The king calls me his beautiful bird, and today is the personification of this moniker. I am a bird, caged in his arms. A bird, unable to stop the outside world from behind my gilded bastille. My wings are clipped; my cage is locked.
The maze is the townies and Khaivya's execution site, and while the hedges are over ten feet high and Zamri hides in the center, all of them know their abysmal fate. King Shaharuddin's fingers glide across my waist, following my gown's accents, but I feel his eyes on me like they are shards of ice slicing through my flesh. He watches me as I gulp down my fear and guilt, and I watch as two guards on either side of the hedge's entrance grab the first townie's arms and thrust him into his death.
He was a sheriff in his town, revered and feared, but now he is amusement for creatures stronger than him. The sheriff is an ant beneath mighty feet, and he has nowhere to run. When the two guards throw the sheriff into the hedge, the burly human flies ten feet away from his friends. The other two townies scream for the sheriff, but there is nothing else they can provide him but their fury. Death is on the sheriff's horizons, and his two friends are close behind him.
"Your highness," I whisper.
A tender kiss is placed on the curve of my jaw. "Call me Shay."
"Let him go."
"He will have his chance to survive." Another kiss, lower on my jaw. "This morning, the prisoners in the cell were informed that they can survive their death penalty if they can find Zamri and kill him with their bare hands." The king's breath blows across the side of my face, sending bumps alongside my flesh, and I can feel his smile as he murmurs too close to the corner of my mouth. "You have no reason to want them to survive, but who knows? They may defy the odds and live to see the next day."
"They won't, though."
King Shaharuddin's hand moves from my waist and ascends. Slowly gravitating alongside my ribcage, gracing the curvature of my breasts, but then he gingerly wraps his hand around my neck. He applies the smallest pressure as he tilts my head backwards and our eyes clash. The depths of his black gaze pierce me, and an ache forms in the pit of my stomach. Faintly, I can hear the sheriff screaming from the hedge maze, but I stare only at the king as he leans my face inexplicably close to his.
Lips of sin and desire are a breath away from mine, and I forget how to breathe. He is a monster, derived from the pits of nightmares, but there has never been a more beautiful male than him. King Shaharuddin's eyes flicker to my mouth, and he leans closer.
Yet, before he can kiss me, I plead. "Let Khaivya go. If nobody else can be spared, then please spare her. She did nothing wrong."
"Nothing?" the king inquires curiously.
"Nothing," I repeat.
We are still pressed against one another. His chest crushed into mine; his hand still wrapped around my throat. Our eyes haven't migrated away from one another, even as the sheriff's screams grow louder and louder, and our breaths mingle. We are closer than I have been with a man in years, but neither of us pull away. I should be the one to distance myself, but I stay pressed against his body, and I breathe the air he exhales.
"She spoke too openly to you when she was told not to, and then there is the Junosol petal." The king uses his hand that isn't wrapped around my throat to spin a piece of my lighter hair around his index finger. He is immersed in the sight of my hair, as a secretive smile pulls over his lips. "You are too important to me, beautiful bird, and she almost ruined you. Anybody who plays with my things suffers the consequences."
"I am not yours to be played with," I stammer, but upon his darkening features, I quickly add. "And you don't know if she gave me the Junosol petal."
"Does it matter? You may say my brother gave you the petal, but I cannot condemn my youngest brother. I can, however, blame her, and I am not a forgiving king. Especially when it comes to you."
The sheriff's screams come to an abrupt halt.
I yank my head away from King Shaharuddin's touch, his hand falling off my throat, and I look at the hedge maze. I search the maze for the sheriff, and I am unsurprised at what I find. The sheriff made his way to the center of the maze where Zamri waited, and now the sheriff's decapitated head sits on a ceramic fountain behind Zamri.
Zamri's face is stoic as he kicks the sheriff's discarded body, which creates a river of crimson blood in the garden at the hedge maze's center. The maze was once resplendent, especially when the morning light would hit it, but I will never witness its radiance. In the night's dark, carnage decorates former gloriousness. A fountain etched by marble and precision is now a placeholder for a man's dismembered head.
Zamri holds no care for the man he murdered, his face too still and unwavering as he looks up at the balcony where Shaharuddin and I sit. He waits for a command, like a dog on a leash. A prisoner in his own cage, who follows the rules of his owner.
"The next one!" King Shaharuddin outcries with excitement lilting his cadence.
