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Throné had intended to travel alone.
Paranoia was partially to blame. Life with the Blacksnakes ripped apart whatever innate trust a human could possess and tossed it in the gutter. Better to rely on yourself than lean on others for support. But even if she had lowered her guard, Throné refused to share the blood spilled on a stranger’s hands. She wished that on no one. If someone’s hands rendered red, she prayed it was due to indulging in raspberry jam.
However, it was mostly because she was alone. Whether it was another job or this journey blended with vengeance and desperation, Throné didn’t... have anyone to travel with.
Not at first.
She headed west, stumbled into an older woman with a kind face and somber eyes, and found a companion to share the roads ahead with.
Throné yearned for it to just be them. Her and Castti. No one else. Surely that desire spawned out of protection; the fewer who were privy to her origins, the better. But Castti rarely said no to anything, welcoming strangers to their growing group before Throné could retort.
Then again, Throné struggled to say no to Castti, as well, because that itch under her skin wasn’t out of paranoia, but something else—something that only a certain apothecary roused whenever Throné stole glances in her direction instead of prized possessions hidden in wealthy pockets.
Those strangers—my friends, Throné reminded herself again and again—demonstrated utmost kindness, though. They agreed to help, even after she unveiled her murderous scheme. And they did, following her to the ends of a forgotten island where her true father resided. No one blinked when she ended life after life. If anything, it was a unanimous decision to assist her first. Something about securing her freedom, so they all could walk those beaten paths freely.
And when the collar loosened and fell into the puddle of Claude’s blood, a weight still dangled from Throné’s chest.
She was free, yes, but nothing compelled her to run, to laugh, to savor that second lease on life. The sensation abated, however, when she realized all she wanted? All that sent her heart aflutter and urged her to cherish the moment?
It was in the very woman who first agreed to travel with her.
So Throné stayed, against all logic. She ran directly to Castti, promised to stick it out until she reclaimed those blurry memories, and hoped to linger a little longer after then, just because she wanted to.
As for Castti? Well. That proved to be more troublesome.
Every night, the eight of them found respite in a local inn. Every night, they ventured to a tavern and drank until they forgot their worries. Every night, Throné lingered by the room shared with the ladies and watched Castti scour over her blood-stained journal.
“Are you coming?” Throné asked, dryer than the ale awaiting them across the street.
Castti gasped by the corner desk. A single candlelight illuminated the space and half of her weary face. She offered a smile, polite as ever.
“My apologies,” Castti said. “I lost track of the hour.”
Throné crossed her arms and leaned into the doorway. “You’ll have better luck losing that and more over a few drinks.”
She hummed, blue eyes flitting between Throné and her journal. “I suppose so.”
“But?”
She poked her tongue out to wet her lips and a chill crawled up Throné’s spine. “But I may need to pass for the evening. I’d like to have my wits about me while studying these notes.”
“You sound like Osvald.”
Castti chuckled, but the sound vanished as quickly as it surfaced. “Maybe he’s rubbed off on me.”
Another chill, more pronounced than before. Hard to ignore it while daydreaming about rubbing herself against—
“Would it be alright if I requested a drink?” Castti faced the desk again, though addressed Throné. “Something to bring back when you retire for the night?”
Throné raised an eyebrow. “You want me to steal from the bar for you?”
“Oh, come now; I didn’t say that. Those were your words.” And she swore Castti winked at her. “That shouldn’t be a tall order for someone such as yourself, yes?”
She didn’t argue. Not because Castti wasn’t wrong, but because she gladly stole anything if it meant earning a sliver of affection from that woman. But by the time Throné returned with a flask of whiskey, Castti was slumped into the desk, fast asleep.
“So much for a late-night drink,” Throné sighed out, snuffing the candle before gingerly hauling Castti to bed for a proper slumber.
Come morning, Castti apologized for passing out and missing Throné’s illicit booze run. And come the next night they spent under a roof instead of the stars, the same figurative song and dance emerged for a repeat performance.
“Have you sipped any of the drinks I’ve acquired for you?” Throné grumbled from yet another doorway.
No response.
She set her jaw. “Castti.”
A gasp, a flinch, a flutter of her lovely eyes. “Oh! My apologies, I didn’t—”
“What the hell is your problem?”
Confusion creased her brow. “Beg your pardon?”
Scoffing, Throné pushed off the doorway and ambled towards Castti.
“You won’t find anything,” she said somehow calmly, though with an added edge akin to a freshly sharpened blade, “if you keep rereading drivel you can’t comprehend.”
Castti jerked her head in mild offense. “It’s not—”
“Don’t work yourself to death, alright?”
Throné loomed over Castti, who stared at her with... no, she couldn’t pinpoint the flux of emotions swirling on her features. A bit of concern. Annoyance, even. But there was something else, like an attempt to ignite kindling. Blink and it vanished. A spark was still a spark, though, and Throné intended to strike with her verbal flint until something set Castti aflame.
Licking her lower lip, Castti properly faced her. “I cannot make that promise. If I don’t uncover what it is I’ve lost—my purpose, who I am—then I’m as good as dead.”
Throné reeled back as if Castti landed a mean hook in her gut. “How can you say that?”
“I’m an apothecary,” she replied without missing a beat. “It’s what I do.”
“You can’t do shit if you’re dead, Castti.”
“I suppose not.” And she turned away to give her undivided attention to her so-called work. “I understand this is a foreign concept to you.”
“Of course. I’m more likely to end the lives of others than risk my own neck.”
“I meant helping people.”
To that, she froze and forgot to breathe.
Castti’s bare hands skimmed the pages flooded with notes, tea stains, and dried blood. “I worry, because I care. Maybe I won’t ever know a restful life, but at least I can do some good in this world.” She chuckled, but Throné found nothing amusing. “Perhaps we’re not so different, you and I.”
Throné squinted. “You don’t say.”
“Mmm. We’re both bound to our duties, our beliefs—all that we know in this world, really.”
Her blood ran cold. What bound Throné was done so against her will, but she was a child and had no other choice. What was she to do? Any attempt to retaliate was met with equal cruelty. No one should’ve endured that nightmare. But even with the collar stripped from her throat, Throné returned to the familiar ways of thievery and assassination.
She wasn’t sure which she hated more: the fact her chains ran deeper than a stupid collar or the way Castti read her better than that open journal.
Castti sucked on her teeth. “My apologies, I’ve misspoken. I didn’t mean to make light of your situation.”
“It’s fine,” she coughed up, evading Castti’s gaze.
“No, it’s not.” A pause, then, “I do envy you, Throné.”
“You shouldn’t. There’s nothing to envy.”
“Perhaps, but from how I see it? You are your own master now, yes? No one to answer to but yourself.”
Throné flicked her eyes to Castti. “And?”
“And,” she said, her focus elsewhere as something reminiscent of nostalgia swelled on her tongue, “I wish I could say that for myself.”
