Bound by Darkness (Bound By Series)

2. Almond Details

Chapter 2

Almond Details

THALIA

Grounds work remained a special kind of hell.

Specifically crafted to exhaust and manipulate, the physical torture was endless. Working from first light to its setting, blisters and boils were common among the prisoners in the summer heat, along with a slew of other health conditions that were less than favorable.

Back-breaking work left my hands calloused and rough from years of manual labor. The daily quotas ever-increased, an unachievable system for the average prisoner.

We were free laborers for His Majesty that could be bartered among various nobility. A trading system of living half-breeds, and yet the rest of the world continued as if their brethren were nonexistent. That what we did here served the Kingdom for a greater purpose.

Another shove sent me reeling toward the carriage parked at the edge of the greenery, a well-kept man scowling in my vicinity—a Fae and, by the looks of his tailored suit, a very wealthy Noble Fae.

“Move it!” the guard spat into my ear as he corralled me and the other prisoners for quarry duty. His frame towered over my head, and his scowl was pungent as he narrowed his eyes upon the selected prisoners.

My legs and arms were already stiff from bending low in the King’s garden early this morning. While I’d hauled vegetables into large potato sacks, His Majesty was waited on by my people in the fortress looming over the property. He enjoyed a lavish lifestyle at the suffering of the slaves he kept on his grounds.

It also didn’t help the guards had made me carry the sacks into the storage huts, their snickers digging underneath my resolve.

Two white horses neighed as the Noble Fae struck them with an open whip, the crack sending jolts of lightning down my spine. “You beasts, move!” he yelled, his cheeks flushing cherry red.

His brown hair was neatly pulled back, illuminating the face of someone who drowned all his ailments in sweets and ale.

He was dressed in the usual garb, a purple waistcoat drenched in golden details that highlighted his fair face. No blemish marked his skin except for the red blooming at his cheeks as he huffed with each step.

The horses obeyed as their hooves pelted the soft ground, the carriage turning to reveal stone piles.

Lifting my iron-clad hands, I blocked the faelight from view as I studied the massive stones reflecting iridescent hues of blue and black. Black more potent than any onyx gemstone my father had ever shown me from his travels.

The Noble Fae stabbed his staff into the ground, its hilt matching the golden jewelry adjoining each finger.

It was customary in Cethales to wear a ring for each province controlled by its owner, the Noble Fae under direct rule of High Fae—helping to keep the land peaceful and under direct control of the Kings .

He controlled at least ten rich provinces due to the gold wrapped around each finger, no doubt mined from the depths of Galar.

“Is this who is to move my items from Galar?” he bellowed, his chest puffing out as he surveyed caged cattle.

One of the guards stepped forward on the cut lawn. Flowers peppered the fortress grounds, starkly contrasting the stone structure towering behind us. “Yes, my lord. These are the strongest prisoners we have available.”

The Noble Fae’s gaze shifted across us until he stared at me, a gleam shining in his dark eyes as he held out a hand, his finger curling in my direction. “She’s merely skin and bone. You expect her to move these?”

I swallowed the anger in my chest as his eyes raked over me, over the body hidden beneath. He assessed me, my stance, and the weaknesses underneath my cold exterior.

“She’s under direct orders from our Captain to meet the quota of 50 stone,” the burly guard stated. His green eyes reflected malice for the job he’d been ordered to oversee the King’s slaves. The lowest job a Fae could have in the realm.

The Noble Fae male stepped closer, the smell of almond perfume overwhelming my senses as he leaned over. “Tsk.” His thumb brushed over the growing welt under my left eye.

I stepped backward, my skin blistering as my arm grazed a metallic shield, hot from the faelight directly singeing the area. A slight hiss left my parted lips.

“Don’t touch me,” I growled, the sound less intimidating than I’d hoped due to the pain lacing each word.

The Fae’s brown eyes gleamed brighter, a curl forming across his lips as he slapped me, his rings cutting the welt he had so gently brushed over a moment ago. “At least your spirit isn’t broken,” he said, turning to the guards. “Bring her to me once she’s done with her quota. I wish to punish her personally for her disregard of status. ”

The guard shoved my head in an act of reverence. My neck strained under the pressure of his calloused hand as large pieces of matted hair covered my emerald eyes. “Of course, my Lord.”

His plush fingers pressed into my chin as his nails dug into the hollows of my cheeks. “You have fire in your eyes. What a lovely quality for a slave to have.”

