Chapter 2

"YOUR HATRED IS showing," my self-appointed supervisor for the night murmurs upon passing me. She leaves behind a trail of expensive shampoo, conditioner, and body care scents. I think her name is Larissa. All I know is she's been at my heels all night with a pretty sour fucking attitude. I'm sure Lady Genevieve put her up to it.

I suppress a groan. If there's one thing I suck at, it's schooling my expression. I take a deep breath and plaster a smile on my face as I navigate through the crowd of ancient money. Just as I've learned, I sway my hips and take on an elegant gait that will have my back hurting later.

Lady Genevieve assigned our uniform for the night, a slinky red dress and strappy heels that have my shoes barely hanging on. Already my feet burn. My stylist piled my thick curly hair on top of my head in a cute messy-on-purpose bun, painted my lips red, and covered my dark skin in gold glitter that gleams sparkles under the candlelight.

The partygoers openly stare, enraptured at the girls who pass. I spot Fae, Elves, plenty of Vampires, and some Werewolves. Their eyes lazily roam our bodies, and it feels like they're actually touching me even though they keep a distance… for now. The night is still young, and everyone is relatively sober. Every glass I pass, I offer to top it off with wine, then rush away before I'm pulled into conversation.

All around me, Witches are expertly entertaining by showcasing their powers. They have reduced us to mere party clowns.

A Water Witch uses her powers to pull the wine from her bottle into a guest's glass. An Earth Witch flirts with a Shapeshifter by shaking the ground beneath her feet so that her cleavage jiggles.

Turn up the performance. The thought brushes into my consciousness. I look across the room to see Larissa giving me the side eye. She ruffles a Vampire's hair with a light breeze to make her laugh. As an Air Witch, she's able to communicate by telepathy. So, not only can she annoy me verbally, but psychically as well.

I top off the drink of a Fae Lord with white hair that brushes the middle of his back. If I remember correctly, his name is Lord Oren. I refill his glass, and his ethereal blue eyes watch my every movement.

Just like most Supernaturals, he's attractive. But as Fae, he has a different sort of look. It's strange and beautiful and ambiguous. His skin is pale, facial features delicate, and pointed ears peek from beneath his hair.

He reaches into the pocket of his elegant golden robes and brings a cigar to his lips. "Light please."

I snap my fingers and ignite a small flame that hovers above my index finger. Eyes never leaving his, I hold it out to him. He uses it to light his cigar, puffing and blowing the smoke in my face.

"You're just as beautiful as they say," he says, reaching for me. I catch his wrist in my hand reflexively. I'm too used to men reaching for parts of me that are off limits. To my surprise, he smiles and bows his head. "Apologies. It's rude of me to touch without asking."

"It is," I say, releasing him. Then I let my lips curve into a smile, and wink at him. Hopefully, I made it sound flirty instead of rude.

"I've been trying to Sponsor you for a year now. Ever since you attended my colleague's bachelor party," he continues. "Have you been getting my requests?"

Have I been getting them? Most likely. Have I read them? Of course not. I'm wracking my brain to think of an excuse. Just my luck, he keeps talking as men so often do.

"I'm sure you receive so many that mine got lost." His lips curve into a smile that almost looks shy. "Do consider it though? I want nothing more than to treat you like the princess you are."

With how much I hate this party, that offer tempts me. If him becoming my Sponsor means never having to humiliate myself in this way, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad.

"I'll think of it," I say, and dare to place a gentle hand on his arm. His expensive robes are silky beneath my palm. "I don't delight in the idea of being owned."

He seems to shiver beneath my touch. "I would never treat you as a possession. Though I don't think the same way as my colleagues. Hopefully I get to you before they do."

I glance around at said colleagues, getting drunker, more handsy, and more greedy. It takes everything in my to suppress a shiver.

I notice a guest with an empty glass, and use that as an excuse to pull myself away from Lord Oren. His ominous words hang in the air as I continue my duties for a few more hours. Perhaps it is time I settle with a Sponsor. I can't keep doing this forever.

Larissa appears at my side once more, her voice dripping with condescension. "Not bad, Estrella. I see you're behaving. Lord Oren seemed quite taken with you. I've seen him eyeing you all night."

I roll my eyes, but keep give her a tight smile. "Just doing my job, Larissa."

She tilts her head and studies me for a moment before speaking, her voice lower. "You know, if you were a bit more... accommodating, you could secure him Sponsor tonight even. Freedom and a life of luxury, Estrella. Isn't that what you want?"

I clench my jaw. "I won't sell myself to the highest bidder, Larissa."

She sighs, "Very well, Estrella. But remember, not all Sponsors are the same. Some may treat you with more respect than you think."

Before I'm forced to give her a response, the  energy of the room shifts, and everyone turns their attention towards the front. I follow their eyes towards the archway that leads into the ballroom. I can see the crowd parting as someone enters. Then enough people move to where I catch a visual of him.