Her face hardened as she waited for Castti to collect her crumbling thoughts and elaborate.
“At the risk of sounding ridiculous,” Castti murmured, “I wish... I knew how to say no, how to step away from things before I inflict more damage to myself than my patients have endured.” Again, she licked her lips and Throné wanted to scream. “I wish I wasn’t in charge; I wish there was someone else—a master, if you will—who could rein me in from time to time.”
Oh.
Oh.
That... wasn’t what Throné expected.
At all.
A chuckle surfaced and Castti shook her head. “Ah, I’m making no sense, am I? I should exercise a better balance between my work and my leisure. Still, a little positive reinforcement from an outside source goes a long way, yes?”
She never humored her with an answer. She also never joined their friends for drinks that night; she sat on the bed while Castti resumed her fruitless endeavors to find anything between the scrawls. While exhaustion lulled her to sleep, Throné twirled Castti’s confession in her mind like a broken record and wondered what lengths were necessary to truly convince her to take a much-needed break.
And she wanted to fucking die when the first idea that struck her—Throné, the best of the nest and technically the new Mother of the Snakes—was to place a collar on Castti’s neck and wield absolute control over her.
That thought haunted Throné worse than the horrors she endured as a child. She hissed, flinched, and mentally berated herself for fathoming the notion. No, Castti didn’t deserve a collar. She was kind and selfless. Her hands were meant to save lives, not end them. And above all else, she deserved freedom, to choose her own path without another’s absolute input.
Still.
Something about keeping Castti on a leash and yanking her away from the altruistic endeavors she chained herself to was... intriguing. Provocative, even. Maybe that wasn’t what Castti intended when she mentioned the desire for a master, but what other implications were there? Furthermore, as much as Throné yearned to scream at this damn woman to step the fuck away from her work, she knew Castti too well by now. Nothing would pry her away. If it did cripple her in the end, Castti couldn’t say no to helping others, to making the lives of everyone but herself more comfortable.
Throné envied her patients; if only someone had demonstrated an ounce of Castti’s compassion to her as a child, maybe she wouldn’t fear a mere touch or the presence of... of anyone around her. Instinct told her to strike first, quick and true. But said instinct derived from habitual abuse, branding her soul until an ugly scar formed. Pain was reserved for failure. It took years for Throné to stomach the punishments from Mother. She refused to subject Castti to that, even for a night.
And yet.
She continued to sit before her journal, to skip a night of revelry in every establishment, to seclude herself and savor anything but the moment. Throné almost chucked the eighth flask of stolen liquor at her gorgeous face.
“Have you drank any of these?” Throné borderline growled one evening.
Castti never strayed from the journal, flipping pages intermittently. “Drank what, exactly?”
“Remember when I said you’d work yourself to death?”
“Maybe. My memory is spotty.”
Oh, for the love of—
“I’d like to try and piece myself back together than never try at all.”
“Are you listening to yourself? Damn it, Castti, you scold all of us daily to pace ourselves and rest when necessary, but have you stopped to think that maybe you should taste your own medicine?” She scoffed. “You said it yourself, how a good apothecary should sample their concoctions before giving that shit out for free.”
Castti paused. Just for a second. The candlelight flickered in her eyes as she confronted Throné. Exhaustion weighed upon her eyelids, but something else resided there. Almost as if her hunger for the truth shifted and she craved more than words. A chill seized Throné as that stare swept over her like curious fingertips exploring her body.
Gods, she wanted that, too. Even if the thought of someone touching her evoked nothing but rage and violence, Throné wanted to try, wanted a taste, especially if it was from Castti. She wouldn’t hurt me, Throné reasoned as silence swelled between them. She wouldn’t humor me with these desires, but... she also would never make me feel—
“Throné,” she murmured, “you must forgive me. I understand your frustrations, but... if I were to stop now? Even for a night?” And she turned to the desk again. “I fear I’ll lose more than my memories.”
Those words, gentle and sincere as they were, pluck a delicate nerve within Throné, one that was threadbare long before they met. A single stroke and it thrummed an awful note, then snapped.
And Throné closed the distance between them with blinding speed only a Blacksnake was renowned for, latched the loose bun collecting Castti’s hair, and whipped her head back.
A yelp crackled and ricocheted off the walls. Shallow breaths raked Castti’s chest as wide eyes regarded Throné. And she loomed above, piercing her with an incredulous stare and refusing to loosen her hold.
“I am sick of watching you do this to yourself,” Throné snarled. “If telling you the truth won’t work? Then I won’t hesitate to resort to more brutish tactics.”
No reply. Just the unsteady gulps of air coming from Castti. A sliver of logic begged Throné to release her, for this was not the solution to their dilemma. Even so, Throné intended to haul Castti over her shoulder and tie her to a chair in the tavern to ensure she enjoyed herself for a—
“Do you promise?”
Throné gasped. Her pulse stuttered, then hammered.
The way Castti questioned her—the words drenched in a soft coo, followed by yet another seductive lick of her lips—twisted Throné’s stomach into delicate knots. Did she... no, she couldn’t possibly enjoy this. Not the ruthless orders, not the relentless pain, not—
A memory punched Throné in the face hard enough to stagger her. Castti’s voice echoed in her mind, of what she had said—
“I wish there was someone else—a master, if you will—who could rein me in from time to time.”
—and everything clicked.
Swallowing hard, Throné tightened her grip on Castti’s hair. A shiver coursed through her body as she arched and whimpered. Throné blushed upon noticing the hint of nipples straining through her attire.
She... she likes this?
She should’ve puked at that concept. Not only in general, but with Castti. Especially with Castti. But no such nausea churned in Throné. Something sparked in its place, where a blistering heat pooled in her core and dared to burn her alive. Why wait? Why risk losing the opportunity altogether? Why deny herself something beyond selfish when she was disciplined again and again and again about mundane pleasures making her weak, making her less efficient, making her unworthy of praise and devotion?
Except those tormentors who claimed that were dead. Throné was her own master now, but as for Castti?
She released her bun and stepped back. Blonde waves unraveled and cascaded down her shoulders. Castti lolled forward as she caught her breath. Throné braced against a bed, staring at Castti and hating herself for what she was about to suggest.
“I promise,” Throné murmured, “to do whatever it takes to pry you away from your self-inflicted misery.”
Castti peeked over her shoulder. “Would you inflict harm?”
“Only if you’d like me to.”
Nothing prepared her for that shade of pink blooming on her cheeks.
“I think,” Castti replied after a spell, “I wouldn’t be opposed to giving it a try.”
Now Throné’s cheeks burned crimson.
“And I think,” Castti added, “I’d like it if you made me your next target.”
Bitter amusement exploded out of Throné, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t wish to kill you.”
“Good.” A slight smirk graced her features. “However, these... brutish tactics of yours?” Another sweep of her tongue across her lower lip and Throné almost launched the bed at her. “I’d love to see you try, to see if you can break me.”
