn what they are.

    Armed with a few promising tomes, I decide to just wait for Khysmet in his private study.  It''s almost mealtime, so he should be going to the dining hall shortly, then he''s probably going to come back here.  I flop down on his couch, settle in with my books, and wait.

    After a couple hours, I hear the doorknob turn and immediately spring off the couch to greet him.  He opens the door and looks distinctly not at all surprised to see me waiting eagerly for his entrance.  I¡¯m wiggling in excitement as he closes the door behind him quietly.

    ¡°I have,¡± I say, ¡°insanely, extremely, and unbelievably exciting news.  You¡¯re not going to believe this.  Go on, ask me what it is.¡±

    He chuckles weakly and looks at the ceiling.

    ¡°News so exciting you¡¯re waiting for me outside my bedroom in the evening just to tell me, huh?¡± he asks, a strange edge to his voice.

    I nod earnestly.  ¡°It¡¯s that good,¡± I assure him.

    Instead of asking me more, though, he looks back down and stares me in the eye, his expression raw with hunger and desperation, and starts stalking toward me.  I instinctively start to backpedal, intimidated despite myself by the intense aura radiating off of him.

    "You know, Cat," he says with a hint of mania in his voice, "of all the things you''ve done to test my patience during this little game of yours, I must say, serving yourself up on a silver platter at night in my bedroom is really a masterful stroke.  Well played, truly."

    He leads me all the way across the room until I feel my back hit a wall.  Still he comes nearer, placing his hands against the wall on either side of me and standing with his entire body mere inches away from touching me.  His tongue flicks out just barely avoiding my face.

    ¡°You win,¡± he says, voice already ragged, breathing heavy.  ¡°I give up.  I submit.  I¡¯m begging you.  Please, just let me touch you.  I can¡¯t stand it any longer.  I¡¯ll do whatever you want.  I need to run my hands all over your body.¡±

    I blink.  Huh.  I got so excited about my discovery that I kind of forgot that I was doing this.  I¡¯m not going to brush off my hard-won victory, though.  I grin eagerly.  My news can wait.

    ¡°Whatever I want, huh?¡± I ask.  ¡°Anything at all?¡±

    ¡°Anything,¡± he pledges.

    I hum in consideration, as though I haven¡¯t already planned on what I¡¯m going to ask of him ages ago.

    ¡°I want you,¡± I say, ¡°to stop telling me what to do all the time.¡±

    ¡°Anything but that,¡± he replies without hesitation.

    I pout and give him a withering look.  ¡°That¡¯s not really how this works, you know," I explain patiently.  "You¡¯re the one begging, so you¡¯re hardly in the position to be making demands.¡±

    He shakes his head feebly, panting with either desire or the exertion of not touching me.

    ¡°It¡¯s not a matter of making demands,¡± he says.  ¡°You¡¯re asking something of me that I know I won¡¯t be able to give you.  I would be wholly unable to suppress the urge to tell you what to do in perpetuity.  If I promised that to you now, I would be knowingly lying, and I can¡¯t abide by that.  I beg of you, ask something else of me.¡±

    I think about that for a second.  It does make sense.  I suppose I can throw him a bone and lower my demands just slightly.

    ¡°I want you to stop telling me that you¡¯ll ¡®allow¡¯ me to do things.¡±

    He cocks his head.  ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°I mean that when I say I¡¯m planning on doing something, I don¡¯t want you saying ¡®I¡¯ll allow it,¡¯ like you¡¯re generously permitting me to take actions that I¡¯m going to be taking anyway.¡±

    He¡¯s quiet for a while, just hovering over me and heaving ragged breaths.  Eventually, however, he responds.

    ¡°Agreed.¡±

    I smile darkly and tug on the front of his shirt, pulling him forward and leaning in until my lips are ghosting against his cheek.

    ¡°Then what are you waiting for?¡±

    Khysmet¡¯s hands are on me in an instant, wrapping around my back and pulling my body flush with his, his hips grinding against me with desperate fervor, letting me feel the hardness there.  His tongue flicks against my neck, my cheek, my chest, devouring every inch of my bare skin, drawing little whimpers from me.  I wrap my arms around his back and melt into his touch.

    He puts one knee between my legs and forces them apart, and I groan in response.  Instinctively, I lift one leg, trying to wrap it around his hips and pull him closer.  He chuckles low against my skin and reaches down to my ass, then physically lifts me off the ground.  I make a startled noise before wrapping my other leg around him too, my skirt hiking up high to my thigh, locking my ankles behind the small of his back.  He holds me suspended in the air, my back against the wall, rolling his hips into me and panting against my skin, and I hungrily pull him in with my thighs to meet his every thrust.

    ¡°Hold on tight,¡± he instructs.

    I don¡¯t have time to ask why before he¡¯s leaning back, lifting me off the wall and fully supporting my weight.  I squeal and hold on as tight as I can while he walks us across the room, taking us through the door that leads to his bedroom.  I¡¯ve never been through this door, but I don¡¯t really have the time now to look around and examine his decor choices as he slams me down onto the waiting bed.

    Before I even realize what he¡¯s doing, he takes his left hand and claws a long tear down the front of my dress.  Not just a slightly indecent one, but one that exposes most of my torso and frees my breasts completely.

    I make a loud frustrated sound.  ¡°Stop fucking doing that!¡±

    ¡°I wanted to see your tits,¡± he explains, unconcerned with my indignation.

    ¡°There are ways to remove clothing without ruining it, you know!¡±

    He demonstrates a perfect understanding of this concept by standing up and pulling off his own shirt.

    ¡°If you want to protect your underwear from the same fate, you should remove them now,¡± he advises.

    I hurry to comply.

    ¡°Real quick,¡± I ask, ¡°is it even possible for you to get me pregnant?¡±

    He starts to frantically untie the laces of his pants.  ¡°Yes, but it''s very difficult and also doesn''t matter right now because it¡¯s been three weeks since your last period.¡±

    I furrow my brow.  ¡°How do you know that?¡±

    ¡°I can smell when you bleed, Cat.¡±

    I groan and lay my head back on the bed to stare at the ceiling, trying not to process this information.

    When I hear the sound of his pants falling to the floor, I look back up, eager to satisfy a burning curiosity that has plagued me for a long time now.

    From the brief glimpse I get, I can see his cock is thick and pink with a rounded head, curved slightly upwards toward the end, seemingly slick with its own moisture, and with a ridge along the bottom from base to tip that has small spikes all along it.  No external testicles.  That¡¯s about all I can see however, before he¡¯s between my legs, lining up, and shoving it inside me all the way to the base in one swift movement.  I cry out at the sudden intrusion, which fills me completely and slams against the perfect spot deliciously deep inside my pussy.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    He chuckles darkly.  ¡°Oh no, I don¡¯t think so, Cat.  If you wanted to gently explore my body, you shouldn¡¯t have teased me relentlessly for two.  Fucking.  Weeks.¡±

    He punctuates each word with a brutal thrust, wresting feeble mewls from me in tandem with the motion of his hips.  When he pauses to let me recover, I laugh and use my legs to pull him in again.

    ¡°Don¡¯t hold back, okay?¡±

    He smirks as though saying that that was never an option, then starts fucking into me hard, setting a punishing pace that I''m struggling to meet with my hips and eventually just have to hold on tight and surrender to.  The impact of his thrusts slamming into me all the way to the hilt every time sends shockwaves through my clit that are taking me places fast.  I was worried when I saw the spikes along the bottom of his cock, but they''re not rigid and painful as I feared they might be; they just provide an interesting texture as they rub along my entrance and inner walls.  I''m clawing at his smooth back, scrabbling for a purchase to help ride out the onslaught, and I have to dig my nails in hard to hold on.  When I do, Khysmet growls appreciatively in response.

    His hips stutter for a second.

    "It''s so hot inside you," he pants.  "Like fucking into an inferno."

    When he resumes his pace with renewed vigor, he changes angles slightly and the new spot he''s hitting has me seeing stars.

    "Yes, Khysmet, right there!" I howl in pleasure, hanging on for dear life as he drives into me.  My back arches into him and my toes curl as he hits the same spot over and over, building me up more and more and more until I hit my peak, coming unraveled around his cock and screaming his name like a prayer.

    I expect him to slow down, to let me ride out my orgasm, but his pace remains unchanged, still punishing, nearly bruising my pelvis with each violent thrust.  My voice grows more frantic as I quickly become overstimulated, held at my peak for too long with nowhere else to go.  It''s exquisite agony, and the longer it continues, the more I start to lose control, losing grip on him with my hands and legs and starting to babble incoherently ¨C things like "oh fuck", and "please", and "I can''t", but also "yes", and "more", and "harder", and most of all "Khysmet", over and over and over.

    ¡°And here I thought you were loud in my office,¡± Khysmet pants between thrusts.  ¡°Let¡¯s see if I can¡¯t make you really scream.¡±

    That¡¯s all the warning I get before he leans forward and sinks his fangs into me, and I wince at the pinch in my shoulder for a moment until my senses kick into overdrive.

    If my overstimulation was agony before, this is excruciating pain the likes of which I''ve never before experienced.  I''m no longer capable of forming words ¨C just whining at a feverish pitch wavering in time with Khysmet''s relentless pounding.  Impossibly, the venom seems to have unlocked a second peak that I''m rapidly careening towards now, the pressure mounting uncontrollably until my second orgasm tears through me in agonizing white hot waves that wrack my whole body, blowing out my nerve endings and blocking out every other thought and sensation.  As my cunt spasms, clenching around Khysmet¡¯s cock with extreme force, his hips stutter, and he finally finds his release, spilling deep inside me with a desperate, ragged groan that thrums into my chest.

    Since I¡¯m no longer actively being drilled, the sensory overload starts easing to a much more manageable level, and I''m able to start getting my frantic breathing under control, concentrating on sucking in deep, centering breaths while my body shakes with the aftershocks of my orgasm.  Then suddenly, without warning and without pulling out, Khysmet collapses forward on top of me, squishing me under his full weight, his usually cool scales warm from sustained activity.  I squeal and wiggle a little, startled by this development, but as I lay under him for a few seconds, I find it¡¯s honestly not too uncomfortable.  The pressure is oddly soothing, and his skin feels nice pressed against my own.  I allow him to lay on me and recover for a moment, rather enjoying the feeling of his chest expanding and contracting as he breathes.

    After a while, though, I want to move again.  I try to push him off, but he ignores my attempts and just lays there like a dead fish.  I huff in irritation and pick a different strategy, instead concentrating on the muscles in my womb and squeezing hard around his softening cock.  He jumps and curses and scrambles to remove himself from inside me, then rolls to the side, allowing me to finally move and stretch.

    ¡°That was just unnecessary,¡± he says.

    ¡°You could have just moved when I tried to push you,¡± I point out.  ¡°You forced my hand.¡±

    ¡°Your cruelty knows no bounds.¡±

    I smirk and turn onto my side to face him.

    ¡°You know, you surprised me,¡± I say.  ¡°Given how sexually frustrated I made you, I thought you wouldn¡¯t last half that long.¡±

    He laughs dryly.  ¡°I¡¯ve been fucking into my fist twice a day for the past two weeks, Cat.  To be honest, my nerves are kind of shot.¡±

    As I lay here looking at him, my smile falters when it occurs to me that this might be the awkward part.  Does he want me to go?  Stay?  Do I even want to stay?  Although, considering my dress is completely destroyed, I really can¡¯t leave the room¡­

    I don¡¯t have the opportunity to think about this for very long though, before Khysmet is reaching out for me and tugging me closer, pulling me into him until my back is flush against his chest and wrapping his arms around me tight.  He even tangles his legs together with mine.  Then I feel something else snake around my leg, nearly making me jump out of my skin until I recognise it as his tail, which wraps snugly around my thigh a couple times.