Heat boiled beneath my skin as his brown, beady eyes studied mine. A wicked smile crossed his face. “Do work quickly.” The Fae male stepped back, his hands dropping at his sides.

Barking orders as he headed toward the guest quarters, my body smelled of almonds as it lingered in the air.

Chaos ensued as the guards shouted their demands. They directed us to grab a stone and haul it to the closest storage shed at least 30 yards away. It was downhill, and I had to move 50 of them before reaching my quota.

If I reached it at all.

When I had hauled the 50th piece of stone into the storage shed, my bones were like thick logs of wood, each muscle straining as I trekked up the grassy hill toward the two guards waiting to drag me to him.

No fear lingered in my veins as the guards watched my movements to see if I’d run. Running away meant death, and I wanted something much more dangerous. I wanted to live.

Panting, the guards greeted me at the top, arms folded over metallic breastplates. “That’s her last stone,” a young woman stated, her hair threaded in braids. “She made it before the faelight disappeared.”

The young man chuckled. “By the looks of it, she won’t last until morning. Look at how red her face is. You can barely see the freckles poking beneath.”

The woman with braids joined in, her laughter a bitter echo. “She won’t make it through the night thanks to that Noble Fae,” she continued. “It’ll be a blessing if you die. I’m tired of the trouble you bring us.”

I kept my head tucked in, my lips sealed. I wanted to do anything but remain quiet as the guards taunted me with their vile words. I loathed them, but feared Moria more as the words floated in my head. I didn’t need to inflict more torture on her with my arrogance. She had enough to sort through.

The woman’s laughter turned into a frown as she shoved me toward the guest chambers.

My knees bent awkwardly as I steadied myself against the assault.

“What? Finally have nothin’ to say?”

I remained silent.

My vision swirled, disorienting me enough to avoid engaging in petty banter. One foot forward, then the next. I repeated this chant over and over as they hurled insults at me. It wasn’t the first time I’d become a verbal sack to punch and abuse.

A tiny seed of panic festered within me as the guest chambers approached, their wooden shutters lightly rapping against the solid panels.

I breathed in. I breathed out.

My first punishment session had reeked of blood and piss as Gayle’s ringed hands left wounds the size of boulders. Whatever this man intended to do with me would pale in comparison to the pain I’d encountered in my first session with him.

The young man knocked on the wooden door, pieces flaking from wear and tear.

The door swung back as the robust Fae leaned against the door frame, a crooked grin slicing his face as his stubby hand wrapped around a glass bottle. His gaze stumbled on me. “I thought your guards forgot my deal.”

“Never, my Lord,” the woman said with a slight bow. “She is here as requested. I apologize for the stench someone like her brings inside your establishment.”

The Lord, if you could call the trash that, glanced over my appearance, his eyes lingering upon my chest. “It is adequate. Wait out here,” he said as he pointed the bottle at both guards.

“But my Lord,” the man interjected. “It is unsafe for someone like you to be alone with her.”

He narrowed his pointed eyes. “She has chains, does she not?”

“Well, yes, my Lord, but?—”

“And nothing,” he spat. “I will call for you when I am finished,” he said before grabbing iron.

The door slammed shut, and with it, my chances of escape.

He took a deep breath, bottle extended in his hand as his gaze shifted to mine. “Drink.”

Grabbing the bottle, I observed the amber liquid. It sloshed around inside, bubbles forming with the movement. Taking a whiff, my stomach churned at the smell.

“Drink,” he commanded. No gesture of kindness lingered behind his words.

The glass froze my lips as I tipped the bottle back, the amber liquid burning its way down my throat like kindling. It didn’t leave a pleasant aftertaste either.

“Better,” he muttered.

Holding the ornate bottle, I surveyed the guest quarters—the one place I had yet to explore. Moria, however, knew of this place well. It made my skin crawl thinking of what she’d endured inside this house with men like this. What she’d completed to leave this locked room.

“Sit,” he ordered, a hand gesturing to the living room.

I took nimble steps behind him, my eyes constantly scanning for hidden weapons.

I took in the whole room as light brightened the plush velvet rugs. They looked like dark pools of blood against the wood flooring. My breath hitched at it… at the scene which plagued my mind so frequently. Of my parents and sister dead upon our rug, blood leaking out from the swords protruding from their chests.

Blinking the vivid imagery away, I glanced to my right as an oak desk appeared, a window illuminating the scattered papers.

The rest of the room accessorized itself with various gemstone figurines and vases painted in gold—a flash of luxury. Even the smallest oil lamp beside me rested on silk that, if sold, would fetch a much larger sum than my entire flesh.