Disgust curdles my stomach, and I force myself to look when the second townie is thrown into the hedge maze. This townie, the one with the goatee and an eyepatch. My eyes flicker towards his stumpy wrist, where his hand once sat. The black ringlet around his wrist is rot and decay, and I know I caused it.
I cannot bring myself to think about the possibilities. The truth of how I could create corrosion on a man's hand from a single touch. There are too many questions fogging my head when I look at his mutilation, and right now Khaivya needs me to be clear minded. I push away the questions about myself, and I devastatingly watch a man's execution.
The goatee man tries to rush towards the guards, to barrel past them and survive, only to be thrown deeper into the maze. There is silence as the goatee man stumbles deeper into the maze, but I refuse to watch. I stare at the king, whose black gaze is back on me with rapt attention.
"Not Khaivya, please."
Both his hands are back on my waist, holding me tight against his taut physique. He squeezes the plump flesh as my words enter the air, but he is silent. The king flushes my back against his chest, and he migrates his attention back to the maze.
He says with exuberance. "Zamri just found the human. How would you like him to die? Zamri prefers decapitation. A quick and almost painless death, but if you'd prefer a longer suffering, then I can accommodate your wishes."
I refuse to look, even when the man's screams first arrive. My focus remains on the king. "Please, your highness. Spare her."
"While I am handsome, it is a crime to miss such an engaging show. Quit staring at me and watch, beautiful bird."
Amusement laces his words, and his dark gaze remains on the hedge maze where Zamri silences the goatee man's screams. Without looking, I know the moment the goatee man dies because the king ruefully smiles, and he drags his focus back onto where I sit on his lap.
"What do you want for her life, your highness?" I ask.
"Shay," he corrects me. "And why do you care so much about one life? You have barely known her for two nights, yet you beg for her soul to be saved. Why?"
Because this land is lonely and dark, and Khaivya is the only positive light I have here. She sees me as a friend instead of a caged bird or a doomed bride. I am a prisoner in Oraxto, but the few times I have spoken to Khaivya, she helped me feel less like a captive and more like a person. Khaivya does not hold the same terrible intentions as everybody else, and if I want my sanity to stay intact, Khaivya is my best chance.
If I want freedom, she might be the one that'll help me find the keys.
I do not say any of this aloud, and the king's attention shifts away from me. He watches as the third and last living townie is thrown inside. The same townie who peed on himself does not scream like the sheriff and the man with the goatee. His silence draws my curiosity, and I turn around to watch as he steals a knife from one of the guard's holsters and plunges the weapon into his neck before Zamri can steal his life in the hedge maze.
"Well," the king sighs with discontent. "That was boring." He sighs, then yells. "Next one!"
"Please, I beg you for mercy. I have children!" The next male screams as the two guards grab him and throw him into the hedge maze. His complexion is sage, similar to Christof's, and his body is malnourished with bones jutting from the skin. He begs the guards for mercy at the entrance because he knows who waits for him in the center; worse, he knows he will not survive the carnage.
"What do you want for her life?" I ask the king when I face him again.
He smirks. "What do you offer?"
"My body," I respond immediately with a sudden warmness to my cheeks and a deep stab of defeat in my chest. "I will give myself to you tonight if you spare her."
Amusement lightens his golden skin. He leans forward, the tip of his nose brushing mine, and he asks with a sudden deepness to his voice. "How will you give yourself to me, Evalina?"
He does not speak my name, but he purrs it like a lion. A shiver rolls down my spine at his insinuation. I am suddenly hyper aware of the fact that we are alone on this balcony, and a hardened part of him is pressing against my thigh. Sex is not unfamiliar to me, but I am unaccustomed to the communicatory openness of sex.
Sheepishly, I answer. "However, you want me, your highness. If she lives, then you may have me in any way you see fit."
The king reaches forward and grabs my chin. His thumb grazes my bottom lips, and electricity sparkles across the sensitive flesh. I suppress a gasp as he glides across my mouth, teasing the skin before possessing it as his. Those dark eyes of his are infused with the sight of his digit sliding across my mouth, and with a subtle tug, I open.
"You may say the perfect words with this pretty mouth of yours." The king leans forward, and where his finger once sat on my mouth, his tongue replaces. He tests the taste of my lips with his tongue, and I lean forward to kiss him. He is so close, and Khaivya's freedom with his proximity, but before I can kiss him, King Shaharuddin stops my advancement with a snarl. "Yet you still cannot call me by my name."