    He hums contentedly, and I can feel the sound thrum pleasantly against my back.

    ¡°You¡¯re so warm,¡± he says.  ¡°Like my own tiny sun.¡±

    I furrow my brow.  It¡¯s far from cold in here.  I¡¯m not sure why he¡¯s clinging to me for heat.

    ¡°I thought Sungians weren¡¯t actually cold blooded?¡± I say.

    ¡°Not completely,¡± he replies.  ¡°We run a lot colder than most mammals, though.  It¡¯s why you¡¯ll find fireplaces in most rooms, even though I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll consider our winters rather warm.¡±

    I sigh and allow him to leech heat from me.  It¡¯s rather cozy, actually.  I inhale deeply his bergamot and mahogany scent, which is now a little musky from sex, but not in an unpleasant way.  I¡¯m just starting to get really comfortable when his tongue suddenly darts across my neck.  I almost cuss him out for sniffing me, but then realize I was just essentially doing the same thing and decide to keep quiet and let him lick me.

    "What do I smell like, anyway?" I ask, curious.

    "Like lilacs and petrichor," he replies, flicking his tongue across my skin again.  "Utterly intoxicating."

    "What''s petrichor?"

    "The smell of the earth after a warm rain.  Indescribable.  Earthy.  Beautiful in its transience."

    I smile and hum happily.  That sounds nice.  I snuggle further into his arms and enjoy the sensation of his tongue on my neck.

    Then, all of a sudden, I feel a headache start to form at my temples.  It swells rapidly and I grunt softly at the sudden onset of pain.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Khysmet asks.

    ¡°My head just hurts,¡± I say.  ¡°A lot actually.¡±

    ¡°Shit, I forgot to grab you antivenom.  One second.¡±

    He releases his hold on me and gets up out of the bed, pausing on his way out the door to pull out comfortable-looking pants and throw them on.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare move,¡± he commands.  ¡°Unless you want to take your dress off, if it¡¯s uncomfortable.  The rest of the way off, I mean.  I¡¯ll have someone bring a new one by tomorrow morning.¡±

    Then he leaves the room to head into his study.

    I sit up gingerly and rub my pounding head.  I guess that settles one issue, I think as I start to remove the remains of my dress.  I¡¯m not going to be heading back to my own room tonight if Khysmet has anything to say about it.  Which, given the fact that he can prevent me from getting new clothing, he absolutely does.  Might as well get comfortable.

    He returns after a short while with a little cup and container.  He hands me the cup, and I reach for the container as well, but he holds onto that and opens it himself.  While I drink, he applies the salve with gentle fingers to his bite on my shoulder.  Immediately, my headache disappears and my skin heals up.

    "So,¡± Khysmet says as he climbs back into bed after putting the salve away.  ¡°What was the exciting news you wanted to tell me about earlier?"

    "Oh yeah,¡± I say, perking up immensely.  ¡°I found my secret tunnel."

    He blinks at me wordlessly for a few seconds.

    "You''re kidding," he says.

    I beam at him smugly, relishing his stupefied expression.

    "When are you going to learn to stop doubting me?" I ask.

    He reaches out to tug on my arm and pull me back into his tight embrace.

    "Does it actually connect to the catacombs?" he asks as I get comfortable.

    "I don''t know,¡± I say eagerly.  ¡°I''ll have to explore it and find out."

    He scoffs.  "I don''t think so."

    I furrow my brow deeply.  "What the hell does that mean?"

    "It means,¡± he says, ¡°that exploring uncharted caves is ridiculously dangerous and I don''t want you to die doing so."

    I try to twist away from him so I can look him in the eye when I tell him to fuck off, but he holds me tight.  I can barely move.  I huff with irritation and resign myself to arguing with my back to him.

    "I''m doing my research, you know,¡± I inform him.  ¡°I''ve already taken out books on caving, and I''m planning on asking your chemists for tips and useful supplies they might have.  I¡¯m sure they have experience in going underground for ingredients.  I''m also going to be mapping the tunnels as I go, so they won''t be uncharted for long.  And I''ll bring Rhys every time.  I''ll be careful."

    ¡°Oh, like you were careful in the dungeons?  He pauses a moment to let his words sink in.  ¡°Yeah, I heard about what happened.¡±

    ¡°I was careful,¡± I maintain.  ¡°I didn¡¯t get hurt, did I?¡±

    ¡°No, I suppose you didn¡¯t get hurt, did you?¡±

    He''s quiet for a long time.  I listen to the sound of his breathing for a while, then try once more to wiggle out of his embrace.  No dice.  His tail wraps around my thigh again and squeezes tight.  Fucking snake.

    Khysmet sighs and nuzzles his snout into the top of my head, breathing in and out deeply.

    "Always let someone know when you¡¯re going in,¡± he says.  ¡°And I don''t want you down there for more than a few hours at a time.  Please, Cat."

    I grin.  Victory.

    ¡°I guess I can do that,¡± I say.  ¡°I would of course prefer to go down there for days straight, perhaps never seeing the light of the sun again and becoming a cave-dwelling hermit, but I suppose I¡¯ll agree to limit my time.¡±

    He chuckles into my hair.  "How kind of you to put your hermit dreams on hold for me.  Oh, and be sure to pick up some giant spider repellent before you head down.  They won''t eat someone of your size, but they still might give you a nasty bite."

    Every hair on my body stands on end.

    "Please tell me you''re joking."

 Chapter 22

    According to the court chemists, he was not, in fact, joking.  Giant spiders are common in caves and tunnels under all of Veilsung.

    "They''re known as glass spiders," Nolara explains to me eagerly.  "Their carapaces are entirely transparent, so you can see right through to their innards.  Usually they come up to about knee height, so ''giant'' is a relative term.  Most adults of the sentient races are too big to need to worry about being preyed on, but they''ll happily eat anyone around or under three feet tall.¡±

    I¡¯ve broken out into a cold sweat practically from the first word of her description.  I don¡¯t hate spiders or anything.  Far from it ¨C I think they¡¯re fascinating and beautiful in a strange sort of way.  I just don¡¯t want them on or near me.  And bigger spiders can move faster, so they could unexpectedly run up and touch me faster, so they need to stay further away.  That¡¯s all.  In a cave, though I¡¯d be forced into much closer quarters than I would like.  I¡¯m not looking forward to this.

    ¡°Are they venomous?¡± I ask nervously.

    ¡°No,¡± Nolara says with a dismissive wave of her hand, ¡°not enough to kill you anyway.  Just enough to hurt for a couple hours.¡±

    That sounds like a ¡°yes¡± to me, actually, but I don¡¯t contradict her.

    ¡°We have a repellent that keeps them at a distance,¡± says another chemist named Ulli.  ¡°They won¡¯t even look at you, let alone bite you.¡±

    ¡°If you happen to see one that¡¯s already dead,¡± says Nolara, ¡°you should bring back its body, or at least snap off a leg or two.  The exoskeletons can be carved into durable and non-reactive utensils and containers.  They cannibalize their dead very quickly, though, so you may not see any.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind,¡± I say while screaming internally.  Giant cannibal spiders.  All right.

    Besides the spider repellant, they have a lot of other potions and gadgets that they use while searching caves for ingredients.  Evidently caves are rich with plant, animal, and fungal life that have unique chemical uses.  Veilsung is actually quite ahead in the study of chemistry for this reason.  While loading me up with supplies, they go on and on about all the research they have done in caves across the country.  I learn about a type of fungus that has only ever been found in one cave which has properties that reduce the gravitational pull on those who consume it, but is also exceedingly toxic.  Also, a snail that creates two shells in different locations and can withdraw into one and pop out of the other.  The chemists have figured out how to take secretions from its body and apply them to small containers, linking two together so that messages can be sent instantaneously as long as the intended recipient has the other box.  I listen with rapt attention, even though I sincerely hope I don¡¯t run into many of the more dangerous things they¡¯re talking about.

    Some things they hand me have obvious uses.  I recognize a compass immediately, and a long measuring tape to help me with charting the caves as I go.  Ulli also hands me something called a clinometer, which is for measuring the angle of the cave floor and should help me keep track of where we are vertically, as long as I can do a little math.  Not looking forward to that, but I¡¯m capable of it.  I¡¯m also given a special lantern that uses a specific oil.

    ¡°It¡¯s mixed with oils from frost mint plants, which burn cold,¡± Nolara explains.  ¡°You can handle the lantern even after it¡¯s been burning for a long time that way.  Incidentally, if you ever get hot in your room, we can give you some frost mint to burn in your fireplace to cool it down.¡±

    One thing that scares me is when they hand me what looks like a jar full of dead bugs.

    ¡°They¡¯re choke beetles,¡± Ulli says.  ¡°They thrive in caves that have air that is poisonous to most living things.  When taken out of their caves, they go into a dormant state, but when surrounded by bad air again, they wake back up.  They are bioluminescent and make shrill whistling noises, so it¡¯s hard not to notice when they start to revive.  It¡¯s essentially the opposite of a canary in a coal mine.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s amazing,¡± I say.  ¡°It¡¯s probably a huge pain to collect them.¡±

    ¡°Actually, if you notice any that look dead on the cave floor, then it¡¯s a good sign you¡¯re coming up on a dangerous pocket of air.  It¡¯s not hard to just scoop up the dormant ones and turn around.¡±

    I specifically ask if there¡¯s anything they have that would mask my scent.  Even though Rhys told me that there was no sign that anyone has been going through that entrance to the tunnel, if it does end up connecting to the catacombs where people have been secretly meeting up, I don¡¯t want my distinct human scent in the area to tip anyone off that I¡¯ve been sneaking around.  They hand me a container of thin lotion that I have to rub all over my body including my hair.  Apparently, rather than erasing my scent, it has a smell that¡¯s analogous to white noise, sort of making it impossible to pinpoint or distinguish from the background.  They reassure me that they have plenty of it, so I shouldn¡¯t be afraid to use as much as I need.

    In addition to everything the chemists set me up with, I send for some clothes that are more appropriate for tunnel exploration.  Dresses aren¡¯t going to cut it.  Even the clothing I have from when I was with the Warblers isn¡¯t entirely suited for crawling through the dirt and dust ¨C it¡¯s not durable enough.  I¡¯m going to need thick pants, breathable shirts, and good boots to get around down there.

    Lastly, I ask someone to help me source the various rulers and other doohickeys needed for mapmaking.  I¡¯m not planning on going crazy and trying to be perfectly accurate, but I want to at least be able to tell if a tunnel loops back on itself, and maybe even get a good idea of where I am in relation to the mapped portions of the catacombs.  I have a big sketchbook to take notes with, and I¡¯m getting larger sheets of paper to make actual maps on.

    It takes a few days for me to get all set up, and during that short time, a somewhat irritating development takes place.

    I¡¯m in my bedroom in the evening, sitting at my window and watching the tail end of the sunset while reading about mapmaking, when I hear a knock on my door.  I expect it to be Vizsla, who sometimes comes by in the evenings just to hang out after her tasks for the day are finished, but unfortunately, it is not.

    ¡°Good evening,¡± Khysmet greets when I open the door.

    ¡°Um.  Hi,¡± I respond unenthusiastically.  He¡¯s never sought me out after dinner before, so I¡¯m a little confused as to why he¡¯s here now.  ¡°Do you¡­ need something?¡±

    ¡°Not particularly,¡± he says.

    I wait for him to continue with some kind of explanation, but he does not.  After a moment of silence, though, he speaks again.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to invite me in?¡±

    I purse my lips.  ¡°And why would I do that?¡±

    ¡°Come now, Cat, it¡¯s only polite,¡± he chides me gently.  ¡°Also, I might have something important to tell you that can only be said behind closed doors.¡±

    I narrow my eyes skeptically.  ¡°Do you?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to let me in and find out.¡±

    I sigh and roll my eyes, but I open the door for him anyway.  Might as well see what he wants.