“ Sit .”

I scanned the four-panel window, the forest branches swaying with the summer breeze. It would have been lovely without the presence hovering behind me as I slumped onto the couch. It seemed wrong to sit on something so new and clean.

A fire blazed within the hearth, casting the room in an aura of orange to keep the nightly chill away.

He slumped beside me, his thumbs rubbing the tender spots above his brows. His hand pried the bottle from my fingers before he took a large swig, returning it to the glass table.

A hand at the base of my neck startled me as he leaned into my ear, his breath hot and reeking of ale. His elbows graced my shoulders, his build large and significantly rounded from a life of luxury. Not a single speck of dirt rested on his tunic or face. Stubble grazed his plush jawline, wrinkles dotting his forehead from living half of his mortal lifespan, as did all the Fae due to the curse plaguing the land.

“Tell me, how do you keep your wits about you in a place as hellish as this?” His fingers twisted a strand of my amber hair.

I choked back bile as the warmth of his body pressed into mine.

He cleared his throat as he shifted, what little muscles he had tensing. “I prefer slaves with wit. The ones without backbones are such a bore, and die rather quickly.” His arm rested on my shoulders. “I have a proposition for you.”

I fixated on the fire, anything other than the proximity he forced upon me.

“Come back with me to my province. You’ll receive food, shelter, and much better clothes suiting someone of your… beauty.” He chuckled softly.

His eyes roamed over my face as I blinked back the statement. Beauty did not describe me. Years of turmoil and labor had turned beauty into a deep rust coating my exterior. My cheeks were hollow from years of malnourished treatment; freckles slapped over scars and nicks I’d accumulated from years of hard work. Once revered for their peculiarity, my green eyes were nothing but dull emeralds smothered in mud. No… no hidden beauty slithered beneath. I wasn’t even endowed with curves. Starvation had eaten those first.

“But not my freedom,” I whispered, brushing my mind past his comment.

He laughed. “What use is freedom if you are given everything you possibly need? I’m being generous. Of course, if you indulge in other necessities, I could arrange outings befitting a lady.” His hand rested on my thigh as he gave it a squeeze, his thumb lazily tracing fabric.

My hands fisted my brown tunic as his hand moved. They were all the same. “I will take my punishment,” I said, hoping his hand remained where it rested.

His pupils dilated, nostrils flaring as he squeezed tight. “Did you believe you’d be given an option? Whether you answer or remain silent, the transfer has already been approved. As a dignified man, the least I can offer a lowly slave is the illusion of choice.”

His arm curled around my neck like a collar, his fingers resting above the dip of my collarbone.

“Why bring me here if you’d already decided my fate?” I breathed, the chains rattling as I shifted.

The man’s fingers pressed into the soft flesh of my throat; his pupils darkened with ambition and hunger as my air supply weakened. “Most slaves fall to their knees in gratefulness for removing them from their harsh living conditions.”

“I am not like most,” I rasped, his hand like iron.

His body shifted to hover over mine. “You are not. You are far more exciting.” He breathed, the smell of almonds intoxicating my lungs. “It will be a pleasure to break you—to watch you writhe beneath me.” A tongue darted out from his mouth as he breathed in the scent of me.

His lips touched my jaw, wetness permeating my dry skin as his hands fumbled with the hem of my shirt.

He... he was kissing my skin.

Dread lent me its cloak, sinking its fingers into my chest with each advancement of his mouth. He was... he was going to defile me on this couch unless I?—

My eyes darted to the right as his beady eyes lingered on my flesh. There, resting on the table, the bottle sat perfectly upright .

My chained hands crept toward the armrest while he preoccupied himself with the scraps of fabric clinging to me. I had to keep him talking... keep him focused on me as my hands slowly encroached closer to the gleaming glass.

His advances tortured me, and I wanted nothing more than to break his hands where they rested. Heat boiled my blood at the arrogance, at the right he thought he had to take me— “I won’t break,” I blurted, my words like daggers to his skin.

His nostrils flared, his Fae instincts assessing prey as his head leaned over my chest. “Let me be the first. I’m sure you have a lovely voice, especially once its been violated.”

Almost.

Almost—

My fingernails tapped against the glass.

His head swiveled to the side at the noise.

“Aren’t you going to break me?” I purred, my neck angling to the side.

An invitation.

The man fixated his gaze back to the open spot of my neck. “You slaves are all the same. You crack?—”

The bottle crashed upon his head, the sound echoing in the room.