A frightening blend of desire and dread sank into Throné’s chest. “You want that? Truly?”
Castti shrugged and turned to center. “What’s the worst that could happen? You can’t erase my memories, after all.”
Throné rolled her eyes and sauntered for the door. “Duly noted.”
“So is that a promise?”
She froze before exiting.
“Because if it is,” Castti continued, “I look forward to what you’ll come up with.” She breathed out a chuckle. “And maybe I’ll need to add your methods to my list of remedies for stress relief.”
Throné withheld from answering, simply because if she uttered anything right then, she feared she would inflict actual harm. Physically and emotionally, shattering whatever bond they forged on the road together. So Throné retreated without a word, lurked in the shadows of a tavern, and drank enough for both of them, hoping to forget what transpired.
But she didn’t. She woke up without a hangover or blacking out. Once the group departed before noon, Throné resigned herself to humoring Castti with this... proposition.
It wasn’t an assassin hit, but Throné never did a job half-assed. If she was to indulge Castti’s needs—and her own, as well—then Throné planned to spoil the fuck out of her.
The next time they visited New Delsta, Throné broke away from the group to browse the wares. And not just the deep pockets of unsuspecting nobles—well, she did that, too, but that was a given—but also the shop fronts with alluring displays. As tempting as it was to march into the nearest brothel and grill a dominatrix about her arsenal, Throné wished to go about this mission her own way. Besides, a personal touch weighed its worth in gold, yes? Not that Throné knew from experience, but it sounded nice. She prayed to whoever the fuck would listen to her that such attempts weren’t sweet nothings discarded after use.
If she was lucky, whatever she shared with Castti would last for far longer.
That didn’t explain why Throné ended up in a pet shop. The puppies in need of homes were certainly adorable, but something about the accessories caught her attention.
Collars in a variety of hues and materials dangled from hooks. Throné paced the aisle, arms crossed and lips pursed. Something similar, yet not. What she once wore was nothing like this, but the purpose remained the same. She hoped none of these poisoned a poor pet upon removal—after a quick inspection to confirm they were not poisoned, Throné sighed with relief—but the item was different enough to set her mind at—
“May I assist you at all, ma’am?”
Throné avoided eye contact with the store associate addressing her with her saccharine enthusiasm. “Actually, do you happen to know which of these is best for a....” She inhaled sharply as her fingertips skimmed the selections. “More energetic pet?”
The lady chuckled. “I gather the puppy likes taking you out for a walk than the other way around?”
Somehow, Throné withheld the need to cackle at that mental image with Castti. “More or less.”
Without another question, the associate rattled off recommendations. Throné listened, nodding and humming to assure that yes, she was in fact listening, then stopped in front of a particular collar. The thick brown leather reminded her of Castti’s gloves, ones she only removed while inspecting her journal. She smirked at the irony of dressing her in that leather again after disposing of her attire.
“I’ll take that,” Throné murmured, swiping the collar and matching leash.
“Ah, what excellent taste you have!” the shop associate exclaimed. “Do you have a kitty, as well?”
Throné paused while eyeing the nearby display of feathers on sticks. “I’m sorry?”
“My cat loves these!” She scurried to pluck one with elaborate plumes, perhaps procured from a bird of paradise. “I have her running in circles every time we play together!”
Ah, a cat. Right. That was... not where Throné’s mind drifted.
And yet the chipper lady sold her on the toy, packaging Throné’s purchases in a trendy boutique bag with a pink ribbon on top. It was neither subtle nor cheap, but Castti was worth it. Hell, maybe she’d incorporate the ribbon, too.
But Throné slowed her steps upon nearing the local inn. What was that skip in her heartbeat just now? Anxiety rarely visited her before a job, but... this one wasn’t the same as her previous targets. This wasn’t one where blood drenched the floor and the stench imbued her lungs for weeks. This... this was something else, something Throné failed to procure a proper label for.
Was she nervous? Excited, even? What was there to do, save for slapping a collar onto Castti’s throat? Would she do anything Throné commanded? Would she like it? Furthermore, would Throné like it just as much?
If that rapid thrum was any indication, Throné anticipated nightfall and scratching her own itch alongside Castti’s.
The group gathered outside of the inn to deliberate which tavern to visit, like always. Castti failed to attend, like always. And when their fellow kin marched down the lamplit streets of New Delsta, Throné vanished from sight.
Nothing creaked under Throné’s swift steps. She wove through the shadows unnoticed and slipped into the shared room with Castti. Thankfully, convincing Agnea and Ochette to stay in separate accommodations was easy, especially when Throné covered the expenses. Best not to have any interruptions. All the better to take her time, to savor this.
Castti sat at yet another desk in another inn. Candlelight glowed from the far corner, where she gingerly flipped pages. Sometimes she hummed, either out of frustration or revelation, then reverted to silence.
A sharp gasp burst free, however, when Throné strolled up from behind and slammed a hand over her mouth.
“Still intent on ditching your own advice, hmm?” She craned Castti’s head back. “Figured as much.”
Blue eyes locked onto her, swirling with confusion and a bit of fear. She couldn’t blame Castti for that; Throné was just as anxious, truth be told.
“Remember when you said you wanted someone to tell you what to do?” Throné asked. “A master, of sorts?”
Muffled words swelled on Throné’s palm. She simply gripped her face tighter.
“Shhhh, none of that now, Castti,” she purred. “There’s no need for words tonight.” Her mouth quirked. “If you desire a master so badly, then surely you must want to be a good girl and obey, yes?”
Realization widened Castti’s eyes. Throné swore her pulse skipped against her fingertips.
“Nod if you understand,” she said.
To both her delight and surprise, Castti did exactly that.
Dear gods, that shouldn’t have turned her on.
“Good. Now then, when I release my hand, I don’t want to hear a damn thing come out of that pretty mouth of yours, unless it’s a whimper or moan or something similar.” Throné raised an eyebrow. “Understood?”
Pink bloomed on Castti’s cheeks, then crimson. Her hands shook at the desk. Perhaps it was from the dim lighting, but Throné swore her nipples hardened against the fabric of her attire.
By then, Castti nodded.
“Good girl. But before we begin....”
She withdrew her hand and Castti remained frozen and mute. Throné chewed her lower lip, ignoring the heat swirling between her legs as she procured the items from that boutique bag she stashed away. Leather met her fingertips, soon to capture Castti’s throat. She even tied the bag’s pink ribbon into a bow at the front of the collar—just because. Throné returned to Castti’s side and skimmed a hand along her shoulder blades, her clavicle, then her neck. Each button holding her outfit together popped free, one by one, enough to reveal bare skin at her throat.
Only then did Throné slip the collar onto her pet.
“Perfect,” she said. “Needed something to complete the look. To remind you—”
Wrapping the leash around her hand, Throné tugged. Not too hard, but strong enough to elicit something out of Castti. That something came in the form of a fractured whine, a sound that sparked more lust in Throné’s core.