    He strolls nonchalantly into my room, examining the decor as he goes.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± he says, ¡°your couch isn¡¯t very big.  I¡¯ll have it exchanged for something more comfortable.¡±

    ¡°Uh.  Sure, that would be nice,¡± I say.  I¡¯m not really sure why he brought that up.

    He takes a seat on the couch that I do have and looks at me expectantly.  When I don¡¯t do anything besides stare at him with a confused expression on my face, he pats his thigh as though inviting a dog to jump onto the furniture.

    I flush bright red.  ¡°I¡¯m not sitting on your lap.¡±

    He rolls his eyes.  ¡°Oh now you¡¯re shy.  I get it, sunshine, you climb all over me in public, but once we¡¯re behind closed doors, you suddenly feel it would be indecent.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sh¨C  Don¡¯t call me¨C¡± I stutter, unsure what part of that extremely objectionable statement to address first.  ¡°It was a means to an end, that¡¯s all!¡±

    ¡°A means to the end of sleeping with me, right?¡± he finishes.  ¡°Well, I have some good news for you about what may happen if you sit in my lap now.¡±

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°No,¡± I correct, ¡°a means to the end of torturing you.  And it worked very well, by the way, if you recall.¡±

    "So come torture me some more.  Please?"

    I sigh deeply.  I wouldn¡¯t particularly mind sitting in his lap ¨C in my recent experience, I¡¯ve found it to be rather comfortable, in fact ¨C but I don¡¯t want to just do what he wants.  I decide to try to regain some sense of agency in this scenario.  I cross my arms and look down my nose at him.

    ¡°Beg more and I¡¯ll consider it,¡± I instruct.

    ¡°Please come sit on me, Cat,¡± he says obediently.  ¡°Take pity on me, I beg of you.  I so desperately desire your touch.¡±

    ¡°Wow, that was so pathetic.  Aren¡¯t you supposed to be a king or something?  You really shouldn¡¯t embarrass yourself like that.¡±

    He smiles at me as I come over and curl up across his waiting thighs.  His arms wrap around my waist, and even though he specifically asked me to torture him just now, I allow it.  I lean my shoulder against his chest and he rests his cheek against my clavicle.  It¡¯s nice.

    ¡°So,¡± I ask, ¡°is this the only reason you¡¯re here?¡±

    I feel his smirk against my skin.  ¡°More or less,¡± he says.  ¡°Since you¡¯ve now responded positively to my advances, I¡¯m finding it significantly more difficult to resist the urge to seek your company in the evenings.  So I figured, why resist?¡±

    ¡°I guess¡­¡± I say hesitantly, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind seeing you at night.  You know, from time to time.¡±

    ¡°I''m glad to hear you''re amenable to the idea.  As such, from now on I want you in your bedroom by eight each night,¡± he orders.  ¡°I don''t want to have to come looking for you when I want to see you."

    I scoff and pull away from his chest to glare at him.

    "Are you serious?" I say.  "I''m not going to follow a fucking curfew.  Why don¡¯t you try that again, and ask nicely this time.¡±

    He meets my glare submissively, takes a deep breath, and asks again as instructed.

    ¡°I¡­ would like to be able to locate you easily in the evenings," he says.  "If you could please try to either be in your bedroom at night around eight, or at least send word to me of where you¡¯re going to be¡­ I would appreciate the courtesy.¡±

    I give him a patronizing pat on the cheek.  ¡°Much better.  I suppose I can keep you apprised of my location.  If I want you to be able to find me, that is.¡±

    ¡°Is that a challenge, sunshine?  I¡¯ll be able to find you wherever you try to hide.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a big castle, your majesty.  I¡¯d like to see you try.¡±

    So now I¡¯m going to have to contend with Khysmet calling on me at odd hours of the night.  It¡¯s a mild inconvenience, as I rather enjoyed my freedom and solitude in the evenings, but it¡¯s not something I¡¯m dreading as much as I would have a couple months ago.  Somehow, between getting to know him better and learning that I have more power over him than I previously realized, I have begun to actually enjoy parts of our time together.  He¡¯s still constantly trying to get under my skin, but he also will do pretty much anything I ask of him, and I¡¯m not shy about asking.  If he wants to swing by a few nights a week to snuggle and fuck, I can live with that.

    The day after next, I¡¯m finally set up with all the equipment necessary to make my first foray down into the tunnels.  I¡¯ve packed and repacked everything a couple times, smeared the scent-covering lotion on myself head to foot, taken the giant spider repellant, and practiced lighting the lantern with my eyes closed in case we need to extinguish it and relight it in total darkness.  I¡¯m running circles around Rhys as we head to the tunnel entrance.  He doesn''t seem as enthusiastic as I am, but I know better than to assume that means he''s not excited.

    "Have you ever explored a cave before, Rhys?" I ask as we descend the stairs around the water tower.  "I know they''re super common everywhere under Veilsung."

    "When I was pretty young, I used to sneak into a cave close to my house with some friends," he says.  "Our parents all warned us to stay away, but obviously that just made it more exciting.  We never got that far, though.  I didn''t want to be down there alone, so when someone else chickened out, I would follow them back outside.  Before I could convince someone to go in really deep with me, they''d all lost interest in cave exploration."

    I grin toothily at him.  "Then you''re in luck today, because I guarantee I''m not going to chicken out before you."

    He shoots me a look tinged ever so slightly with doubt.

    "I''ll believe you more after seeing how you react to the first giant spider," he says.

    "Hey," I protest, "I might piss myself and will probably cry, but I''m not leaving the damn tunnel on account of some eight-legged fucks that aren''t even going to eat me."

    I''m bouncing on the balls of my feet as we get to the door.  We light one of our lanterns before opening it.  A solid quarter of the supplies we''re carrying consists of just extra lantern oil, much more than we need for the two to four hours of exploration that I promised Khysmet we would limit ourselves to.  I''m not taking any chances, though.  If something were to happen that would force us to stay down there longer, I don''t want to run the risk of having to find our way back in total darkness.

    I push gently on the section of wall that I know swings in and walk into the tunnel behind it, holding the door open for Rhys to follow behind.  When the door swings closed again, I am in awe of just how quickly the darkness swallows our small light.  Beyond the reach of our lanterns, the tunnel vanishes into nothingness, as though the hundred feet of illuminated tunnel is all that exists in the universe.  A thrill runs through me, and the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand straight up.  I inhale the stale smell of rocks and dirt, run my hand along the cool stone wall, and feel the narrow tunnel close in around me like a swallowing throat.  I pull the long coil of measuring tape out of my backpack and drop the end on the ground.

    ¡°Okay,¡± I say.  ¡°Let¡¯s fucking do this.¡±

    It doesn¡¯t take long before it becomes clear that this isn¡¯t going to be an easy process.

    We run into a fork in the tunnel not two hundred feet in, where it separates into three paths.  I take note in my sketchbook the exact distance from the entrance to this intersection and measure the angle of the ground, which has been on a steady slope the whole way so far.  I¡¯ll do the math later.  Interestingly, at this intersection, the path that curves to the left takes a significant downward slope.  I have a feeling that this is designed to funnel the runoff from a water tower breach in that direction.  My gut says that it will lead either outside or to an underground river.  We¡¯re not going that way first.

    I take us down the middle path, making note of the angles of the branching path and how they correspond to the needle on my compass, along with distinguishing features of the intersection that will help identify the path to the exit.  A couple hundred feet further down, there is another three-way split, and I once again record measurements of all kinds and notate a sketch of the angles of these tunnels.  Again, I take us down the center path.

    Gradually, this tunnel hooks to the left, sloping gently downhill at the same slight slope that has characterized the path we''ve taken so far.  Suddenly, it opens up into a larger, more natural looking cavern and I see my first giant spider sprawled high on the wall, legs spanning about six feet across, transparent body casting a freaky shadow on the stone behind it.  The cobwebs in this room are thick, but there seems to be a clear path through them.

    Before we go in, I pull up the measuring tape and take my measurements and my notes.  Then I swallow thickly and motion for Rhys to go in front of me, which he kindly does, brandishing the spear he brought in case the spider decides to try its luck with eating us.

    There seems to be only one other exit to this room, another tunnel in the opposite wall, which if we were to go through it, would take us within fifteen feet of the spider.  I nod to Rhys that I''m ready to go, and he starts walking us across the room.  I look around for other exits along the way, but there are none.  I''m doing a good job of not pissing myself or even crying when, right when we''re almost at the other side, suddenly the spider moves and I scream at the top of my lungs.

    It only twitches, though.  Then it''s still once more.  Rhys leads us the rest of the way through the cavern exit without the spider moving again.  When we''re a suitable distance down the new tunnel, I, while hyperventilating slightly, scribble my notes about the size of the cavern and the presence of unreasonably sized arachnid life in it.

    "I''m impressed, Miss Catarina," Rhys says while I write.  "You didn''t even cry, let alone piss yourself."

    I snort.  Rhys seems livelier down here than I''ve ever seen him.  He rarely cusses in front of me, and his face is quite a bit more expressive than usual.  It''s nice to see.

    "I haven''t pissed myself yet," I correct.  "It''s possible that twenty minutes from now, my brain will finally process what just happened and I''ll faint on the spot."

    We continue down the tunnel, which is still hooking to the left and starting to go slightly uphill.  I keep an eye on my compass and record regular measurements.  The next intersection we come upon gives me a sinking feeling in my stomach.

    "We''ve already been here," I say.  "The tunnel doubled back."

    Rhys furrows his brow.  "You''re sure?  How can you tell?"

    "I''m pretty sure my measurements add up.  I''m going to sit here and do a little math real quick, but I''m fairly certain we''re at the same altitude as we were before.  Plus, I recognize those three rocks in the corner there," I say and point to a spot on the floor.

    I sit down to do my calculations and think for a bit.  The math isn''t precise, but it''s close enough to convince me that this definitely is the same intersection.  This concerns me deeply, because if the path is already doubling back on itself, who knows how many times it will do this down the line?  If I didn''t happen to recognize an innocuous rock formation, I wouldn''t have been sure that this was the same place as before.  Down the road though, we''re probably going to run into a lot of intersections.  I''m sure they will all start to blur together eventually.

    "Rhys," I say, "I have some bad news.  We have to return to the surface for today."

    He looks clearly disappointed, which is kind of funny to see on someone whose expression is so often inscrutable.  I clarify before he can complain.

    "I want to have markers made that we can drop at these intersections.  Little signs that say A, B, C, etc cetera, to label the ones we''ve already been to before.  We can put the signs next to the tunnel that is the most direct way back to the entrance."

    He nods slowly.  "I guess that makes sense.  It does seem like this place might end up being pretty maze-like.  We don''t want to get lost."

    "Don''t worry," I reassure him, "we''ll be coming back before you know it."

 Chapter 23

    Maze-like turns out to be the perfect word for the tunnels.  I acquire some small metal signs embossed with different letters on the ends of short stakes for us to stick into soft parts of the floor.  They prove useful immediately.  The tunnels double back on themselves so many times it¡¯s unreal, and even though the first few intersections only fork into three other pathways, intersections further down the line have as many as five or even six.  Even though Rhys was disappointed the first time I made us turn around, he admits that it was definitely necessary.

    It¡¯s slow going.  Every time we reach an intersection or larger cavern, plus when tunnels start to curve in unexpected directions, I have to write notes, record distances, and update my map.  Every time we reach an intersection that we¡¯ve been to before, I have to recalculate my numbers and make sure I have enough room in my diagrams so that it¡¯s clear which tunnel we came from and which one we¡¯re going in next.  I have to recreate my full map multiple times, because the pencil markings on it get erased and redrawn so many times that even though the final routes get traced in ink, the paper gets too grubby to read clearly in the darkness of the caves.