King Nephus towers above the rest, taking in the room with shrewd eyes. Everything about him intimidates me, and judging from the shift, everyone else feels it too. I take in his expensive pressed suit, the hand-shined shoes, perfect posture, and neatly styled black hair. He moves through the crowd like a lithe predator, ready to strike.

I've never seen him in real life, only on TV, and the sight makes my breath leave my body. He's unnaturally handsome, and danger simmers just below his surface. I watch as he greets people with dignified nods, and can't help but narrow my eyes.

Next to him, a blond-haired, blue-eyed man in a similar suit follows him like a shadow. His bright blue eyes search the room, head on a constant swivel. Only a vampire would have eyes that vivid. Normally they're red, but they can suppress this to make them to appear more human. So, I find it intriguing that he would attend a party full of Supernaturals and feel the need to mask himself.

He doesn't smile. Rather, he looks bored as hell. Like he'd rather be traversing the depths of hell than standing around at this party. The feeling is mutual.

A hand grabs my elbow. I almost lash out thinking it's one of the gross Court members, but it's Larissa. All at once, she forces a glass into my hand, takes my nearly empty wine bottle, hands me a fresh one, and pushes me forward. "Hurry and give him some wine."

I raise an eyebrow. "What the fuck? Why me?"

She tuts in disapproval of my language. "You're our 'best' girl and Lady Genevieve said you need to have face time with the King," she nudges me forward. "Behave."

What am I, a prized horse? Before I can overthink it, she uses a rush of air to push me even harder and now I have to move forward lest I fall flat on my face and cause a scene. I wind my way through the crowd, never taking my eyes off the King and his bored bodyguard.

They stand a distance away from the crowd, speaking to one another about something. The body guard mutters something that makes King Nephus smile briefly and holy shit. The even white teeth and dimpled cheeks make my heart seize in my chest for a moment. It almost makes him less scary. Almost. However the smile ends quickly, and his face returns to a stony facade.

What do I even say? No one prepared me for this. But if they expect me to bow, that's a joke. I'm getting closer and closer until I'm only a few feet away. King Nephus spares me a cursory glance. But the bodyguard's gaze zeroes in on me as if assessing my threat level. Then he crooks his index finger for me to approach.

Gods, I really just want to go to my bed and hide under the covers for the next few days. My social battery has just about hit zero. Lady Genevieve  really  owes me these vacation days.

I don't get too close to the King, but I can still feel the oppressive energy that surrounds him. His presence presses against me on all sides, suffocating me. The same way he suffocated the entire Supernatural Realm.

"Taste it," the guard commands, eying me. His voice sounds as tired as he looks. As tired as I feel. At first I have no idea what he's talking about, until I remember the weight of the wine in one hand, and the glass pinched between my thumb and forefinger in the other.

Ah, because I could try to poison His Majesty.

I lock my defiant eyes with the guard. My eyes never leave his as I use my party trick to ignite my finger, and use the heat of my fire to open the wine bottle. Once the hot air has pushed the cork up enough, I pull it out, and pour a heft glass of wine, until it's nearly touching the rim.

His facial expression goes from bored, to annoyed, to...amused?

Instead of taking a sip, I down the entire glass, purposefully leaving my red lipstick on the rim. We wait a few moments, staring at one another. Once I don't fall to the floor foaming at the mouth, he nods in approval.

Now, I pour a second glass and hold it towards them. To my surprise, it's the King that takes it. I didn't expect him to want to drink from a glass dirtied with my lipstick after touching my Witch lips.

His manicured fingers brush mine when we exchange the glass, sending a frisson of nerves down my back. Before I can withdraw, his other hand shoots out impossibly fast to catch my wrist. It's so unexpected I gasp and almost drop my bottle. I look up at him, my eyes connecting with his. Up close, I can make out their breathtaking golden honey color. His gaze never wavers as he scrutinizes me unblinkingly.

"What is your name?" I catch an ancient lilt to his words.

I swallow the lump in my throat. Don't fold, don't fold. Don't look scared.

He's devastatingly handsome and emanates an unpredictable power that simmers just below his surface. The air around him feels electric, unsafe, heavy. Now, I worry my sass towards his bodyguard may have offended him. I bite my lip and his eyes latch onto the movement. He watches my mouth as I say, "Estrella. Estrella Soleil."

"Estrella," he tastes my name like it's a new exotic food he can't quite wrap his mind around. Hearing him say it in his deep voice with that old accent gives my goosebumps. Then he releases my wrist and gives me a dismissive wave. "Carry on."

But even as I walk away, I feel his eyes drilling into my back. I chance a glance over my shoulder. His guard tilts his head, listening as the King tells him something. Both their eyes follow my movements. The guard even points at me. My chest squeezes. Capturing the attention of King Nephus is not something that could end well.

  ***

I spend the rest of my night serving refreshments, fake laughing at jokes, and presenting little fire tricks. However, all I can do is replay that brief interaction in my mind. Did I do anything to offend him? Something where he'd want to imprison me, or worse? Why was he pointing me out to his guard? I breathe through a bout of nervous nausea.