“—that I’m in control,” she cooed into Castti’s ear, “that I will tell you what we do tonight. And right now? I don’t want you sitting here looking at your journal.”
Her mind went blank. What did she want, though? A million things, sure, but was that alright with Castti? Would she come to loathe her by sunrise once they were through? Should she have discussed the details before diving headfirst into... whatever the fuck they were doing?
The onset of doubt subsided upon meeting Castti’s gaze. Whatever distress dwelled there had vanished and welcomed something new in its wake. Something Throné associated with drunkards stumbling home amidst the witching hours. Except Castti was stone-cold sober and never touched a damn drop of the liquors Throné stole for her.
Whatever haze Castti basked within, Throné hoped it was because she was doing something right, inexperience be damned.
“I want you,” Throné purred, tightening her hold on the leash until Castti’s breath hitched, “on the bed, stripped bare, and ready for me to sit on your face. Would you do that for your master?”
Castti nodded wildly, earnestly.
Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.
If Throné hadn’t been aroused before, she certainly was now.
“Good girl,” Throné breathed out, struggling to maintain composure. Gods, and we’ve just begun. “Get up.”
One more tug on the leash. The wooden legs of the chair scraped along the floor. Castti rose from her seat, eyes set ahead, as if awaiting her next command.
The leash went slack in her hand until she gripped the end as she sat on a nearby bed. “Turn around and let me see you.”
Castti pivoted in her boots. She faced Throné, a touch coy while evading her stare. Was she embarrassed? Excited? A bit of both? Either way, Throné drank in the view of the top few buttons of her apothecary gown undone, the most relaxed she had ever witnessed the likes of Castti Florenz. She almost dared to call her unprofessional with such a disheveled appearance. But it was that brown leather strap gripping her throat, adorned with brass buckles and that pink ribbon peeking through, which rendered Throné speechless.
Damn, she looked good. Incredible. Divine, if the gods weren’t opposed.
“What’s wrong?” Throné teased. “You’re blushing, Castti.”
As promised, she uttered nothing. Castti shifted weight between her feet and focused on breathing.
Good girl. You remembered you are forbidden to speak. Not until I tell you to.
“You wanted this, yes?” Her eyes passed over Castti’s form, hidden under who knew how many layers of clothing. “To have someone order you to relax?”
She nodded after a beat.
Throné cocked her head. “Would it help you relax if I was nude?”
The way those brilliant blue eyes snapped to her and widened.... Throné bit her tongue hard enough to warrant blood in order to stifle the squeal longing to burst out.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she purred.
Standing from the bed, Throné wound the leash in her hand. Slowly. Very slowly. As it shortened, Castti had no option but to shuffle closer. And closer. Until her breath washed over Throné’s lips and ignited a fresh burst of desire in her body.
“Good girl.” The tips of their noses ghosted one another. Throné almost discarded the leash to seize her face and savor those lips. “On your knees.”
Apparently, Castti took to being bossed around as well as a fish swam in water or a bird welcomed the wind billowing in its wings, for she plummeted with a thud. Their eyes locked. Candlelight danced in Castti’s irises. She hoped a wildfire tore through her body by the time Throné rewarded her for being such a good girl.
“Would you be so kind,” Throné murmured, “and remove my attire?”
Castti’s examined said attire, sat a little taller, and lifted her hands to—
“No.”
Throné pulled on the leash until Castti whined and froze.
“Not with your hands.” A beat, then, “With your mouth.”
Tension wrinkled between Castti’s eyebrows. Either confusion or annoyance swelled within. Throné didn’t bother to ask.
“What’s wrong?” she teased. “I thought you apothecaries had a solution for everything. And you said it yourself, Castti; you never turn away someone in need of help. And right now?” She raised her fist until Castti’s posture lengthened to her full height. “I need you to help me out of this blasted contraption.”
No protests. Not even a glare shot through Throné. Castti’s eyes twitched about, as if devising a plan. After licking her lower lip, she scooted closer, nudged her nose into Throné’s underbust corset, and bit one of the laces to yank loose.
Throné gasped, staggered, and braced against Castti’s shoulder. Upon regaining balance, she peered down and relished how utterly determined Castti was to rip apart the garment. Her tongue poked out for leverage. Several seams rubbed threadbare before her relentless attempts to strip Throné with her mouth alone. But to her credit? She did an outstanding job. Throné expected no less from her.
“That’s it,” she cooed, stroking Castti’s head until her neat bun tumbled loose. “Keep going.”
And Castti complied. A sigh escaped her with the final lace undone. She reeled back, saliva slicking her flushed lips. Throné was tempted to bend at the hip and steal a kiss, just to render her breathless. Instead, she swayed her hips, the subtle motion dropping the corset to the floor.
Releasing her hold on Castti, Throné shrugged and allowed her purple dress—a rather flimsy outfit, seeing it was held together by that corset and a daily prayer—to slip off her shoulders and pool at her feet.
Once more, Castti’s eyes widened like twin full moons. She sat on her heels and waited while Throné kicked the dress aside. After securing the leash in her hands, Throné blew out a breath, then paused.
Being semi-nude in front of Castti sent her heart racing. What she wore underneath left little to the imagination, from the simple black panties to the garter clinging to her thigh. The cool air felt amazing against her breasts, bringing her rosy nipples to stiff peaks. Complete with a pair of boots and sheer stockings, Throné was certain she planted endless fantasies in that pretty blonde head to fill the gaps where Castti’s memories once resided.
Except.
That wasn’t the problem.
Because Castti didn’t look at Throné’s curves; she gazed at the scars adorning her body.
Throné resisted the urge to scream. Even without that collar, her years spent in the Blacksnakes branded her forever. It was in the faded marks carved into her body, all lashings from her misbehavior. It was in the pitch-black tattoo coiling around her arm. It was in every injury she acquired from a failed job—both from her targets and her so-called Mother and Father. All reminders she carried with her, all wounds that claimed her body in a way she never wanted anyone to have control over her, all—
Something soft and warm melted into her hip bone. Throné forgot to breathe... and Castti kissed her scars.
Each one carried another painful memory, another reminder of why she needed to be free from that horrendous existence. Castti didn’t flinch, bestowing each one with tender affection, as if a kiss well after the fact would still make it all better.
A voice in the crevasse of her mind screamed about yanking that leash until Castti stopped. Throné was in control, after all. Only she would dictate what Castti could and could not do. But this? Throné allowed Castti to have this—allowed herself to bask in it, too, brief as it was.
Before Castti meandered any lower, Throné threaded her spare hand through those blonde waves and jerked Castti’s head back.
“It’s your turn to strip,” she murmured.
Castti flicked her eyes between Throné and the hands in her lap.
To that, Throné smirked. “Good girl, you remembered. Not to worry, though.” Releasing her hair, she unsheathed the dagger at her thigh. “I’ll help you slip those off.”