    The map quickly gets insanely complicated.  Some tunnels go under and over each other without crossing and loop back to different intersections.  There are countless dead ends.  We sometimes have to change the locations of the little signs to more accurately reflect which direction actually takes you back to the entrance quickest.  The way the paths interconnect is much more convoluted than I thought it would be going into this project.  He doesn¡¯t say it, but I have a feeling our regular forays underground make Rhys a little relieved that he didn¡¯t get very far into the caves he explored as a child.  Without my incessant note-taking and our little signs, we would have gotten lost countless times.

    Rhys is having the time of his goddamn life.  Despite the repetitive nature of our task and the constant measuring and notetaking through which he has nothing to do but hang out and doodle in the dirt with the tip of his spear, he is much more expressive than I¡¯ve seen him before.  He¡¯s actually smiling pretty regularly, and I even hear him laugh on multiple occasions.

    ¡°What do you think the purpose of this whole maze is?¡± he asks me one day while I¡¯m sitting on the floor recording our latest measurements.

    ¡°Well,¡± I say.  ¡°I¡¯m hoping it¡¯s so convoluted because the people who dug these tunnels connected them to the catacombs, but didn¡¯t want anyone to be able to easily get inside the castle from there.  Since the catacombs are publicly accessible and there aren¡¯t any locks between these tunnels and the interior of the castle, it¡¯s a pretty glaring security risk.¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± he hums thoughtfully.  ¡°Doesn¡¯t that mean that we¡¯re making it easy for the castle to be invaded with all these little signs?¡±

    I pause in my writing for a second.  He has a point.

    ¡°Yeah, I didn¡¯t really think about that,¡± I admit, ¡°but I suppose we are.  If and when we finally find where these connect to the catacombs, we¡¯ll go back through and remove all the signs.  By that point we¡¯ll have a finished map anyway.¡±

    He leans on his spear and gives me an odd look.

    ¡°You know, when you first got here, some people said that since you¡¯re an outsider, you¡¯d be a threat to national security,¡± he says conversationally.  ¡°I never actually believed that, of course.  Looks like I was wrong.¡±

    I look up from my writing in shock, unable to believe that Rhys would seriously say that, only to find that he¡¯s smirking and staring at me to watch my reaction.  He¡¯s actually messing with me.  Little shit.  I throw my pencil in his direction and he laughs when it misses by a wide berth.

    ¡°Pick that up,¡± I instruct good-naturedly.  ¡°I¡¯m trying to work here, and you¡¯re accusing me of treason.  It¡¯s very distracting.¡±

    He has to walk pretty far to pick up the pencil.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you missed by that much.¡±

    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s dark and the lantern does weird things with the shadows.  I didn¡¯t miss, I just thought you were actually over there.¡±

    For some reason, the kid is really in his element underground.  I wonder if after we¡¯re done here, he¡¯ll come back just to wander around, maybe find some spiders to poke with his spear.  Maybe he should think about a career change and see if he can¡¯t provide some protection to the chemists on their way to, from, and through the caves they traverse for ingredients.  That would be fun for him.

    Once or twice, when we start to get into some sections of tunnels that look a little more like natural caves, the choke beetles start to light up and shriek.  It¡¯s an eerie sound, made all the more eerie by knowing what it signals.  We backtrack right away when that happens, fortunately without incident.  I cross my fingers each time that that isn¡¯t the way to the catacombs blocked off by poisonous air.

    We run into spiders with horrible frequency.  Most of the time, they¡¯re hanging out in the corner of larger caverns, which is unpleasant, but tolerable.  Once, though, we hear a horrible scuttling sound echoing from far down the tunnel deep in the darkness, getting louder and louder at an alarming rate.  I hide behind Rhys immediately and he readies his spear.

    From the moment that the light hits the eight glassy scuttering legs to the moment they overtake us, there¡¯s only a span of about five seconds.  I scream and try to climb Rhys like a tree.  My life flashes before my eyes.  I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that this is where I¡¯m going to die, trapped deep within the earth, my guts sucked out of my body by a creature that comes straight out of my worst nightmares.  I resign myself to my fate.

    Then, it flies right past us, crawling up the opposite wall from where I¡¯m cowering behind Rhys, stirring up wind in the stale air as it passes without even touching either of us, disappearing back into the dark as quickly as it came.

    I collapse on my knees onto the floor and cry for about five minutes after that one.  Rhys kindly pats me on the back as my body is wracked with violent sobs.  He politely waits until my tears have slowed somewhat before asking me if I pissed myself.  I laugh harder at that than I should, a choked, hiccuping sound that bounces loudly off the tunnel walls, and reassure him that miraculously, my pants have remained unsoiled.  He agrees to go back early that day, in a different direction than the one the spider was just traveling in.  I insist we take a break for a couple days after that.  Also, I practically launch myself into Khysmet¡¯s waiting arms that night.

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    I¡¯ve come to actually appreciate Khysmet¡¯s evening visits.  He doesn¡¯t come by every night, so I still have a reasonable amount of alone time and don¡¯t feel smothered or anything.  He also doesn¡¯t try to sleep with me every time he comes by.  I wouldn¡¯t complain if he did ¨C he¡¯s a very attentive lover, and the sex is amazing ¨C but it¡¯s sort of nice that some nights he really does just want my company.  I find myself tending to head to bed around eight almost every evening despite professing my hatred for that request.  However, I do make sure to deliberately stay out running around the castle at least twice a week, just to keep him from getting complacent.  On more than one such occasion, I find him waiting in my bedroom when I return.  Those nights are fun.

    About a month in, I feel like we must be getting close to having mapped most everything.  The chart is so intricately tangled, and we''re running out of loose ends.  It''s taking longer and longer to get to intersections we haven''t fully explored yet, and Khysmet''s time constraint is becoming an actual problem impeding our progress.  I don''t know how much farther we''re going to be able to get since we have to worry about going there and back within four hours.  At this point we''re averaging one new tunnel per trip.

    One day, after hiking the hour and a half it takes to get to an unexplored path, we pick our new tunnel and head down it like always.  Only this time, rather than going a little further down to a new intersection, it keeps going.  And going.  And going.  It twists and turns, but doesn''t branch.  For the first time in a while since we started coming down here, I feel my heart start to race with excitement.  We''re actually going somewhere.  But where?

    We''re past the point of no return time-wise, but I look Rhys in the eyes and see my same excitement reflected there.  He nods.  We keep going.

    Countless twists and turns, eight caverns, one snack break, and three hours later¡­ there it is.  A sharp turn up ahead.  Ninety degrees.  Squared.  Different from the gradual twists and natural caves that have characterized the tunnels the whole way before now.  My heart stops.  Is this it?  Can it possibly be?

    We round the corner and find an angular, paved corridor lined with stone caskets.  Bones scatter the floor.  The corridor continues in a straight line as far as our lanterns reach, with some archways that indicate other paths branching off at ninety degree angles along the way.  Intricate.  Undeniably man-made.  There''s not a doubt in my mind that we''ve actually made it to the catacombs.

    I don''t scream.  I don''t jump up and down.  I don''t hug Rhys.  I don''t even cry.  I just fall to my knees and sit on the ground, exhausted, speechless, overwhelmed.

    Rhys is the one who speaks first.

    "I don''t believe it," he says in a detached yet reverent tone.  "We actually made it."

    "Yeah," I say, my voice hollow.  "We did."

    We stay there like that, frozen in shock and awe, for maybe ten quiet minutes.  I''ve been walking for five hours.  I don''t know when I''ll be able to get up again and make the trek back.  Maybe we should try to find an exit and go back by a more direct route?

    Before I can express this sentiment, I hear a noise.  Not just any noise, but a voice.

    "Lights out," I command immediately.  Rhys takes a minute to process my words, but before he can, I have grabbed the lantern from his hands and blown it out, pulling us back around the corner we just came from and peeking around it ever so slightly.

    It''s not long before we can see a light coming from down one of the branching corridors up ahead.  The voices are getting louder by the second.  Right when I think they''re about to come into view, I pull back into the tunnel completely, tugging Rhys with me, so neither of us are in view at all.  We listen silently to their conversation.

    "Do you think this is a good place to paint it?" one voice, deep and male, asks.

    "It''s as good a place as any," another voice, warm and melodic with indeterminate gender, replies.  "I wish we didn''t have to change location all the time.  It''s impossible to find anything down here."

    "I know, I''ve missed so many meetings just due to getting lost.  Where do you think I should put it?  Behind that casket?"

    "It''s a little too hard to see there.  Just put it on the casket instead."

    "Yeah, okay.  Good idea."

    "It''s not like most people would even know what they''re looking at.  We don''t need to hide it that well."

    There''s a few moments of silence interspersed with some snippets of small talk, but nothing of any note.  And eventually the two unseen people move on, their lantern light disappearing gradually until we are once more in complete darkness.

    Once I''m sure we''re safe, I exercise my practiced ability to light our lantern in the dark.  Once it''s lit, I tell Rhys to stay right at the tunnel entrance so we don''t stand a chance of losing it somehow and go looking for the painted symbol.  It''s still wet and glistening in the light, so it''s very easy to find.  I pull out my sketchbook and copy down what I see, which appears to be a small circle with a little vertical line in the center, like a reptilian eye, inside an upside down triangle surrounded by a larger circle, with a horizontal line cutting all the way across the symbol through the bottom tip of the triangle.  Five lines radiate out from the circle above the horizontal line.  I have no idea what it means.  I take the drawing back to Rhys, and he doesn''t know either.

    "I did hear the word ''meetings'' though," he says.  "Seemed pretty secret.  Looks like your theory might have been correct."

    "Yeah, it sounds like they switch rendezvous locations frequently, though," I say.  "We got unbelievably lucky to have seen what I''m guessing is where their next meeting is going to take place, but it''s not like we''ll be able to stake it out and listen in.  By the time we get back here, it may very well be over already.  It''s a long walk.  One that we should start back on right now, because it''s going to be after ten by the time we get back to the castle."

    "We at least know that there are meetings.  In the catacombs.  Like you thought there would be.  That''s not nothing, Miss Catarina," Rhys says encouragingly as we start the long return trek.

    I sigh deeply.  "It''s not nothing, but it''s not much.  I don''t even know where to go from here.  The meeting locations could move all over the city for all we know.  We might never get this close to finding them again."

    "We got lucky once.  It could happen again.  You never know."

    Our walk back to the castle is exhausting and uneventful.  Ten fucking hours round trip is insane.  We didn¡¯t pack enough food for such a long trip either, so we¡¯re both getting dizzy from hunger by the end.  Thank the gods we have enough water, at least.  I''m practically walking into walls by the time we''ve reached the exit.  I say goodnight to Rhys and plod back to my room, desperate for a bath and to just go to bed.

    Naturally, though, when I open the door to my bedroom, Khysmet is pacing the room waiting for me.  And he does not look happy.

 Chapter 24

    "What the fuck were you thinking?" Khysmet demands, storming across the room to stand in front of me and gesticulate wildly.  "Ten fucking hours?  What could you possibly have been doing there for ten hours?  Don''t answer that," he says when I open my mouth to respond.  "I was about to organize a search party for you, secrecy be damned.  I thought, ''She''s never been down there that long before, not even once.  Is she dead?  Is she injured?  Is she trapped?  How the fuck am I supposed to know?''  And based on what you''ve told me about how convoluted the paths are down there, I never would have been able to find you."

    His voice cracks on that last sentence, and my heart cracks with it.  I knew he wouldn''t be happy about me staying in the tunnels so long today, but I don''t think I understood what that really meant until now.  The pain in his voice is like nothing I¡¯ve ever heard.

    "But obviously you''re not injured, trapped, or dead," he continues, "so what the fuck were you doing down there?  What could possibly justify running around underground until ten at night?¡±

    ¡°You can answer that," he says when I hesitate.