But if it were anything bad, he'd have had me apprehended right then and there, right? But this man also waited seven years before attacking Witches. He bid his time and played the long game. The King plays chess, not checkers. Now my breathing comes even faster. It gets harder to fake the smiles. My feet are killing me, my back hurts, and everything feels stuffy. I'm sick of being around people. I'm sick of playing nice to the very people who ruined my life. As we pass one another, I see it in every other girl's eyes. We're all fucking miserable.

The night stretches on into day, and the guests trickle out. I'm swallowing yawns by the time everyone leaves, including the King escorted by his guard. All that's left behind is the rest of his security team posted about the room, watching us with hungry eyes.

I look around the now desolate room. Empty glasses and cigar butts are strewn everywhere, on the tables, littering the floor. Thank the gods we don't have to do cleanup—he has a staff for that, I'm sure. We'd be around another few hours.

Finally, we receive word our cars have arrived to usher us all home.

But as I follow my fellow Witches out of the ballroom, a hand grips my shoulder. I spin around to find myself face to chest with the King's personal guard from before.

Another reason I hate Vampires: I hadn't seen him return to the ballroom, nor did I hear him walk behind me.

He's tall like the King, and equitably handsome, but in his own way. He has almost a boyish charm, but his hard eyes warn against misconstruing that for weakness. This man has seen things… done things. He stares down his nose at me with a faint expression of disgust.

"The King requests for you to stay," he states.

I narrow my eyes. "Thanks, but no thanks." I don't have the energy for polite pretenses, and neither does he. I'm tired and long for my bed back home.

His jaw sets. "I'm not asking," he says. "I'm telling."

King Nephus wants me to stay, and I don't know why. Does he want me to sleep with him? I almost shudder at the thought. Sleeping with a patron is something I've never done nor would ever.

I take a step back, wrenching my shoulder from his grasp. He rolls his eyes and sighs like I'm simply a minor inconvenience. "And I'm telling you no." I fold my arms over my chest.

Understanding dawns on his face.

"Relax," he says, his face softens, but he still looks aggravated. "You'll have your own room for the night. Now, let's go."

For the night.

"But you can't just take me against my will!"

He grabs my arm and all but drags me out of the ballroom. "I can, and I will."

I'm stuck between horror and curiosity. Curiosity wins.

"What does he want from me?" I ask, trying my best not to stumble in my heels. He's walking so fast I have to jog to keep up, lest he end up dragging me across the marble.

All around me, everything sparkles bright and gilded with gold. The white marble floors gleam, the walls showcase expensive paintings, and glittering chandeliers hang above us. It's all excess. Meanwhile, in the city, people barely live above the poverty level. As a Courtesan, I live well, enjoying a fancier lifestyle, but at the cost of my dignity. Not everyone gets that option.

We pass a uniformed member of staff every now and then. They give us curious looks, but otherwise mind their business.

"When the King gives an order, I comply, no questions asked," he says without looking at me. "I could care less what he plans on doing with you or why."

"So then you do care about what he's planning," I say.

He peers down at me. "Excuse me?"

"If you say you could care less, that means you care to some degree," I explain, trying and failing to hide my smirk. "What you meant to say is you couldn't care less what he plans on doing and why."

He pauses to think. Then his eyes thin. "Shut up."

"Did the King also order you to be a huge, throbbing dick?"

To my surprise, the corners of his lips slightly lift. It's so brief I'd have missed it if I blinked a millisecond too fast. "He didn't specify, but I have to make my job fun somehow," he responds.

"And your job is to be his bodyguard?"

He snorts and shakes his head. "My job is much more than that. I am his right hand."

"What's your name?" This question makes him falter.

He recovers quickly. "Evander. Now walk faster."

"I'm in heels and a long dress, asshole."

He stops short and gives my outfit a fleeting glance. Faster than I can follow, he bends down and picks me up. I gasp in surprise and wind my arms around his neck to steady myself. At least he has the decency to hold me to his chest instead of throwing me over his shoulder like a sack.

"I can walk, you know," I protest. "I just can't walk as fast as a six-foot man in comfortable flat shoes."

"Six foot two," he corrects.

I glare up at him as he stares forward. I can see the cut of his solid jaw. My eyes follow it down to his neck, then his collarbone. Earlier, he wore a tie. Now it's gone, and the top two buttons of his shirt undone.

"I don't have all morning to escort you while you wobble through the halls."

"Wobble?" I echo with indignance, causing him to look down at me briefly, a lock of his blond hair caressing his forehead. "I like to think of it as an elegant strut."

His lips twitch, and I'm positive he's holding back a smile.

We move much faster now, and in a few more minutes, he unceremoniously deposits me in front of a set of white double doors with golden knobs. I lose my footing and use his shoulder to balance. He pushes the doors open for me and ushers me inside, clearly impatient.

Inside, I take on the cozy sitting room filled with fancy white furniture. Beyond it, a set of open doors lead to a bedroom with a fourposter bed that's way too high off the ground, and much bigger than necessary.

Now what? I turn to address Evander. "So now what do I do—" and the door slams in my face. Then I hear a lock click into place. I'm imprisoned.