True Silk

chapter ii | Breathe

THE BRACELET WAS NOTHING. It meant nothing but his freehold of everything. Including myself.

Any other girl – maybe not to Savanah – they would've fainted at his touch. Either from delight or from pure distress. He was a man of fierce influence and induced immense fear in the hearts of those around him. He could make even the most headstrong, stubborn, uncivilised pigs swelter on their knees and kiss at his feet.

Dashkrov was one of those, and a suck-up at that. No one, much less me, would've suspected it of him, but if the King had come marching into his office like the Imperial Army with my arm in his hand, he would've dashed out compliments of what a wonderful choice he had made to pick me.

That didn't happen though.

Dashkrov came to him in his section of what used to be a theatre. Now it was just used as more of a waiting room for the men. They could come in anytime they wanted and pick a girl, but most didn't. And the stadium never looked so luxurious before. It was the floor I spent cleaning all the afternoon yesterday by myself until the shine became a mirror and could just so see itself, distorted up on the gold dome ceiling above.

Besides, Dashkrov loathed my guts; he fancied the notion of tearing me apart with the deity fangs and claws that he retained.

The Slaveholder – Dashkrov – by the way, was a petty demon, probably no stronger than a hundred men. He was a fruitful dark-brown haired man, appearing a youthful forty. Really, he was thousands of years older than that. Thousands of years older than the King, and yet he was so much more delicate.

I stood stiff, face concealed halfway behind the King. Being in the same room as one of these men was exhausting enough. With both of them, it was more than draining. I couldn't take much more of their presence.

"Marcus," the King acknowledged him by what I assumed was his last name. Or perchance his first name.

Dashkrov bowed his head again, and then looked at me with such repugnance, you'd think he was starring at some filthy, vile creature with six legs, two heads, and three eyes trying to victor his affection. "Maven Sylvie and Savanah DeGraw, Your Honour?"

I scrunched my eyebrows at him. I didn't think I was someone that should be disliked, but Dashkrov detested me unconditionally. He liked to torture me by cleaning the floor of the tabernacle and then spilling something – particularly a bucket of red paint; I don't know where he got it from or why he had it, so don't ask me; a liquid such as blood would've been more acceptable – then making me clean that up. Generally, I obeyed by his commands. Under other circumstances, I'd get the whip or the Rousing-flogger.

Ah, so much love!

He could be more vicious if he wanted. I knew that very well from the 'examples'.

"Are you . . . sure that these are the ones you would like?"

Salkamenos sluggishly peeled open his eyes. They narrowed at Dashkrov and the big, bad wolf winced back in fear of being hit. I almost sneered, but before I could, the King was wrapping his hand around my throat. My mouth jarred, caused by the lack of air and the shock of what he was doing.

He pulled me up whilst I gasped for air, clutching my hands around his wrist. But then I heard his voice in my head: Don't fret. You can still breath. Crazy, yes, but I realised after he told me – through my mind! – that I truly could breathe. I had just panicked too much to notice the little bit of air flowing through my air tubes, and so my brain made it seem like I couldn't.

The King brought me up, my throat to his cool mouth. I'd never been bitten before, but I could only assume that it would hurt. He turned and glared at the Slaveholder. "Are you questioning my tastes, Marcus?"

And – probably just out of fear – he shook his hands and bowed. "No, no, no, My Lord! I would never question you!" Yes, but only because I'm a suck up and fear you might kill me. Otherwise, I would tell you the honest truth! I thought with mockery.

The King let out a little chuckle and released me. He must've heard me thinking.

He was a mind-reader.

I looked to my left, around King Salkamenos, where rueful Savanah sat, both curbed and sedated by some narcotic drug. They weren't chancing their luck, the Minders. They were cinching her stillness, that she wouldn't escape. That the King would have no reason to punish her. I guess, in some way, they were helping us. In a very dramatic way.

I'd heard whispers shooting across the sky, around the room, that a Centricide had been forced upon her. Broke her virginity. I'd heard that scream, but I hadn't known what it was for, to be precise.

With her arms bound behind her back, she slouched in her seat behind us, beside her Sentinel – whom would be her personal Minder once we came to our new home at what one could only assume would be a palace – mumbling quietly to herself.

What she was saying was unclear, but every now and then I could catch a few words. Savanah was aberrant.

Poor thing.