    As my answer, I pull out my sketchbook and show him the symbol that I copied down from the catacombs.

    "Do you know what this means?" I ask.

    He stares at it for a long time.

    "Where did you see this?" he demands.

    "We made it to the catacombs.  Someone was painting it on a casket and talking about meeting there.  It sounds like they change meeting locations often, and the symbol marks where the next one is supposed to be."

    He stares at my sketchbook wordlessly for a while before handing it back.  Then he puts his face in his hands, rubbing his temples like he''s getting a pounding headache.  Then, he starts to laugh, a low chuckle at first which gradually builds into a sort of manic cackle.  I flinch backward, uncertain of what''s going on.

    "I can''t fucking handle this anymore, Cat," he laments.  "You''re constantly doing stupid shit that could get you hurt or killed.  You spy on my ministers, you get dragged into alleyways, you look for secret doorways, you run around in caves, yet every single fucking time, you get results.  Turns out the minister is embezzling, and you effortlessly kill all your would-be attackers, and oh, the cave actually does go to the catacombs, and now you found the freshly painted symbol of a cult that rose to prominence and tried to depose my father when I was nine.

    "Why do you have to be so fucking competent all the time, Cat?" he shouts, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me.  "Why can''t you just do stupid shit for no reason, so that I can be justified in yelling at you to cut it out and stopping you the next time you try something?¡±  He walks away and starts pacing the room.  ¡°I just want to keep you safe and happy, but for some reason your happiness is contingent on your getting into dangerous situations at least once a fortnight.  And I can¡¯t ever complain about it, because you¡¯re smart and cautious and resourceful and somehow never seem to actually be in any danger.  I mean were you even in any danger tonight?¡±

    I shrug sheepishly.  ¡°Not really.  I heard the people coming well before I even saw their light, and they couldn¡¯t smell us or see us.  And we took precautions for just about every other contingency along the way.¡±

    ¡°See?  See?  What the hell am I supposed to do with that?  You¡¯re constantly scaring the shit out of me, yet it somehow always turns out that I was scared for nothing, because you¡¯re happy and fine and totally unbothered by anything, even when you¡¯re hurt.  Why can¡¯t you ever run to me and say ¡®Khysmet, I need your help, please protect me¡¯?  I¡¯ve never felt so useless as when you insist on taking care of every single problem by yourself.¡±

    He walks back up to me and pulls me into a tight hug, squeezing almost to the point of pain.

    I don¡¯t know what to say.  I can¡¯t argue back at him, since it''s obvious he¡¯s only yelling at me because he cares about me.  Trying to comfort him would just seem hollow, since I have no intention of staying out of trouble in the future.  I just stay quiet and put my arms around him, leaning into his embrace.  He rubs his nose into my hair and breathes deep, then recoils.

    ¡°You smell weird,¡± he says.  ¡°What is that?  I can¡¯t smell you at all.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a scent-covering lotion I got from your chemists,¡± I say.  ¡°To make sure nobody could possibly pick me out by smell if we ran into someone in the catacombs.  I usually wash it off right after I get back.¡±

    He heaves a deep sigh.  ¡°Let¡¯s get you in a bath.  We¡¯ll use the one in my room.  It¡¯s bigger.¡±

    He puts a hand on my shoulder and starts to guide me out the door.  I stumble on my first step.

    ¡°Cat?  What¡¯s wrong?¡± he asks with urgency.

    ¡°I¡¯m just so hungry,¡± I whine, suddenly feeling every ounce of exhaustion from my long walk in full force.  ¡°And tired.  And my legs are so sore.¡±

    Even though he''s pissed, I hope he will take pity on me if I ask him.  I lean my forehead against his chest.

    ¡°Khysmet, take care of me.¡±

    He takes a moment to heave a deep, tired sigh, then he puts an arm under my knees and lifts me up in a princess carry, starting the walk down the hall toward his room.  It¡¯s surprisingly comfortable, and he doesn¡¯t seem to have any difficulty supporting my weight.  I relax completely into his arms, resting my head against his neck and closing my eyes with a contented sigh.  On the way, he sees a servant in the hall and stops briefly to ask them to send food to his room.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter what it is as long as it gets there fast and there¡¯s a lot of it,¡± he says.

    ¡°Is she okay?¡± the servant asks.  I don¡¯t recognize her by voice, and I¡¯m not going to crane my neck to look and see who it is, but I¡¯m touched by her concern for me.

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    ¡°She¡¯s fine, just hungry and tired,¡± Khysmet relays.

    When we get to his room, he walks me straight into the bathroom, which is excessively huge, and sets me on a chair along the wall.  Who has chairs in their bathroom?  He immediately starts drawing a bath in the biggest personal tub I¡¯ve ever seen ¨C it¡¯s partially sunken into the floor and could fit at least six people stretched out without anyone touching each other.  While the tub starts filling up fast, he comes back over to me and starts peeling off my clothes.  I try to protest and say that I can undress myself, but he slaps my hands away and insists on doing it for me.

    Once I¡¯m fully unclothed, he strips himself down too, adds the heat potion into the water until it steams and a liberal amount of some kind of salt from a sack on the floor, then picks me up once more, stepping directly into the tub and sinking down until we¡¯re both submerged up to our shoulders.

    I sigh deeply as the water, bordering just on the edge of being uncomfortably hot, surrounds my body and seeps heat all the way into my bones.  My sore muscles cry out in relief.  I try to move over so I¡¯m sitting beside Khysmet instead of in his lap, but he holds me firmly in place.

    ¡°Khysmet, how am I supposed to wash myself if you don¡¯t let me go for even five seconds?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, sunshine.  I¡¯ll wash you,¡± he purrs gently into my ear, making goosebumps erupt all over my body despite the heat.

    "Y- You don''t have to do that," I protest.  "I can wash myself just fine."

    "I know you can wash yourself.  You''ll like it more if I do it, though.  Trust me."

    Before I can protest any more, I hear a door open in the other room, presumably the food that Khysmet requested.  They got it here fast.  My stomach growls in anticipation.  Hopefully Khysmet washes me quickly so I can finally get something to eat.  Unexpectedly, though, he calls out to whoever has brought in my dinner before they head back out the door.

    ¡°Hey, did you bring any sort of finger food?¡± he asks.  ¡°If you did, could you bring it in here?¡±

    My face flushes bright red, even more than it already is from the steam.  No.  No no no.  I¡¯m completely naked.  So is Khysmet.  I¡¯m in his lap.  We haven¡¯t used any soap yet, so there¡¯s not even bubbles in the water to at least provide the illusion of modesty.  As far as compromising positions go, this is about as compromising as it gets.  Once more I struggle to free myself from Khysmet¡¯s grasp, but he¡¯s got one arm around the top of my hips and the other across my lower ribcage, locking me in tight against him.

    As a last-ditch effort, I cross my arms and legs to at least attempt to cover myself in some capacity, just in time for Annika to come into the room bearing a tray of little sandwiches.  I almost can¡¯t bring myself to look her in the eye.  When I do risk a glance, though, much to my relief, she¡¯s politely looking away.  I don¡¯t know how I¡¯ll ever be able to speak to her normally again.  It¡¯s baffling to me that Khysmet doesn¡¯t care, but I suppose that his modesty is perfectly preserved, since I¡¯m blocking the view.  Not that there¡¯s much to see until he gets hard.  Which, I realize thanks to a sudden poking sensation on my ass, he now is.

    Annika leaves the room as soon as she can, without saying a word.  The second the door to his study closes, I reach behind me and smack him on the side of the head.

    ¡°Ow.  What the hell was that for?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know, maybe for forcing me to expose myself in front of poor Annika, who did not ask for that either by the way,¡± I say in an accusatory tone.  ¡°Or maybe for getting turned on by forcing me to expose myself.  Heck, maybe both.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re so cute when you¡¯re shy,¡± he replies warmly, hugging me even tighter against himself, which grinds his dick more firmly against me.  ¡°And I didn¡¯t force you to expose yourself.  I let you cross your legs and cover your nipples, didn¡¯t I?¡±

    I groan in exhausted irritation.  I¡¯m too tired to fight him.

    ¡°Just wash me already, so I can eat and go to sleep,¡± I command.

    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am.¡±

    His hands are exceedingly gentle as they rub circles up and down my body, kneading into tired muscles in a way that has me moaning in ecstasy and relief.  Despite my professed desire to wash myself, I am in fact enjoying this deeply.  I decide not to be shy about it when he gets to the more intimate areas of my body, though I do quiet down a bit in the hopes of not alerting him to how aroused I¡¯m becoming at his touch.  I¡¯m too tired to handle an orgasm right now.

    I¡¯m leaning over the side of the tub eating sandwiches while he rubs my back, when I finally work up the courage to ask something I¡¯ve been thinking through the whole bath.

    ¡°...Are you still mad at me?¡± I ask in a small voice.

    He takes a long time to answer, just rubbing sudsy circles into my skin in silence.  Eventually, though, he speaks up.

    ¡°No,¡± he says.  ¡°Not really.  I don¡¯t think I can stay mad at you for very long.  Especially since, strictly speaking, you didn¡¯t do anything wrong.¡±

    I exhale a tiny sigh of relief.  I didn¡¯t like being yelled at by him.  More than that, I didn¡¯t like knowing that he was actually angry at me.  I know he holds grudges, and I really don¡¯t want to be on the receiving end of one of them.  I¡¯m not really sure what I would do if he were to suddenly start being cold towards me.  I don¡¯t want to think about it.

    ¡°I will have to punish you, though,¡± he adds after a beat.

    I blink.  ¡°Wait, what?¡±

    ¡°Dip your head in the water.  I need to wash your hair.¡±

    I comply with his request, but once my hair is wet, I turn around and stare at him with a furrowed brow.

    ¡°What do you mean you¡¯ll have to punish me?¡± I demand.  ¡°I thought you just said I didn¡¯t do anything wrong.¡±

    ¡°Well, you scared me," he explains.  "It wasn¡¯t necessarily ¡®wrong¡¯, but at some point you have to learn to stop doing that."

    He moves to rub soap in my hair, but I push his hands away so I can address him more directly.

    "What are you going to do to me?" I demand.

    He shrugs.  "Don''t worry, I''ll think of something fun."

    "That actually worries me more."

    He manages to get to my scalp and starts massaging the soap in.  Despite my continued concern about this "punishment" he''s talking about, I melt into his soothing touch with a sigh.

    "By the way," he says, "I''m coming with you tomorrow."

    "What do you mean?"

    "I mean, I know you want to go back to that place in the catacombs and try to catch the meeting.  I''m coming with you."

    I look at him in disbelief.  "You really want to walk for ten straight hours in rat- and spider-infested tunnels just to try to catch a meeting that we''ll almost definitely miss?"

    "You do.  So I''ll accompany you.  I''d rather be with you and able to personally see to your safety than be here wondering about it."

    I hum thoughtfully as I rinse my hair in the water.  "I guess that makes sense."

    After my hair is soap-free, Khysmet declares me clean and lifts me out of the water.  I¡¯d say I¡¯m getting sick of him doing everything for me, but with how bone-tired I am, it¡¯s honestly a relief to not have to do anything.  After the warm, soothing bath, I feel like I¡¯m fading in and out of consciousness as it is.  He towels me dry, and before he takes me to bed, he retrieves some kind of lotion from a medicine cabinet and rubs it into my legs.  Almost immediately, the soreness starts to go away ¨C not completely, but it recedes to a much more manageable level of pain.

    With the pain lessened, the last barrier to my falling asleep drops.  I barely manage to stay up as he carries me to his bed and lays me down, then crawls in beside me.  As I feel him wrap every part of his body around me to leech my heat, the last bit of my consciousness slips away and I fall into a deep sleep.