The tip of the blade tucked under Castti’s chin, much like a pair of fingers nestling there. Throné tilted her dagger ever-so-slightly. Castti gasped and lolled her head, but neither anger nor terror flashed in her features. If anything, the glimmer of lust sparkling there grew brighter than before.
“Get up,” Throné ordered. “On your feet.”
By the gods, this woman wasted zero time doing that.
Withdrawing the dagger with a twirl, Throné motioned her chin at Castti. “Turn around.”
And she obeyed.
Throné slid the dagger’s handle into the neat bow holding her apron in the back. It unraveled after a few tugs, then fell from her shoulders.
“Walk back,” she demanded next, easing onto the bed awaiting them, “and lie down for me.”
Castti never hesitated, but her short steps plucked Throné’s nerves. A quick yank on the leash expedited the process. Not to mention that squeak escaping Castti shot chills through Throné, ones that settled between her legs.
“Good girl,” she purred once Castti collapsed onto her back. “Look at all these layers.” Throné tsked, twirling the dagger in her fingers. “We’ll need to change that. And don’t you worry.” She stilled the blade and rested the broadside on Castti’s abdomen. “I won’t hurt you.” A chuckle, then, “Unless you want me to.”
From the corner of her eyes, Throné spotted Castti shaking her head. Even if Castti was drop-dead gorgeous when she moaned from a mere tug on her hair, Throné refused to inflict needless pain. This was for pleasure, after all. On both their parts. And Throné’s arousal deepened, knowing she could give Castti anything she desired, so long as she nodded her pretty little head.
“Very well,” was all she said before easing the dagger between the fabric.
The blade glided up Castti’s torso, slicing the threads fastening each button. They snapped free, one by one. Her gown sighed open to reveal a button-down shirt and plain trousers. All plain and made of linen. How practical. Quite fitting for an apothecary.
Except she wasn’t one at that very moment; she was Throné’s pet and all Castti required was a collar.
“We’ll patch up the buttons in the morning,” Throné insisted as each pearly nub from her button-down popped loose and bounced across the floor. “You’re better off without all of this for the time being.”
A breath caught in her throat when the final one fell from its threads. The white shirt unraveled, exposing... so much of her tempting body. Lean muscles lined her abdomen. How the hell she hid a rack like that under all those layers was beyond Throné.
But she didn’t stare at any of those remarkable features.
She stared at the purple blemishes scattered across her clavicle, retreating into the sleeves of her shirt.
Throné bristled. What the fuck happened to you?
Another time, she could ask. Not that Castti was obligated to answer anything personal, but... well, maybe after the night they shared, those boundaries blurred and shattered. Still, Throné worried. Whoever did this to her, she hoped to lodge a blade into their gut and watch the life drain from their eyes as they bled out.
For now, Throné discard her dagger onto the mattress, straddled Castti, and peeled the crisp sleeves down her arms.
Throné’s eyes widened. As much as she wished it was due to witnessing those muscles she also hid under her attire—holy crap, no wonder she never broke a sweat while wielding an axe—it was because more of those blotches marred Castti’s gorgeous skin. Throné frowned, brushing down her limbs. If Castti possessed no cure for her wounds, then....
Then what?
She didn’t know. What she did know were multiple methods to end one’s life. Nothing to protect it, to nourish it, to help it. Regardless, Throné chucked the balled-up shirt over her shoulder, leaned in, and kissed every single spot that marred Castti.
A slight gasp sounded between them. Goosebumps swept over Castti’s skin, meeting Throné’s lips with each tender, drawn-out kiss. She peered through the veil of her dark hair and locked stares with Castti, who watched and waited quietly, like the good girl she was.
“This is much better,” Throné said, reaching her wrist for a deep kiss, “wouldn’t you agree?”
Another peek. Castti nodded, but it was the subtle curve of her fingers curling into Throné that brought a flutter in her chest.
“Good, but I think we can do better.”
Throné retracted, slid off the bed and onto the floor, then made quick work out of Castti’s boots to yank off her damn trousers. A sharp hiss left Castti, who clutched the bedding and wiggled her hips to assist Throné’s efforts. Once peeled off, Throné tossed the heavy garment to the side.
“And that,” she said, sighing, “should be every—”
Returning to center was akin to a mean hook to the jaw. Not because she missed an article of clothing, but because....
Castti splayed across the bed, wearing nothing but her collar as she bathed in warm candlelight.
And it was a fucking miracle Throné didn’t pounce her then and there.
Her eyes wandered, though, skimming down Castti’s figure like a pair of fingertips tracing her curves. That gaze settled between her thighs, parted to reveal her sex glistening in the sparse light.
Throné bit back a grin and squeezed her thighs together. “You’re liking this, aren’t you?”
Castti did the same thing and Throné snorted.
“So now you’re acting coy?” Throné sauntered around the bed, swiping her dagger to rest on the nightstand, where a certain bag also resided. “And here I thought you wouldn’t be squeamish with a full body exam, considering your line of work.” She retrieved a feathered stick, then strolled to the foot of the mattress. “I’ll be sure to give you a full report once I’m done with you.”
She bent at the hip to remove her panties. While Castti stared at her nude figure—a great distraction, really—Throné twirled her new toy and brushed it down Castti’s body from sternum to navel.
“I hope you’re not ticklish,” she purred.
Castti replied in a broken sigh, as if to brace herself for each pass of that tantalizing feather. Throné kept an eye on her while dancing the plume across her nude form. She memorized every muscle twitch, every tremble accompanying a soft coo. She twirled a little more in those extra sensitive spots, just to hear a repeat performance. And from the few times Throné glanced at those thighs still pressing together, the torment simply turned on Castti.
Good.
“So shy,” Throné teased, circling the feather around her breasts. “There’s no need to be embarrassed about enjoying yourself.” A flick of her wrist and she swiped the peak of a breast, enough friction to elicit a gasp, then a whimper. “See, Castti? This is what you can look forward to if you let yourself take an occasional break.”
Steady breaths flowed through Castti, evident in the deep rise and fall of her lovely chest. Those eyes pierced Throné the entire time, despite her flustered state. But the hue on her cheeks—and her nipples and lips, both of them—matched the ribbon at her throat. The hue suited Castti very much. Throné reckoned she mirrored that blush herself from how the heat rose in her face and settled in her belly.
Gods, the worst fucking part of this whole being in control bullshit was restraining herself from pinning her down and diving into the main course, so to speak. Regardless, Throné intended to savor this, savor Castti.
So she crawled onto the bed, a feather in one hand and a leash in the other, and kissed up that magnificent body.
“I’ve been looking forward to you for a while.”
Throné brushed her lips along Castti’s hip bone, teasing the other with a swishing feather.
“And all those times we headed for a tavern—” She dragged her tongue over the lean muscles of Castti’s lower abdomen. “—I hoped to see you there.”
Castti arched her spine, as if to better feel Throné’s open-mouthed kisses.