But I was just glad it wasn't me. I wasn't a Proxy. But she was.

I bit my lip. I sound cruel. "Mávena."

Shifting my attention with quick care, I gazed at the only one who called me that. King Salkamenos had a truly cunning appeal. A diamond shaped face with a sharp jawline. Full lips as red as blood. Small, heroic nose. Indifferent dark blue eyes with a greyish tone – which is why it had appeared grey in the darker light earlier.

"Stand."

I obeyed his command rather quickly.

"Take off your hood."

To say the least, I was surprised. I hadn't expected him to tell me to take it off. It was what made me my status. But, to him? What was I to him? I surely couldn't be more than what I was.

But I saw that he was not, in fact, humouring me. Not that I was shocked at his earnestness, but at his request.

His eyes glared at me.

Actually, it wasn't a request. It was a demand.

My lips parted and I reached up, withdrawing the tie from beneath my collar and pulling it apart. The silk hissed when it rubbed against itself, and I yanked it off. To my misfortune, the pin came out as well, my bangs falling in front of my eyes.

I heard a few gasps around me, but none of them came from Salkamenos nor Savanah – she was too doped up.

Rather than a bun, I had skilfully pinned my hair up – with a single pin. The fact that I had a fringe in the first place wasn't good. But I now had all of my hair down. That most certainly was no good.

Keeping my eyes down, I listened to his grunt of – well, I didn't know what. "Just as I thought," he murmured.

How could he know that? I wasn't even thinking about it. So, I came to the conclusion that he could also look through memories, and even tamper with them.

He stood, his shadow casting over me. Before long, he stood in front of me, looming over me with a sort of impending darkness to him. That same scent from earlier wafted over me. I knew it could only be him, but still.

King Salkamenos pressed against the base of my throat, his finger sliding down my collar and pulled at the buttons. Quite lightly, actually. His hands weren't as cold as they were, which signified that he had taken 'The Big Drink'.

He was exposing my black camisole and corset. I would say that it was a little uncomfortable, but I couldn't. It would be a disgrace to myself, now. He continued to undo the buttons of my dress until halfway down my stomach where his hand rose, his fingertip swaying just above my collar bone – which was now exposed.

He swept his fingers across my left side, moving the cloth aside as he did.

I held my breath, ill at ease and queasy. I had a Taint, as it's called, a mark. A tattoo at the back of my left shoulder.

If he saw it, would he make me get rid of it? Would he punish me for having it?

"Turn around."

I dropped my head. Yes. Yes, he knew. But how?! How could he know?! No one knew! No one knew! I know they didn't! Even Dashkrov, a man who was determined to find anything out of the ordinary, knew nothing!

Biting back a sob, I closed my eyes and turned slowly, trying anything to make myself seem smaller. King Salkamenos smoothed the left side of the dress – I refuse to call it my dress – off my shoulder, pulling the strap along with it. My breath caught in my throat.

Pad of his thumb kissed the outline of my Taint.

"Oh, dear," Dashkrov mumbled, most certainly serenely surprised. He was probably holding his hand to his mouth. "We . . . We can have that removed immediately, Your Highness," he spoke frantically.

For a long moment, the King did not speak. Rather he continued to trace my Taint.

I said nothing either but only because I was remembering. My mother.

Long chestnut hair, the only thing I inherited from her, and smooth, ivory skin. Calming blue eyes and sharp, feminine features.

The Taint.

One may not be able to believe it with all the corruption there is, but there is an outside world – it's called the Seam by outsiders, but to us it had no name – where men and women are seen as equals, have the same amount of choices, and can do just as the other can. Of course, it was on the low-low. Nothing too showy, and mostly in the wilderness where no one trailed anymore. And if any soul strayed too far onto that path where we used to keep to ourselves – pretend we were in our own little universe – we'd simply hide underground.

But it was an illusion. We weren't in our own universe. We were still here, on Earth, surrounded by chauvinism by carrying ourselves along in the beautiful, creative midst that was the forest we lived in.

Quinn Daniels used to consider himself a professional artist. And he could've been – if he went along with the general population of men. He's the one who gave me my Taint. He said it fit me quite well.

My mother approved of it. She was the one who recommended it, actually.

The Taint was the only thing I had left of her.

"No," he said, sounding more perilous than before. "I'll deal with it."