 Chapter 25

    My legs are sore again when I wake up.  I groan weakly.  This is going to be a long day.

    Khysmet kindly rubs the lotion over them again, but I somehow doubt that it¡¯s going to last for another ten-hour walk.  He packs some drinkable pain medicine for when the lotion wears off.  We also pack an appropriate amount of food for such a long venture this time.

    I assumed Rhys would be accompanying us as usual, but Khysmet insists he stay behind.

    ¡°I can carry you for a while when you get tired, but I think I would have more difficulty carrying him as well,¡± Khysmet explains.  ¡°Probably better to let him stay behind and rest, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    ¡°That makes sense,¡± I admit.  ¡°You better be good at fending off giant spiders, though, because that was Rhys¡¯s primary job, and I¡¯m not going to pick up the slack.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a bit out of practice, but I think I can manage.¡±

    Rhys usually brings a spear so he can keep the spiders at a distance, but Khysmet chooses to bring a sword instead, claiming his excellent swordsmanship will be sufficient to keep anything we might encounter at bay.  In the whole time that I¡¯ve been here, I¡¯ve never actually watched when he goes to help train the guards, so I have no idea if he¡¯s as good as he says he is.  I¡¯m choosing to believe him now, though, since doubting him will only make me twenty times as terrified for probably no reason.  I reassure myself that we¡¯re taking the spider repellant anyway, so it won¡¯t be a problem.  Rhys has never actually had to do more than nudge a spider with his spear to get it to move anyway.

    When I pull out the map, he looks at it in horror.

    ¡°You weren¡¯t kidding about how difficult it is to navigate down there,¡± he says.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know the half of it,¡± I say.  ¡°Wait till we actually get down there.  Every damn intersection looks exactly the same.  After I recover from today¡¯s venture, I need to go down there and remove all the markers pointing toward the castle, because the maze really is an excellent security feature.¡±

    Along the way, I have a fun time explaining everything I¡¯ve learned in the process of finding the entrance and mapping the tunnels.  I¡¯ve talked about it with Khysmet in more vague terms before, but I don¡¯t think he actually realized just how much I have put into this project.  He¡¯s in awe of the detail of the map, impressed by my strategy with the labeled signs, and amazed by how confidently I navigate the tangled web of passageways, especially as time draws on.  He asks question after question about my process, about how I figured all this out.  I¡¯m feeling very puffed up with pride as I lead us through the maze and explain in detail the lengths I have gone to to get this far.

    Then we run into our first spider cavern, and the pride fizzles away.

    ¡°I would have thought that after all this time, you¡¯d be more comfortable with them,¡± Khysmet comments as I cower behind him, always keeping his body between me and the spider, clinging to his shirt with desperate, grabbing hands.

    ¡°It¡¯s only been a month,¡± I protest.  ¡°That¡¯s nothing.  Also, it¡¯s a reasonable fear.  If we got trapped down here long enough for the repellant to wear off, we could actually be attacked.¡±

    My reasonable argument is summarily ignored and laughed off.  We make it through that cavern without the spider even twitching, and now instead of being praised for my accomplishments, I am being teased for my weaknesses.

    ¡°By the way, are you that grabby with Rhys, too?" Khysmet asks.  "I didn¡¯t realize I had any reason to be jealous of you spending time down here with him.¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯m not grabby with Rhys," I say, making sure he can see me roll my eyes, even in the dark.  "He hates it when I touch him at all, even by accident.  I think he''s still terrified of what you''d do to him."

    "Hmm.  Smart man.  I''ll let him keep his fingertips a while longer."

    By the time I get us all the way to the final intersection, my legs are not doing so hot.  Khysmet moves his backpack around so it''s hanging off the front of his body and lets me climb onto his back for a while.

    "I won''t be able to carry you the whole way, unfortunately," he says.  "You''re not too heavy by yourself, but all the water and lantern oil really adds up."

    "Don''t push yourself too hard," I demand.  "Tell me when you need a break."

    As nice as it is to rest my feet, I don''t let him carry me for very long.  Being pressed against his back, I can feel his breathing grow more ragged over time.  We still have a long way to go, and I''m not going to let him tire himself out needlessly.  It takes some convincing to get him to set me down, though.

    I take a swig of the pain medicine and we keep going.  Fortunately, the entire walk doesn¡¯t have any real technical difficulties.  There¡¯s a slight slope that¡¯s going to be worse on the way back, but it¡¯s not terrible.  We take regular breaks at my insistence, move at a steady but not too strenuous pace, and generally make good progress over the next few hours.  It helps that I''ve already done this once before, so I''m counting the number of caverns we walk through as an indicator of how much longer we have to go.  Khysmet is holding up very well.  He doesn''t complain once, and offers to carry me once an hour or so.  He''s more talkative than Rhys ¨C not at all surprising since Rhys is a very quiet man ¨C and that helps the time pass much more quickly.

    One thing he talks about as we get closer to the catacombs is the cult whose emblem marks the casket we are travelling towards now.

    ¡°When they rose to prominence in my childhood, they called themselves Civil Twilight,¡± he says.  ¡°I think to best explain their religious views, I might need to explain some things about the general spiritual climate of Veilsung.  What do you already know about our gods?¡±

    ¡°Very little,¡± I admit.  ¡°No one has ever mentioned anything about their religious beliefs in the whole time I¡¯ve been here.  I guess I haven¡¯t asked.¡±

    ¡°My people tend to be rather private about their spirituality, so I¡¯m not surprised.  I¡¯ll try to sum it up briefly.  Essentially, we believe that everything in existence sprung up from a point, from a being, deep within the earth, a goddess named Tal.  All life bubbled up from underground along with the spring water that sustains our communities and feeds our rivers.  Even the gods of the sun and moon are born from the earth and return to it upon their death every day.¡±

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    ¡°Your sun and moon gods die every time they set?¡± I ask.

    He shrugs.  ¡°Depends on who you ask.  Some say they sleep, some say it¡¯s the same gods, just reborn anew each day, and some say that each sunrise brings us a completely new god that will die and return to the earth, just like all mortals do.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s beautiful,¡± I say reverently.

    ¡°Tal herself is too far below the earth for any living being to reach.  Her children are many, though.  Every mountain, every cave, every river, every spring is believed to have its own god.  The god of the mountain upon which Dimos rests and the one of the spring that feeds us have many shrines across the city.  To commune with the great point of origin, you have to go through her sons and daughters.

    ¡°Civil Twilight¡¯s dogma was based on the idea that within every living thing is a spark of the divine, which is a belief based in traditional Veilsung mythology.  However, they took it a step further and said that through meditation and certain rituals, a person can access the divinity within them and transcend the limits of the flesh.  Tiny bit heretical, considering that the flesh, being of the earth, is itself divine, but not a big deal.  The whole twilight imagery refers to the moment the sun emerges from the earth ¨C the birth of a new god, in this case the god within the self.  Their rituals tended toward the macabre, but their religious beliefs were not in and of themselves harmful.

    ¡°The problem is, their founder, a man named Pelos, convinced his extremely devout followers that the country needed a ruler who had awakened his inner god.  Several of my father¡¯s high-ranking ministers and even one of his advisors, were members, so they got uncomfortably close to taking him out.  After their attempted coup, public opinion of them ¨C which was already lukewarm at best ¨C tanked completely, Pelos went into hiding, and the group seemingly dissolved.¡±

    I hum thoughtfully.  ¡°So¡­ now they¡¯re back?¡±

    ¡°Well, the emblem you showed me is definitely the one that Civil Twilight used in the past.  It would make sense that whoever is painting it in the catacombs probably consider themselves members.  But is it the same group, or some kind of copycat simply parroting the original group¡¯s beliefs?  If it is the same group that never actually dissolved completely, is Pelos still its leader, or do they have a new head with a new agenda?  I have no idea.¡±

    ¡°What would it mean if they are the same group?¡±

    Khysmet shrugs.  ¡°Beats the hell out of me.  It¡¯s been over twenty years.  They very well could just want to continue their religious practices out of the public eye.  Trying to seize power wasn¡¯t necessarily a central tenet of their belief system.  It concerns me that you first heard about their meetings in the catacombs in the castle, though.  Although, I suppose all you heard was that someone was meeting secretly in the catacombs.  They might not be connected at all.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a good point,¡± I concede.  ¡°I mean, catacombs in general seem like great places to meet secretly for just about anyone.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll see what we find out when we get there.¡±

    Eventually, we find ourselves at the sharp, angular turn that marks the end of our journey.

    The second I can half-see it in the darkness, I motion for Khysmet to be quiet and blow out the lantern.  We need to be able to see if there are any light sources coming from up ahead that might indicate that someone else is nearby.

    The tunnel falls into total darkness.  There¡¯s no light coming from the end of the tunnel at all.  Still, I want to be cautious.  I walk straight ahead for the last hundred or so feet, reaching out to the wall frequently to make sure I won¡¯t run into it.  When I can¡¯t feel the wall anymore, I know I¡¯m around the corner, but still there is nothing ¨C no light whatsoever.  I light the lantern again.

    Khysmet is still back in the tunnel where I left him.  I motion for him to follow me and wait until he¡¯s beside me to go around the corner.  I lead him to the casket where the symbol was painted when I was here last.  It¡¯s blank.

    I check the caskets next to it to make sure I¡¯m at the right one, but I¡¯m positive that I am.  I remember it because it sticks out at an angle, while the ones beside it are more parallel to the wall.  I bring the lantern close to the stone surface right where the symbol was located before and notice that the texture of the stone is different in that spot, and a slightly different shade of gray.

    ¡°I think it¡¯s been painted over,¡± I say, pointing to the spot that I¡¯m looking at.  ¡°You can see the brush strokes.¡±

    Khysmet squints and looks closely at the spot I¡¯m indicating.  ¡°Well that¡¯s not a great sign.  My guess would be that we¡¯ve missed this little rendezvous.¡±  He flicks his tongue and looks around.  ¡°There have definitely been a lot of people here recently.  The scent is quite fresh.¡±

    I groan loudly and sink to the ground, leaning my back against the casket, holding my head in my hands.

    ¡°I knew there was a strong chance we would miss it, but I was still holding out a tiny bit of hope,¡± I lament.  I put the back of my wrist to my head with a dramatic flair.  ¡°Alas, we have come all this way for naught.¡±

    ¡°Maybe not for naught,¡± Khysmet says.  ¡°They might have accidentally left something behind.¡±

    I cock my head.  ¡°I suppose so.  Now that I¡¯m on the ground, though, I really don¡¯t want to get back up to look.¡±

    ¡°Okay, you hang out on the ground in all the rat shit.  I¡¯ll start looking.¡±

    I make a face at his words, but I¡¯m still not getting up.  I¡¯m already sitting down anyway, so it¡¯s too late to preserve my cleanliness anyway.  Khysmet takes the lantern and wanders around with it, kicking rocks and bones out of the way as he searches.  He goes quite a distance, and it¡¯s getting dark around where I am when I hear a rustling, clacking sound close by that makes me jump.

    In the near darkness, I see a pile of bones on the other side of the corridor start to shift.  Before my eyes, an absolutely massive rat emerges from beneath them, holding something between its teeth and chewing on it.  Though the light is dim, I can just barely make out that the thing between its teeth looks almost like¡­paper.  My pulse quickens.  I reach for the closest object I can pick up, which appears to be half of a femur.  My aim isn¡¯t great, but hopefully I can get it close enough to make him drop the page rather than just running off with it.

    I quietly pull my arm back, then throw as hard as I can.

    Miraculously, I hit it spot on, and it drops the paper as it scurries away.  I stand and go to pick it up, but with the lamp so far away, I can¡¯t see what¡¯s on it.

    Khysmet, hearing the noise, calls from further down the hallway.