“I wanted to drink with you, to unwind with you.” Throné nestled between her cleavage, where she lingered. “To sit in your lap in a dark corner and taste your precious whiskey on your lips instead of a damn glass.”
A rapid heartbeat slammed into her mouth while she meandered to one breast, catching a hardened nipple in her teeth until Castti yelped. Throné released her, soothed the stiff nub with a few licks, then reciprocated the favor on the other side.
“But you don’t allow yourself a chance to breathe.”
She gripped the leash and jerked Castti’s head to one side. The feather danced up and down her neck. All the while, Throné took note of which exposed patches roused the most shivers and gasps. And then she crawled up further and lapped the nook of her neck until Castti writhed beneath her.
“I’m not one to talk,” Throné admitted through an airy chuckle. “All I’ve ever known is work.” A pause, then, “I suppose this is no different, in a sense, but....”
Reeling back, Throné swept hair out of her eyes while repositioning herself. The leash pulled taut. Watching the slight bob in Castti’s throat as she swallowed against the collar ignited more lewd infatuation in Throné.
“You gave me a target,” she purred, straddling Castti’s head, “and I never withdraw once that target is in sight. So believe me when I say I will not allow you to breathe, Castti, until you get me off.”
Those blue eyes widened, only to fall shut as Throné sank onto her mouth.
She choked on an inhale, then cooed. The vibrations alone pleased Throné, but Castti didn’t let her subsist on simple sensations; she nuzzled into Throné, opened her mouth, and lapped her clit like she was a hungry kitten given a saucer of cream.
Throné inhaled until she shook, then exhaled out a moan. Shit, where had she learned to do that? Probably a forgotten memory, but words eluded Throné. Each stroke from that tongue struck Throné, flooding her with tender warmth again and again and again. She struggled to breathe and stay upright, winding up the leash in her fist to keep Castti exactly where she needed her. And from the occasional glance Castti shot her—something in between the slow drags and the deft swirls—Throné imagined this scenario was far superior to sitting in her lap in the tavern.
At least they could get away with this behind closed doors.
And this? This was exhilarating. This was decadent. This was tender and desperate and too much and not enough. This was like getting struck by lightning, being tossed into the middle of the ocean, and setting herself on fire all at once. This was something Throné nearly convinced herself was never meant for the likes of a former Blacksnake. This was a fantasy turned reality, a shared memory she yearned to etch into her heart. This was more than she anticipated and everything she yearned for in the best way possible.
This was fucking divine and Throné wanted to die by Castti’s hungry mouth.
She wet her lips and tilted her hips. The subtle rock against Castti promised more pleasure, more of that tongue coaxing her towards her climax. Throné panted and filled the space with fractured moans. Sometimes Castti’s name rolled off her tongue, alongside the occasional plea. All short and sweet. Yes. Please. That’s it. Don’t stop. Good girl. Those remarks quaked and dissolved in time. Hard to focus on coherent sounds when all Throné tasted was that wanton desire overflowing from her core and bubbling in her chest, her throat, her—
Throné gasped. Firm hands seized her thighs, close to her hips. Fingertips sank into the flesh now puckering around the digits. And Castti held her in place while lavishing Throné with attention.
She should’ve scolded her, should’ve yanked her hair hard enough to rip several strands from her scalp. Such behavior wasn’t exemplary of an obedient pet, but....
Castti was also doing a superb job otherwise.
One more attentive lick and Throné was gone. That diligent stroke nudged her over the edge and sent her spiraling out of control. Every inch of Throné trembled against Castti, because of Castti, for Castti. She tossed her head with a salacious cry, clutching a fistful of blonde hair, as if to prolong the moment and the delicious warmth pulsing through her body.
Throné blinked and swore the room spun. Stars crackled in her vision while her throat cracked dry. That didn’t stop her from riding out an orgasm, especially if it meant melting into Castti’s face. And to her credit? She was as meticulous with her tongue as she was with her hands when it came to tending to those in need. And Throné needed Castti in every sense of the word and definitely got off, thanks to her.
The dizzying high ebbed elsewhere, leaving Throné breathless and twitching. She released Castti’s hair—complete with a whimper down below—and combed that hand through her own sweat-slicked locks.
“Fuck,” Throné breathed out, nearly toppling over. “Gods, Castti, that was incredible.”
With what strength she could muster, Throné shifted and pulled away. Castti relinquished her as she gulped down air, parted lips moistened with saliva and Throné’s juices. The candlelight reflected in that sheen, one which trailed down her chin and between her breasts; Throné stumbled back in the afterglow and plopped onto her stomach. Shallow breaths coursed through her as she licked her lips, then gazed below.
“You,” she groaned, the corner of her mouth curling up into a smirk, “have been a very good girl tonight.”
Retrieving the leash, Throné coiled it in her hand and drew back. Castti hissed as Throné hauled her upright. She sank into her lap, noses bumping briefly. The recent orgasm intoxicated Throné, akin to a night spent in the tavern, but nothing touched her lips except moans and demands.
“You know what good girls get?” she murmured.
No reply, but her eyes flicked ahead and locked onto Throné.
“A reward.”
Gods, she never tired of watching those beautiful eyes dilate with lust.
“And from what I noticed—” Throné shifted, glancing down between them and savoring that view. “—you could use some attention.”
Cupping her chin, Throné ghosted her lips over Castti’s.
“Would my good girl like that?”
Castti swiped a tongue over her lower lip, nearly catching Throné’s, too. She nodded eventually. A subtle motion, but Throné didn’t miss it.
She ignored the throb in her chest while repositioning herself. “Then let me spoil you.”
Throné straddled Castti’s thigh. Her spare hand gripped her waist. In one fluid motion, Throné rolled across the mattress, leaning back and steadying Castti against her. A gasp clawed up her throat and Throné smirked, bending her knee to better press her own thigh into Castti.
She cooed at the heat pulsing between them. As much as Throné wished to return the favor to Castti and bury her face between those gorgeous thighs, she was quite taken with the view she had right there. Castti’s abdomen and legs trembled while staying upright. Sweat beaded along her nude form and rolled off. Throné memorized every inch of her before tugging on the leash—tugging Castti in closer—and placing an ardent kiss on her shoulder.
“Take what you need, Castti,” she murmured, shifting her leg to rub against her arousal. “It’s all yours.”
But Castti barely rocked her hips. The occasional whimper swelled on her tight lips, but nothing more. Throné peppered her neck and jawline with more kisses, then paused.
“No need to be shy,” she teased. “You’re quite turned on.” Another lift of her leg and Castti hitched her breath as they crushed together. “I can feel how wet you are, how warm you are.” Throné nibbled on her earlobe. “Don’t you wish to indulge a little?”
In her peripherals, she noticed Castti’s rigid arms glued to her sides. Oh dear, was her pet still trying to go about all of this without using them? Whatever happened to her flash of bravado a moment ago when Throné smothered her face? Did she not wish to touch Throné again?
