Plaything

Lysandra’s POV

My wedding dress never made it to the altar.

Torn layers of white silk tangled around my calves, a cruel mockery of what today was supposed to be. The wooden carriage rattled forward, wheels crashing into every rut in the road, jarring my spine. I clenched my jaw. I glared at the splintered wall across from me and reached deep into my chest, forcing my dark fire to rise. I needed a spark. Just one spark.

Magic surged in my veins. Instantly, the heavy metal of the Voidcuffs locked around my wrists flared with blistering heat. The metal bit down, searing my skin. The scent of my own burning flesh filled the cramped space. I gasped, the pain forcing my magic back down into nothingness.

Before I could drag in a breath to curse my captors, the carriage slammed to a halt.

The heavy wooden door wrenched open. Biting cold air rushed inside, raising goosebumps on my arms. I blinked against the sudden harsh light. Rough, unforgiving hands reached inside and seized my ankles.

They dragged me backward. Splinters from the floorboards scraped raw lines down my thighs as I twisted, kicking wildly. My heels struck the frame, but the grip on me held like iron.

They hauled me out into the freezing courtyard. Another set of heavy metal Voidcuffs snapped shut around my legs. The mechanism clicked, and searing heat locked my ankles together, sealing my helplessness.

"Let me go!" I screamed, thrashing against the dirt and the burning metal. "You have the wrong person! You must have mistaken me for someone else!"

The men looming over me did not flinch.

"I am Lysandra Rydel," I demanded, forcing my voice to project over the howling wind. "Daughter of Duke Rydel. The future Crown Princess. Do you know what you have done? My father will have you flayed. Crown Prince Darius will hunt you down and slaughter every last one of you! Your families will burn!"

I stared up at the ring of masked faces. Silence hung in the cold air, just long enough for a desperate flicker of hope to ignite in my chest. Maybe they realized their mistake. Maybe they understood the wrath they just invited.

Then, a man laughed.

Another voice joined in. A low, dismissive snickering crawled over my skin, hollowing out my chest. They did not care. They knew exactly who I was.

Without warning, thick hands grabbed my arms. They hauled me upright and then hurled me brutally back to the ground.

My hip struck the frozen earth. The sudden impact knocked the breath from my lungs in a sharp, helpless gasp. Pain rippled up my spine. I curled inward, hissing through my teeth, desperate to pull air back into my chest. The cruel laughter continued to echo above me.

"A Rydel?" a harsh voice sneered.

A heavy hand fisted in my raven-black hair. He yanked my head back, twisting my neck until pain flared down my spine. The guard leaned in. He hovered so sickeningly close I felt his hot breath wash over my cheek. He smelled like rotting meat and stale tobacco.

"Never tasted a Rydel before," he murmured, his tongue swiping slowly over his chapped lips in grotesque anticipation.

Disgust flared white-hot in my gut. I gathered the saliva in my mouth and spat squarely into his face.

The wet smack echoed in the quiet courtyard. For a split second, the world went dead still.

His expression twisted into raw fury. He swore, loud and sharp, and drew his thick arm back, his fist balling tight to deliver a crushing blow. I braced for the impact.

"Don't," another voice cut through the tension. A taller man stepped forward. "You will ruin her face. The Chief likes them pretty. Just wait until midnight. You can have your fill then."

The guard froze. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, his dark eyes burning into mine. He wiped the spit from his cheek with the back of his dirty glove. Denied his strike to my face, he drove his heavy steel-toed boot straight into my bound legs.

Pain exploded through my shins and knees.

I hissed, teeth clenched tight, trying to pull my legs toward my chest to protect myself. The moment I shifted, the Voidcuffs flared hotter, burning rings of fire into my raw skin. I collapsed back into the dirt, paralyzed by the agony.

"Filthy bitch," the guard muttered. He tightened his fist in my hair and yanked me up.

My feet barely scraped the ground. He dragged me forward by my scalp, my body bouncing uselessly against his side. I clawed at his thick forearm. I tried to twist free, but the cuffs robbed me of my magic and my strength. My fingers slipped against his armor.

He hauled me down a narrow, dim corridor lined with damp stone walls. We reached a heavy wooden door. He shoved it open and threw me inside.

I stumbled forward, hitting my knees on the hard stone floor. Two women stood waiting in the center of the small, humid room.

"Clean her up," the guard barked. He released my hair, wiping his hand on his pants. "The Chief wants to have some fun tonight."

The door slammed shut. The lock clicked.

I pushed off the floor and lunged desperately for the door. Panic and rage warred in my blood. I did not care about the burning metal on my wrists. I needed to get out.

The women caught me before I took two steps. They were strong, their grips like vises. One woman twisted my left arm hard behind my back, pushing the joint to the point of tearing. The other struck the back of my knees with a heavy wooden rod, forcing me to crash back down.

"Behave yourself," the taller woman snapped. "It will only hurt more if you struggle."

I opened my mouth to scream. A rough, coarse cloth shoved past my lips, tasting of dust and mold. The woman pulled the gag tight, wrapping the thick cord around the back of my head and knotting it ruthlessly. The rough fabric pressed down on my tongue, cutting off my voice, reducing my fury to muffled, suffocating grunts.

Their hands grabbed my ruined dress. They tore at the fabric. Seams ripped. Silk shredded. In seconds, they stripped me bare. They tossed my torn wedding dress into the corner like garbage. Cold air bit at my naked skin.