    ¡°Is everything all right?¡± he asks.  ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°Come back this way,¡± I say.  ¡°I think I might have something.¡±

    The lamp light gets brighter as he walks toward me again, and I can start to see some of what¡¯s written on the paper, but it still doesn¡¯t make any sense to me.  It just looks like a list of nonsense words grouped in threes.  I can¡¯t even begin to guess at the meaning of the words.  A different language, perhaps?

    When Khysmet is within reach, I hand the page to him.

    ¡°What do you make of this?¡± I ask.

    He stares at the page silently for a while, scanning it up and down.  He flicks his tongue out close to the page.

    ¡°This is new paper.  It hasn¡¯t been down here long.  Recently handled by a lot of hands, from what I can tell.  The ink is very fresh.  This is a lucky find, Cat.¡±

    ¡°What does it mean, though?¡± I ask.  ¡°Do you recognize any of those words?  What language is that?¡±

    He looks at me with an excited glint in his eye and shakes his head.

    ¡°Not a different language,¡± he says.  ¡°It¡¯s written in code.¡±

 Chapter 26

    It takes days before I recover from my two long back-to-back treks.  My legs are so sore I can barely walk, and I have no choice but to stay in bed all day, with nothing to do but lament the turn of events in the catacombs.

    Khysmet spends much of his free time caring for and entertaining me, rubbing my legs, bringing me books to read, and teaching me how to play chess.  For reasons he refuses to explain to me, and entirely against my will, I have been relocated to his bedroom for my recovery.  Even if I could walk far enough to get back to my own room, he would just find me and carry me back to his bed again, so I just resign myself to my fate and stay put.  I miss Vizsla.  At least Annika is talking to me normally, without the slightest bit of awkwardness after seeing me naked with the king.

    Khysmet keeps bringing me books on deciphering codes, which I have all in a pile on his bedside table, none of which I have even touched.  They just sit there and taunt me day in and day out.

    ¡°I don¡¯t get it,¡± he says to me one day while applying more pain reducing lotion up my legs.  ¡°You¡¯ll do all this research to pick up mapmaking and cave exploration in order to satisfy your curiosity, but code breaking is something you won¡¯t even consider attempting?¡±

    ¡°My brain just doesn¡¯t work that way,¡± I complain, rubbing my temples with my fingertips.  ¡°Even thinking about thinking about it gives me a headache.¡±

    ¡°I think this is the first time I¡¯ve ever seen you back down from a challenge,¡± he comments.

    "I''m not backing down from a challenge," I argue.  "I''m just not rising to it quite yet.  I''ve been busting my ass with all this cave exploring and mapmaking, you know.  I need a break, that''s all."

    Khysmet closes the container of lotion and sets it to the side, then climbs into bed and sits next to me, pulling me toward him so that my head rests against his chest.

    "You know," he says, "my brother has an interest in creating and breaking codes as a hobby.  I could ask him to come visit for a while so you can pick his brain."

    "Really?" I say eagerly.  "That would be amazing.  I''d love to thank him in person for the list he sent me, too."

    "He''s actually quite interested in meeting you.  I''ve mentioned you a lot in the letters I''ve sent to him lately.  I''m sure it would be easy to convince him to visit Dimos for a spell."

    I smile and hum contentedly.  That stupid rat-chewed piece of paper has been haunting me from the moment I laid eyes on it in the catacombs.  Getting help with deciphering it would be huge.

    "So he''s interested in code breaking as a hobby, huh?" I say.  "Interesting hobby to have."

    "He''s a smart man.  Always picking up whatever new venture it is that strikes his fancy.  You remind me of him in that way.  I''m sure you''ll get along well."

    "You always speak so highly of him.  I''m excited to meet him."

    With the promise of help coming in the near future to aid me in figuring out the world''s most frustrating clue, the rest of my recovery is much more relaxed.  I let Khysmet take care of me for several days longer than I really need, then when he''s not looking, I make a break for it and hightail it back to my own room to get some actual peace and quiet for a change.  I pull Vizsla into a tight hug when I see her again, even though it''s barely been a week since I saw her last.  I spend some of the day hanging out with her and some just playing my lute quietly, reclining on my very comfortable couch.  By some stroke of luck, Khysmet does not try to come after me the whole afternoon.

    My luck runs dry that evening though, not long after I return from grabbing dinner.

    The moment I hear the knock on my door, my stomach sinks.  I know exactly who it is before I open it, so I almost don''t open it at all.  Not opening it would just temporarily stave off the inevitable though, so I walk across the room and bite the bullet.

    Khysmet''s expression is entirely inscrutable when it appears in my doorway.

    "I see you''ve recovered enough to run back to your own room," he says mildly.

    "Yup, I''m doing much better," I insist with a reassuring smile.  "No need to dote on me all day anymore."

    He cocks his head and looks me up and down.  "Are you able to stand for a while without your legs hurting?"

    "Um," I say.  "Yes?"  That¡¯s a very specific question, and I¡¯m scared to find out why he¡¯s asking it.

    His face splits into a wide and sinister grin, intensifying my fears.

    "Then I''ll be taking you back to my bedroom after all,¡± he says.  ¡°I have decided on your punishment."

    I flinch backward.  "What?"

    He leans down until he''s level with my face, the look in his eyes sending a chill down my spine.

    "Are you going to come willingly, or do I have to throw you over my shoulder?"

    As an answer, I try to slam the door in his face, hoping to catch him off guard so I can lock him out.  It doesn''t work.  He reacts too quickly and stops the door with his foot, then pushes back against my frantic attempts to close the door all too easily.  Before I know it, he''s in the room and I''m being lifted off my feet with an undignified squeak and thrown over his shoulder as threatened, suddenly facing the impending humiliation of being carried across the castle with my ass in the air.

    "Can I change my answer?" I beg.  "I''ll come willingly.  I promise I won''t try to run."

    "It''s a little late for that, sunshine.  You made your bed, now you have to lie in it."

    I try to keep my eyes shut as Khysmet takes me down the hallways so as to remain blissfully unaware of who sees me in this position, but when I hear tittering laughter, I can''t help but look.  It''s two young women from the nobility, looking at me and whispering to each other.  I resist the urge to flip them off, which is no easy feat.  Fortunately, they are the only two we run into before reaching his door.  He locks it once we''re inside and takes me through his study to his bedroom, where he finally sets me down on a couch, then walks off to retrieve something from a drawer.

    "Strip," he orders.  "I want you fully naked for this."

    I flush bright red.  So this is the kind of punishment he was talking about?  What is he going to do, spank me?  Despite my sustained belief that I do not deserve a punishment in the first place, I find I''m getting excited just trying to guess what he has in mind for me.  I stand up and strip down compliantly.

    When he comes back to me, he''s holding some strips of black fabric in his hand.  I cock my head as I look at them, trying to figure out what they might be for.

    "Turn around," he says, and I comply.

    He steps up close enough behind me that I can feel him inches from my back, then to my surprise, he slips one of the strips of fabric gently over my eyes and ties it behind my head.  The fabric is doubled up a couple times, so no light filters through it.  I¡¯m in near total darkness.

    ¡°A blindfold?¡± I ask.  ¡°What are you going to do to me?¡±

    ¡°Just have a little fun,¡± he says unhelpfully, then grabs me by the wrist and starts to pull gently.  ¡°Come this way.¡±

    My steps are hesitant, even though I know he wouldn¡¯t lead me into anything that I could trip over.  Haven¡¯t I spent enough time in the darkness lately?  This isn¡¯t fair.  Or maybe it¡¯s a fitting punishment?  Maybe a little of both.

    He pulls me a ways across the room, then stops.  I can feel that there¡¯s a rug under my feet, but I can¡¯t tell if there¡¯s anything around me.  Suddenly, he starts wrapping soft fabric around the wrist that he has a hold of, tying a firm knot that makes it impossible for me to slip my wrist out, but without it being too tight.  He tugs on the fabric and lifts my arm in the air, the unexpectedness of the motion making me softly gasp.  A moment later, he¡¯s lifting up my other wrist and wrapping more fabric around it, too, tying the same knot that¡¯s not too tight or too loose.  He lets go, but my arms are still being held in the air by something.  I pull experimentally, then reach into the air to feel for what it is.

    ¡°That chain is bolted into the stone ceiling pretty firmly,¡± Khysmet says from the darkness, ¡°but it¡¯s designed to hold a light fixture, not a person.  Maybe don¡¯t put your whole weight into it, okay, sunshine?¡±

    ¡°O- Okay,¡± I stutter.  This is quickly becoming terrifying in the best possible way.  I¡¯m hanging from the ceiling, my body on full display, completely unable to see what¡¯s coming for me.  My heart is racing like crazy.  I¡¯m quivering in anticipation and an unbelievable amount of arousal is pooling low in my gut.  I don¡¯t know what he¡¯s going to do to me, but I can¡¯t wait for him to do it.

    ¡°Now I¡¯m feeling magnanimous today,¡± he says from behind me, his voice changing location as he walks around to my side, ¡°so I¡¯m going to give you a safeword.  Say ¡®oranges¡¯ if you want me to stop, okay?¡±

    ¡°Safeword?¡± I ask, a bit puzzled.  ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t want to hear the word ¡®no¡¯ in the bedroom?¡±

    ¡°Oh, it won¡¯t really be a ¡®no¡¯,¡± he explains lightly.  ¡°You see, we¡¯re just going to restructure some language a little for the time being.¡±

    He grabs me by the chin, making me jump.  His voice is suddenly close, coming from right in front of my face.

    ¡°Just for tonight,¡± he purrs, ¡°¡®no¡¯ means ¡®yes¡¯, ¡®stop¡¯ means ¡®keep going¡¯, and ¡®it¡¯s too much¡¯ means ¡®more, please¡¯.¡±

    He lets go of my chin and pats me on the cheek.  ¡°If you want to say ¡®no¡¯, say ¡®oranges¡¯.  Get it?¡±

    I blink behind my blindfold.  ¡°No?¡± I say experimentally.

    He chuckles.  ¡°Good.¡±

    There¡¯s silence for a while.  The rug muffles his footsteps, so I can¡¯t hear if he¡¯s moving around me except by the direction that his voice comes from.  My skin prickles with goosebumps and I heave a shuddering breath that cuts the silence.

    Suddenly I feel his snout ghosting over the shell of my ear, breathing softly on it.

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    ¡°Are you scared, Cat?¡± Khysmet asks.

    I think about it.  I¡¯m maybe ten percent scared and ninety percent turned on out of my mind.  But I wonder if I say that I¡¯m not scared, would he decide that this isn¡¯t enough of a punishment?  I decide to lie a little.  I¡¯m certainly shaking enough for it to be convincing.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I say.  ¡°Terrified.¡±

    He hums behind my ear, the vibration sending a thrill running through me.  Then he pulls away and there¡¯s more silence for a while.

    Then without warning, he thrusts his fingers between my legs, digging into my slit roughly, feeling the wetness there, and withdrawing his hand just as quickly.

    ¡°Liar,¡± he accuses.

    He presses his fingers, covered in my own arousal, to my lips and smears them lasciviously across my cheek.

    ¡°Feel how wet you are for this.  You¡¯re about as scared as I am.¡±

    I¡¯m jumping and trembling at every sensation, the blindfold ensuring that every single action is a total surprise.  It¡¯s like my senses are heightened and I¡¯m feeling each touch with amplified intensity.  My skin tingles with anticipation, craving every second of contact against it.

    For a while, he just circles me, reaching out to touch me at odd intervals, so I can¡¯t anticipate when the next one is coming.  He trails a finger down my spine.  Grabs one breast and squeezes.  Pinches my ass.  Pokes the back of my knee.  Flicks a nipple.  Not all of his touches are sexual in nature, but I¡¯m so keyed up that my body is reacting to every one.

    ¡°Do you trust me, Cat?¡± Khysmet asks after a few minutes of teasing me.