“Castti.”
She stiffened, then relaxed as Throné scooped up a wrist and placed her hand on her shoulder.
“You’re allowed to touch me,” she explained while bringing the other hand to her opposite shoulder, “if it’ll help you get off. Understood?”
Castti nodded before Throné finished saying that word.
Chewing her lower lip, Throné smirked. “Good girl. Now put on a good show for me.”
Only desperate breaths lived between them. Then Castti set her jaw, curled her fingers into Throné until her nails dug in, and moved.
Throné gasped lightly. Castti’s features hardened and contorted, no doubt focusing on her actions. But there wasn’t much to it, either, for her current state rendered her so aroused that she glided along Throné’s thigh with utmost ease, all in an attempt to taste the same high she gave to Throné.
And Throné was beyond determined to bring her to that peak.
“That’s it,” she moaned, kissing the center of her collarbone. A constant drumming thumped into her lips there. “Keep going. Come undone for me.”
Castti’s jaw finally loosened, her mouth gaping with a tremendous exhale, then a whimper. She gripped tighter, rocking into Throné. She must’ve hit a few sensitive spots, for she shuddered and gasped, only to resume her steady rhythm. Throné aided Castti with kisses and the occasional flick of her tongue. The latter always elicited a mewl that Throné grew fond of. It was less of an aid and more of a distraction, but she couldn’t contain herself; Castti was doing a damn good job at rekindling that smothered flame within Throné.
But amidst her licentious display, Castti gritted her teeth and winced. Even when she gained momentum, something roused frustration, enough to crease her forehead and tighten her lips. Perhaps residual stress prevented her from fully enjoying herself. Or maybe she needed extra assistance in order to get off.
Same difference, really. All the better for Throné to join her.
One jerk of the leash brought Castti to stillness. Throné kissed her throat, grazing the skin with her teeth, just to feel her pulse skipping.
“Do you need some help?” she asked.
She felt Castti swallow hard first, then the nod came shortly after.
“What do you need exactly?”
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
“Castti,” she groaned, nipping at her neck until she flinched, “tell me.” A pause, then, “You’re allowed. Just this once. Say it and it’s yours.”
She inhaled deeply, slowly... then a plea croaked past her lips. “Anything, so long as it’s you.”
A spark crackled in Throné upon hearing that. The flame she deemed dead ignited and bloomed into a wildfire, one that couldn’t be smothered or doused. Sometimes it was best to watch from afar while the fire consumed everything in its path, for only then would it die out.
For Throné, she started with releasing the leash, cupping Castti’s cheek, turning her face towards her own, and finally stealing a bruising kiss.
A whimper vibrated on their crushed lips, then melted into a moan. Castti gripped her shoulders tighter, almost breaking skin while she reciprocated every greedy kiss from Throné. But each nibble intensified the hunger; even when she dipped her tongue into Castti’s mouth to find hers, Throné craved more. More raw kisses, more flesh sinking into her, more breathless moans, more of those hips bucking into her, oh-so-desperate to get off.
But Castti didn’t need to ride her thigh anymore. Not when Throné reclined onto the bed and slipped a free hand between them.
Castti sucked in air. She accepted one finger, then another. Shivers lived in her body as she moved against Throné, moaning with every bob, every tilt, every push to feel something divine. Throné discerned the nuances and adjusted her tempo to best aid Castti. Besides, she looked marvelous like that—selfish and unrestrained. All the more reason to tease her with a third digit. To her delight, no resistance met Throné while plunging an extra finger into Castti.
“Good girl,” she groaned in between kisses. “I was right. Definitely warm and wet.”
She barely finished that comment when Castti sealed Throné’s lips with a heated kiss. Another rock of her hips summoned an explosive cry, one which gave Throné pause, but only briefly. It seemed Castti discovered a sweet spot. Throné smirked at how she rubbed her clit into the heel of her hand. Who was she to blame Castti for having some fun? Throné certainly wasn’t going to deny her.
So she shifted against Castti, ground into her clit and curled fingers into slick, shaky muscles, and basked in her cascading moans.
Gods, she was beautiful. And also a certified mess. When had she last enjoyed herself like that? From how she mewled into Throné’s mouth and desperately moved to meet her fingers—not to mention how easily she welcomed those digits fucking her—Throné gathered that Castti was overdue for some specialized attention. And how lucky was she to have a front-row seat to the best show in New Delsta.
But that was short-lived. A fierce shudder jolted through Castti, compelling her to pry away, toss her head, and yelp out Throné’s name—barely—before dissolving into a cacophony of erotic sounds. Muscles spasmed around Throné’s fingers. She matched Castti’s speed, drinking in the sight of her unraveling above. Her voice cracked and hitched, torn between gulping down air and letting the whole inn—maybe the entire city—know she relished her orgasm. And Throné held onto her, kept fucking her, and gave Castti everything she wanted until she collapsed.
Nothing but coos and twitches lived in Castti. Throné smiled upon catching her, plopping onto her back with a pleased lady sprawled on top. Poor thing wore herself out, hadn’t she?
“There you go,” Throné murmured. “Much better, hmm?”
Castti hummed into her neck, more like a puddle of goo than anything resembling a human.
She chuckled and kissed her temple. “You were a very good girl. I’m proud of you.”
Squirming underneath her dead weight, Throné popped her fingers out. A little squeal lined Castti’s lips.
“You made quite a mess, Castti,” she teased, marveling at the sticky release glimmering in the candlelight upon her fingers. Throné sucked each one clean with a moan. “A delicious mess, at that.”
Another hum left Castti, though lacked enthusiasm.
“Alright, sleepyhead.” Throné unbuckled the collar and discarded it. A dense thunk struck the floor. “You’re free. You may have your voice back.”
No reply. Just deep breaths flowing through her body.
“Castti?” Throné stroked her hair. “You still with me?”
Another inhale, but nothing more.
Concern wrinkled Throné’s face. “Want me to get out and let you sleep?”
To that, she clung onto Throné and burrowed into her neck.
Throné blinked. “Castti?”
“Don’t go,” she squeaked out.
Wait, was she...?
Castti trembled, then sniffled. Dread gutted Throné as she writhed underneath and settled Castti onto her side. Tears welled in her bright eyes.
Shit. “What’s wrong?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t throttle as badly as her heart. “Was it too much?”
“No,” Castti replied without hesitation and... she smiled. Something genuine, despite the tears. “It was perfect. Thank you.”
Throné’s jaw dropped. Heat flooded her skin.
“Do you... need anything right now?” she asked, just to be sure.
Castti snuggled into her. “Stay with me. Please.”
Releasing a breath she didn’t know she held, Throné rolled onto her side, embraced Castti, and smiled as they drifted to sleep.
Sunlight teased Throné’s face. She winced, groaned, and flopped onto her back. A savory aroma wafted past her nose, mixing with the scent of pheromones staining the air. She longed to sleep in the remainder of the morning, but the more she inhaled that smell, the more her stomach grumbled.