He removes his hands from my body and leans back in the throne. The king distances himself from me as much as he can with me still perched on his lap, and my hope deflates. He refuses to look in my direction, no matter how long I stare at him and plead with my eyes. As another person dies and another is thrown into the maze, but I refuse to glance at their executions.
My focus remains on him.
"Shay," I whisper his name for the first time, and his gaze whips back to me. "Please."
Saying his name is not just speaking a word. When I give into his wish, I give up my defiance and admit that I am a prisoner at his mercy. We both know the significance behind my words, and victory is written on his face like a poem in his honor.
"Kiss me, beautiful bird."
His caged bird, flightless and hopelessly unable to escape. I shed away my thin armor and I succumb to him. Shay remains where he sits, lounging as far back on his throne as he can, and I move towards him. The shambled remains of my dignity gone with the night wind. My dress's train floats over his legs like a blanket, but it also covers his desire that is prominently straining against his pants. I lower myself onto his hardened member, and as he sighs with desire, I cup his face with my hand and lean forward to kiss him.
His lips are soft, and they mold against mine. I make the first move under his orders, but he is the one in control. His hand wraps around the back of my neck, and he deepens the kiss. His tongue slides across my lips, demanding entrance, and as the screams of countless victims echoes in my ears, I allow him every part of me.
The kiss is quicker than I thought it'd be, but as he pulls away, he says. "What I want, Evalina Ochir, are two things for her freedom."
The darkness of his gaze consumes me as we face each other, our breaths intermingling and our chests heaving with the aftermath of our kiss. His lips are puckered red, and his erection presses against me with sinful promises. I wait for him to demand my body in every way, to degrade me, but he surprises me with his requests.
"I only want you to call me Shay. None of that bureaucratic bullshit anymore." He looks over my appearance and hums with approval. "I want my name to leave your lips in every way."
"Alright," I quickly agree. "What is the second request?"
Is it my body? I almost add.
"There is nothing more dangerous in this world than a person's greatest fears coming to the surface," he says, repeating my words from our wedding night in the gardens.
I freeze on his lap. "What are you asking me?"
Again, he grabs a tuff of my hair. Twirling the lighter colored material around his finger. He is immersed in the sight of my hair coiling around his hand as he answers my question. "You fear Khaivya's death, but you once told me you do not fear death. Your greatest fear is fear itself, and I want to know why. Why you want Khaivya saved and why you fear the act of fear more than death. Tonight, when I come to your bed chambers, I want you to spin me a sweet tale of fear."
With the bit of my hair in his hand, he yanks me closer to him into a pulverizing kiss. His lips smash into mine, stealing away my breath and my sanity. I hate a part of myself that enjoys his teeth nipping at my bottom lip and demanding entrance, but a moan leaves my lips and declares my enjoyment. He tugs on my hair and slides his tongue into my opening mouth. The kiss is bruising and demeaning and everything I hate but want.
He pulls away as a second moan escapes my lips, and as the sound of my pleasure fills the balcony, he says. "And I want to taste that fear. Agree to let me drink from you tonight and she is free from death."
Blood.
He wants my blood.
The realization draws away my desires, and I look back at the line of people sentenced to death. There is only one person in front of Khaivya now, a short and stout man with iron nails and brown tears sliding down his wrinkled face. I focus back on Khaivya, who wears the same gown as the day before, and she is staring at me. Her gaze flickers from Shay and me, but when she finds me staring back, she opens her mouth to speak, although I cannot hear her or read her lips from this far away.
She is still trying to help me, I realize.
While I look at Khaivya, I say to Shay. "I agree. Now get her out of there."
"Anything for you, my beautiful bride."
I scramble out of his lap, and he lets me. When I run out of the balcony and into the room behind the glass doors, he does not fight my elopement. The king knows today is a victory for him, and I am not going anywhere. Today, I have accepted that I am a caged bird in a beautiful castle that'll never let me go free.
I run to my bed chambers, and I hunt for the phone I threw across the room. For one last time, I need to see my family. To have the closest thing to a goodbye that I can have. I find the phone, but as I press the home screen, I realize with a terrible sinking in my chest that it is dead. A black screen torments me, and I let out a scream loud enough to shake the walls and shatter the makeup mirror into a thousand pieces.
That is how my two guards find me, kneeled on the floor with my dead phone in a circle of broken glass.
--
Updated: 01/01/2024
Word Count: 2,961