    I breathe shakily in and out.  ¡°I do,¡± I say.

    It feels sort of obvious, given that I have allowed him to blindfold me and tie me to the ceiling.  Sort of makes me scared to find out what he¡¯s about to do.

    Then I feel a light scratching sensation trailing around my torso, sharp like needles scraping across my skin.  They must be his claws, I realize, gingerly dragging across my body with the most delicate touch, barely kissing my skin with their razor sharp points.  I¡¯ve seen what they can do to fabric many times.  And I¡¯ve had experience with what they can do to flesh from my encounter in the arena alleyway.  One wrong move, one flick of his wrist, and I could be bleeding all over this rug.  I try to stay completely still, but the featherlight touch is sending shivers up and down my spine.  I can¡¯t help but twitch and shudder, the hint of fear making it all the harder to stop my body from moving.

    His claws rove over my entire body, across my back, down my legs, over my ass, up my arms, under my breasts, their pathway crossing over itself many times.  Not once does the tingling pleasure turn to pain, but the constant looming threat keeps me permanently on edge, whimpering and trembling whenever he changes direction or scratches across a particularly sensitive area.

    ¡°Your skin is so delicate,¡± Khysmet comments.  ¡°I¡¯m barely touching you, yet your body is covered in pretty red welts just from this.¡±

    He runs his claws from my lower belly straight up all the way over my torso, between my breasts, over my sternum and up the length of my throat, lifting off finally at the end of my chin.  My trembling reached new heights when they were over my throat, but with the threat now removed from my body, I can finally start to relax, which I do with a heavy sigh, letting my arms dangle from their restraints.

    Suddenly, Khysmet''s fingers are between my legs again.  He spreads me open and the moment he does, liquid drips down my thighs in rivulets.

    "Oh Cat," he says patronizingly.  "You keep trying to convince me you''re not enjoying this with your cute little cries, but your body is begging for more."

    He pulls his hand away and disappears from my senses again, leaving me to hang here in the darkness once more.

    When he reappears, it¡¯s in the form of his snout pressed behind my ear again.

    ¡°I know something that could make this more interesting,¡± he purrs, tracing circles on my shoulder with one finger.  ¡°I¡¯m going to bite you here in a second.  You think your skin is sensitive now?  Wait until you have my venom coursing through your veins.¡±

    I can¡¯t help but notice he¡¯s informing me that he¡¯s going to bite me rather than asking permission, which sends an extra thrill down my spine.  I shudder and brace myself for the pinch of his fangs sinking into my shoulder.  When it comes, I whimper at the pain, then brace myself again for the flood of sensation I know is coming.

    It¡¯s an odd feeling, to have my senses heightened, but with little to no input to them.  The darkness seems to get darker somehow.  The silence gets deeper, though I can now somewhat hear the muffled sound of footsteps on the rug, albeit still without being able to tell which direction they¡¯re coming from.  The few things I can feel ¨C the fabric on my wrists and face, the rug under my toes, and the wet droplets still rolling down my legs ¨C intensify greatly, though mostly what I can feel is the warm empty air around me.  The one sense that¡¯s really overpowering is my sense of smell; Khysmet¡¯s bergamot and mahogany scent is thick in the air, so potent my mind starts to feel hazy from it.

    Then, Khysmet blows gently in my ear, and my nerve endings explode in a fiery crackle, cascading across my whole body in a shockwave of delicious agony that ripples outwards from the point of origin all the way down to my toes.  I cry out in surprise and my knees buckle, putting some strain on my wrists for a second until I¡¯m able to recover, panting and shaking but standing on my own two feet.

    Khysmet chuckles, a sound that thrums into my chest.  ¡°I thought I told you not to test the load bearing capacity of that chain, sunshine.  Try to stay standing, okay?¡±

    He then returns to walking circles around me, poking, prodding, and groping my body at odd intervals.  Every slight touch sends my nerves into overdrive, surging in great searing pulses through me from the epicenter of contact outwards to the furthest reaches of my body.  It¡¯s torture.  Relentless torture.  I squeal at every slight touch, no matter how much I brace myself for the next one.  I can barely stay on my feet, the impact of every fleeting moment of sensation nearly knocking me to the ground every single time.

    I think it¡¯s about three minutes in that I start begging him to stop.  I tell him I can¡¯t take it any more, that it¡¯s too much, that I¡¯ll do anything if he¡¯ll just let me go.  I scream.  I plead.  I wail in agony.

    I don¡¯t say ¡°oranges¡±, though.

    He starts in with his claws again, dragging them gently, slowly across my skin.  Each point of contact feels like a searing hot brand cutting into my flesh.  He could be actually drawing blood and I don¡¯t think I would even notice the difference.  I howl and writhe, straining against my restraints with all my might.  I¡¯m so overwhelmed with sensation I barely know which way is up.  Still the safeword doesn¡¯t touch my lips.

    I don''t know how long this goes on ¨C it feels like hours with how every second stretches out in exhausting agony.  Then, just when it¡¯s about to verge into the territory of truly being too much for me to handle, it all stops.  My nerve endings pop and fizzle, tingling from the aftershocks of sensation that bounce through me like echoes and slowly fade back to silence.  I heave ragged breaths, near hyperventilating at first, but gradually slowing down to a steady yet labored pace.  My heart pounds in my ears, amplified by the venom to a deafening roar.  But I can¡¯t hear anything else.

    ¡°K- Khysmet?¡± I stutter into the emptiness as it stretches on for longer than it has before.  ¡°Where are you?¡±

    As an answer, I once more feel fingers digging into my slit, and I emit a ragged shout in response.  With the venom coursing through my veins, the invasive touch makes my cunt spasm so hard it borders on painful, and he¡¯s not even rubbing anything particularly sensitive.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been such a good girl tonight,¡± Khysmet praises.  ¡°Let¡¯s see if we can¡¯t get you to come at least once before you need your antivenom.  I bet it won¡¯t take too long.¡±

    When he starts pressing into my clit, the shock of agonizing pleasure makes me howl, and my knees buckle immediately.  Khysmet¡¯s fingers stay with me, though, rubbing rapid circles into the overly sensitive bud like he¡¯s racing to see just how quickly he can bring me to orgasm.  The overstimulation I¡¯ve endured up to now has left me with a pounding ache between my legs that has been begging and pleading for relief for so long, and even though his touch is torture on my sensitive nerves, it also finally satisfies the deep, burning need in my womb.  As he predicted, it takes almost no time for me to come undone against his fingers, the orgasm surging through me like an electric shock and overloading every nerve in my body after less than a minute of frantic rubbing, arousal flooding out of me and running down my thighs as my body spasms uncontrollably.  Khysmet slows his hand as I ride it out, then removes it once I finally stop writhing and am left just dangling limply from my wrist restraints.

    My senses are completely fried.  The pounding of my pulse in my ears is muffled.  I can barely feel the tightness of the fabric around my wrists.  My mind is steeped in a dull haze, and it¡¯s all I can do to try and stay standing.

    Right as a headache is starting to pound against my temples, a familiar little cup is pressed to my lips.

    ¡°Drink,¡± Khysmet commands, then gently tilts the cup, pouring the liquid in my mouth.  A little bit spills out, dribbling down my chin, but I somehow manage to swallow most of it.  Some of the haziness starts to dissipate, and my budding headache vanishes.  I even manage to get my feet under me a little more firmly.  My chest heaves with ragged breaths that I¡¯m finally starting to get under control as I feel the cool healing salve smeared against the bite mark on my shoulder.

    I feel him pick at the restraints on one wrist, untying the knot that has undoubtedly gotten tighter from all my pulling.  When it finally comes loose, I drop to the floor like a bag of rocks.  He catches me on the way down, cushioning my fall so that when my knees hit the floor, they at least don¡¯t bruise.  He gently strokes my back for a second, then I feel him untie the knot at the back of my head.  The blindfold falls away and I blink blearily, the world taking a while to come into focus.

    ¡°Cat,¡± he says, kneeling beside me.  ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    Once I can half-see again, I grope for his shirt and tug, pulling him close, trying to look him in the eye.

    "Khysmet," I rasp, voice hoarse from overuse.  "Please, fuck me.  Please?"

    ¡°What?¡± he asks, sounding genuinely startled.  ¡°You sure you can handle that?¡±

    ¡°I need you inside me, please,¡± I beg.  ¡°I want to feel full.¡±

    He nods.  "Okay, let me just take you to bed, and then¨C¡°

    "No," I interrupt.  "Here.  Now.  I need you right now."

    I get up on my knees in front of him, sticking my ass in the air, a lewd and shameless invitation.  When I spread my legs apart, I feel arousal ooze out of me straight onto the floor.  I hear Khysmet''s breath catch in his throat.  Then I hear him hurry to untie the lace on his pants, kneeling right behind me and pressing his freed cock against my entrance.  It slides in with little to no resistance, filling me perfectly and making the aching parts inside of me sing.  He moans deep and low.

    ¡°I¡¯ll try to make this quick for you, sunshine,¡± he says.  ¡°You seem like you¡¯re about at your limit as is.¡±

    Right from the start, he pounds into me hard and fast, presumably with the aim of getting himself off more quickly.  I''m too exhausted to rock my hips back to meet him; all I can do is brace myself where I am and let him use me, whining feverishly as he slams his hips into mine over and over.  The wet schlicking sound coming from my soaked pussy is deafeningly loud.  It fills my ears along with Khysmet''s deep grunts and my own faint whimpers to create a symphony of obscenity that makes my inner walls spasm around his cock.

    With how sensitive I am, it takes almost no time to reach my peak again, and I come undone around him with choked sobs, my muscles tensing and relaxing uncontrollably.  Khysmet drives into me hard through my orgasm, the overstimulation making me whimper and shake having experienced so much of it tonight, but the agony is oh-so sweet.  Despite his promise to make it quick for me, it still takes him a while to come, and by the time his hips stutter and stall, I am hardly capable of doing anything but drool and quiver as he stuffs me full of his seed.

    The second he pulls out, I collapse on my side, totally spent.  I¡¯m not sure when I¡¯m going to be able to get up again.  I might lie here on this rug forever, sticky with sweat and cum, unable to even lift an arm.  The floor is my home now.

    That line of thinking doesn¡¯t last long.  Khysmet picks me up gingerly, cradling me in his arms with tender care.  I¡¯m glad he doesn¡¯t have a hard time handling my weight, because I¡¯m completely limp, not really capable of making this easier for him.  He carries me the short distance to his bed and lays me down gently.  I sigh in relief as my skin hits the soft sheets.  He kept his clothes on through that whole performance, but now he removes them before crawling in beside me and pulling me close as usual.

    ¡°Was that okay?¡± he asks when I get settled, a note of concern in his voice.  ¡°I know we¡¯ve never really tried anything like that before.¡±

    I grin weakly against his shoulder.  ¡°It was fun.  Not something I want to do all the time, but¡­ I liked it.¡±

    He snorts.  ¡°I¡¯ll say.  I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen you that wet and desperate.  I must admit, though, the begging was a bit frightening.  More so than I thought it would be.¡±

    I hum a contented sigh and nuzzle into his cool, dry skin.  ¡°I was just asking for more.  Isn¡¯t that what you told me to do from the start?¡±

    Khysmet doesn¡¯t reply to my question.  Instead, he pulls me even closer, squeezing my body against his almost to the point of pain and rocking back and forth a little.  I feel his snout in my hair, and his breathing deepens.  He swallows thickly.

    ¡°Don¡¯t try to run back to your room tonight, Cat,¡± he says.  ¡°Please?¡±

    I¡¯m not really capable of doing so at the moment, but there¡¯s a raw edge to his voice that makes me hesitate to tease him right now.  Instead, I lean into his touch, wrap my arms around him, and squeeze him back.

    ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±