Stretching and yawning, Throné pried her eyes open, then froze. Nothing but unkempt bedsheets lay beside her. Panic hollowed her chest. It was all she needed to gasp, vault upright, and—
“Ah, you’re awake.”
Throné gawked at Castti sitting by the cursed desk again. Except she wasn’t glued to a stupid journal; she repositioned the chair to face the bed, where she sat in her pants and button-down shirt while sipping on tea. Blonde waves framed her smiling face. That shirt also fanned open, barely covering her nipples, because... right, the buttons. All of them were probably still scattered across the floor.
That said, Throné could get used to waking up to a view like that.
“I wasn’t sure when you’d be up,” she continued, “and I didn’t wish to disturb you, just to ask about your preference for breakfast, so I ordered one of everything.” Another sip of tea and she hummed. “It was the least I could do.”
Throné blinked, trying to keep her focus above Castti’s neck. “The least you could... for what?”
“To express my gratitude. From last night, that is.”
Memories of the lustful night bombarded Throné. Maybe it was a dream, but considering Castti’s current attire and... well, Throné’s utter lack of clothing, even now.... Definitely not a dream, she mused.
“Are you feeling alright?” Castti asked.
The question jerked Throné back to reality. “I-I’m fine.”
She furrowed her brow. “Are you sure? You were quite a force to be reckoned with.” Castti stifled a laugh as she smirked. “You took excellent care of me. So if you require anything else, I’d be happy to oblige.”
Throné considered the offer, then swallowed down her fears. “Tea would be lovely.”
One more smile and Castti placed her cup aside to fix Throné a cup. A tray occupied most of the desk, no doubt the origin of that delicious smell. Castti carried it to bed, where an array of cooked meats, hard-boiled eggs, baked treats, and fresh fruit tempted Throné. She started with the cup of tea Castti fixed for her, adding enough cream and sugar cubes to her liking. All the while, Castti sat opposite of her and watched.
Throné paused after a sip. “What?”
That smile of hers never waned. “Are you truly going to revert to your silent ways?”
“I’m still waking up,” she grumbled.
“I know,” Castti giggled out, “but I suppose I hoped that... hmm....”
“Castti?”
She shook her head. “Forgive me, I’m still basking in the afterglow from last night. Quite difficult to sort out my thoughts. I didn’t want to leave your side when I woke up, but... no, it’s silly.”
“Try me.”
“My memories may be hazy at best, but I feel that was the first time in quite some time since....” The sunlight caught in her eyes as she looked at Throné. Those irises sparkled like a clear summer sky. “Since I felt at ease. And I felt safe doing so thanks to you, Throné.”
She busied herself with shoving puff pastry into her mouth—was that a raspberry jam filling? If so, how did she possibly know?—instead of gleaning the implications of Castti’s words. But she couldn’t ignore the extra skip in her chest or how her thoughts screamed of nothing but the wonderful woman sitting across from her.
“Is... that alright?” Castti asked.
Throné blinked. “Is what alright?”
“Me feeling comfortable like that around you.”
Swallowing a mouthful of flaky buttery goodness, Throné licked the corners of her lips. “This is new to me.”
“How so?”
A few more bites before she humored that question. “I’ve never let anyone come that close to me.” She snorted. “Anyone who has tried didn’t walk away with their lives intact.”
Castti hid a proud grin behind her teacup. “I must be rather special if I’m an exception, yes?”
“You are.”
All humor drained from Castti’s mischievous expression. Maybe the moment was already ruined, but... if Castti trusted her to wield absolute control, then Throné hoped it was possible to drop her guard enough to let her in. Perhaps even allow her to stay, if Castti so desired.
“Like I said,” Throné confessed, barely audible above a whisper, “this is new to me. All of it is.”
“You could’ve fooled me,” Castti teased. “Everything last night seemed second nature to you, like it suited you.”
That comment echoed in her soul, then morphed into other voices. Each one belonged to another person who molded her into the weapon she was. They were all dead, true, but their ghosts continued to haunt her. The reminder sank into her gut like a dull blade, worse than the collar once clutching her throat. She refused to wince at the pain. She couldn’t display weakness. Never. To yield to that meant she admitted defeat and yielded to—
“Throné?”
She hitched her breath. When had Castti relocated to her side? Was she always that close? And her face, lined with worry and more compassion than Throné ever deserved... why was it difficult to see? What blurred her vision? Why couldn’t she—
Soft hands held her face like she was comprised of glass. Castti leaned in and kissed her cheeks, kissed the tears she had bottled up for ages, and kissed away the anguish depriving Throné of true freedom.
“What’s wrong?” Castti murmured, smoothing a thumb along her skin.
“I don’t know.”
“Did you not enjoy yourself last night?”
She coughed up a laugh. “No, I did, but—” She sniffled. “—I feel as if I shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
Untangling her thoughts proved to be tricky, but Throné plucked a single, coherent strand and breathed it to life. “I spent... so long trying to escape what bound me against my will. How am I any better than—” Her face contorted with remorse. “—those monsters who did that to me, when I’m willing to do the same to you?”
She braced herself for Castti to recoil, to look upon her with utmost disgust, to storm out the room without another word. Nothing prepared her, however, for tender lips melting into her own.
“Throné,” she whispered while embracing her, “what you did last night wasn’t out of malice or contempt.” Castti dipped down to kiss her throat, where that dreadful collar once enslaved Throné. “You did it because you cared, because you wanted to help me relax.” And then she returned to her face, smiling despite the tears welling in her eyes. “You’re not a monster; you’re recovering. We both are.”
Gods, why was arguing with Castti the worst thing in the world? Was this what people meant when they said mothers always knew best? Annoying as it was, it... was nice. Comforting, actually. Also terrifying, but wasn’t everything in life?
“Guess you’re right,” she sighed out. “Suppose you don’t have a tincture to alleviate that, do you?”
Castti grimaced. “Not everything has a remedy, I’m afraid.”
Figures.
“But.”
Throné stiffened as Castti snuggled further into her lap, drawing random shapes into her waist with featherlight fingertips. “Sometimes the best medicine resides in the simplest and most mundane things in life.”
Arguments bubbled in her throat. What things? Furthermore, what the fresh hell was she supposed to do with advice like that? But then Throné watched Castti.
She drank her tea, swiping a slab of crispy bacon to munch on in between sips. Humming, Castti sucked her fingers clean without a care in the world. Seeing her like that... it warmed Throné’s heart. Maybe it didn’t fully thaw the frost encasing her soul, but it helped. A lot.
So Throné polished off her pastry before trying another treat and never loosened her hold on Castti. Even when they inevitably washed up and departed with the rest of their traveling group, Throné found her way to the rear with Castti, brushed fingertips along her wrist, and smiled when they wove their hands together, refusing to let go.