They dragged me across the floor by my arms and dumped me into a large wooden tub. The freezing water sloshed over the rim, splashing onto the floor as my bare body hit the surface.

They grabbed rough bristled brushes and scrubbed my skin without an ounce of care. The harsh bristles scratched my shoulders, my breasts, my thighs, turning my pale skin an angry, raw red. I thrashed against the freezing water, but they held me down.

When the brutal washing finished, they hauled me out dripping wet and shivering. They threw a thin, scratchy blanket over my shoulders—just enough to cover me as they forced me down another long, dark hall.

We reached the end of the corridor. Another door opened.

They shoved me inside. My world lurched. I flew forward and crashed onto a massive bed, my bare body hitting the mattress hard enough to rattle the heavy wooden frame. The blanket slipped off, leaving me exposed on the dark sheets.

The door slammed shut. The deadbolt slid into place.

I strained against the tight gag in my mouth, the coarse rope biting into the corners of my lips. My pulse hammered so hard I felt the thudding in my throat. I twisted my wrists, trying to pull them apart, but the metal of the Voidcuffs glowed red, searing fresh layers of skin. I cried out through the cloth, the sound muffled and pathetic.

Panic spiked. Crying would not help me. Thrashing would not break the magic-suppressing cuffs. Lying here waiting for my attacker would only make my fate worse. I forced myself to stop fighting the chains. I breathed harshly through my nose, staring at the dark wooden ceiling, trying to formulate a plan.

Before I could think, the heavy iron handle turned. The door creaked open.

The dim light from the hallway spilled over the floor. A massive, heavy shape filled the doorway, blocking out the light.

The smell hit me first. A noxious wave of sour sweat, unwashed skin, and cheap, pungent alcohol flooded the bedroom. My stomach churned.

The man stepped inside. The floorboards groaned beneath his weight. He was huge, his body thick and slack, carrying the bloated weight of a man who lived on excess rather than combat. His greasy hair clung to his forehead. His unfocused eyes locked onto my naked form on the bed. They gleamed with a raw, careless, predatory hunger.

For the first time since the ambush, genuine fear shattered my blinding rage. The cold reality of my situation lodged deep in my bones.

Is this how it ends? I am Lysandra Rydel. The future Crown Princess. Stripped naked, bound in burning iron, and waiting in a filthy stranger's bed like a piece of meat.

Tears pricked my eyes. My throat burned behind the thick gag. I stared at his grotesque face, desperate for any sign that this was a mistake. I waited for the door to burst open, for royal guards to storm the room.

I prayed to the goddess I had ignored since childhood. I silently begged my powerful father to find me. I begged Prince Darius to tear this fortress apart stone by stone and save me.

The Chief chuckled. The dark, raspy sound scraped against my nerves.

He took a heavy step closer. His unashamed gaze dragged over my bare breasts, down my stomach, lingering on my thighs. My body went rigid. I trembled under the sheer degradation of his stare.

"Don't look so hopeful," he slurred, catching the desperate dart of my eyes toward the door. "No one is coming for you."

He grinned, flashing yellow, rotting teeth. He enjoyed the terror radiating from me.

"Tonight," he declared, his thick hand gesturing toward the mattress, "you are nothing but my plaything."

He moved closer to the bed. The wood creaked in protest.

I twisted instinctively. Ignoring the blistering pain in my wrists and ankles, I crawled backward across the mattress, kicking my bound legs away from his reach. A muffled cry tore at my raw throat.

My eyes locked onto his waist. His thick fingers fumbled at his leather belt. He grabbed the hilt of a sharp dagger and pulled it free from its sheath. The steel caught the dim candlelight.

He lifted the weapon lazily, his dark eyes flicking back to my face to gauge my reaction.

"Now," he said, stepping right up to the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped as he pressed his heavy knee into the frame. "Why don't we start by making you bleed?"

My breath hitched.

I shook my head frantically, my neck aching from the force. I tried to pull my bound hands up to cover my chest, to protect my vulnerable flesh, but the cuffs burned deeper into my wrists.

The grimy blade hovered closer. I saw the dark, dried stains along the rusted edge. The room vanished. The world narrowed down to the sharp point of steel and the sweaty, monstrous man holding it over me.

He took one more step. He angled the dagger down, aiming for my skin.

A sharp, sickening sound cut through the silence.

The Chief stiffened. Utter confusion flickered across his slack, bloated face. His grip on the dagger loosened.

Suddenly, a thick arc of crimson blood sprayed from his throat. The warm, metallic-smelling droplets splattered directly across my face and my bare chest.

His mouth opened. No words came out. Only a wet, choking gurgle escaped his ruined throat. His knees buckled.

He collapsed sideways. The dagger slipped from his limp fingers, clattering against the floorboards. His massive body hit the ground with a heavy thud, blood pooling fast and dark beneath his severed neck.

I froze. My chest he heave against the gag. My mind scrambled to process the brutal violence, the coppery stench of fresh blood filling the small room.

Behind where the Chief had just stood, a shadowed figure emerged from the darkness.

Relief crashed over me like a tidal wave. Crown Prince Darius. He found me. My betrothed had come to save me.

The man stepped forward, moving out of the heavy shadows and into the dim candlelight.

I looked up at my savior.

My blood ran ice cold. My heart stopped in my chest.

It was not Darius.