From Slave To Queen (Athena and Michael) novel Chapter 12

Chapter 12

I acted like a damn fool, throwing hundreds of rubies at a scrawny, graceless girl just because I thought I saw something in her gaze.

I brush her mind again with my invisible fingers.

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“I said stop.” She slams the book shut with a sharp sound. “Don’t you have your favorite toy to play with, cold and stiff, sir?”

She nearly makes me laugh.

དྭེ 1:| པ 1:|:ཀ

Şd པར་ཞི་བློས་་་བྱེད་

I glance at the book resting now on her lap. I’m surprised to see that she’s reading about us and our history. I slowly withdraw my fingers from the surface of her mind, which today seems impenetrable. That frustrates me. The arbitrariness of her mind. On the first day in the castle, her mind was wide open, and now it’s locked tight.

The slam of my bedroom door breaks the connection. I abandon the library and my incorporeal form and return to sitting hands folded beneath my chin.

The one responsible for the noise is Mavka, who stares at me with wide eyes.

Her blood is souring from fear.

You called for me?” The words leave her lips in a weak stammer.

“I did.” I make a motion with my index finger, inviting her closer. “Come.”

She walks toward me with short steps, keeping a cautious distance. She knows I’m not pleased–my face is a perfect mirror

at my desk with my

of

my emotions.

“I’ve heard of certain behaviors of yours that displease me.” I run my tongue over one of my fangs. “How many times must I tell you I don’t like childish behavior?”

“But sir, I…”

“Do you feel threatened by that little girl?”

The pounding of her blood reaches my ears. She clenches her fists around the silk of her dress. She doesn’t look me in the eye, keeps her gaze down while a soft blush covers her cheeks.

“They’re calling her the ruby queen, sir.”

“So?” I reply, narrowing my eyes. “Queens wear crowns, and the only thing that the peasant had on her head when I bought her was a tangle of hair. Don’t be pathetic, Mavka. You’re my favorite because of your intelligence, Don’t ruin it.”

That last line makes her lift her chin with a mixture of shame and rage flickering in her amber eyes, which creates a wild contrast with her tanned skin and thick black hair. Many times, when I look at her, those eyes remind me of some of my natural enemies.

“I won’t disappoint you again.”

“Words aren’t enough, Mavka.” I click my tongue. “Only I play with my toys. Don’t try to poison the minds of the others again. If you do, I’ll strip you of the arrogance that allows you to speak to the others that way. And believe me, you won’t like what you’re reduced to.”

“It was a mistake. It won’t happen again.” She lifts her gaze slightly without meeting my eyes. “I let my human emotions get the better of me.”

“Of course it won’t happen again”

I stand, dragging the chair from the desk. She flinches, scared by the abruptness of my movements, and squints. I pace through the room, in no hurry to reach her. Her blood’s scent travels through the air.

I stop in front of her. Her face comes to my chest; she doesn’t dare look at me again, and I end up grabbing her chin between my fingers with enough force to draw a grimace of pain, but not enough to break the bone.

“If I hear again that your damn tongue is spouting nonsense, I lean in until we’re breathing the same air, “I’ll rip it out for the crows to peck at and turn you into a Broken like others before you.”

Broken

That word makes the blood drain from anyone’s face just by hearing it. That’s what we call the poor wretches who manage to anger me or whose existence seems so useless I end up destroying their minds. I erase everything that made them who they were, leaving only an empty, useless shell that, with time, ceases to exist. My reputation for being insatiable is true–many die from failing to satisfy my hunger. But many others, many mure, die from the consequences of my gifts.

I extend my power into her mind, always wide open to me. I brush its threads with my invisible fingers, making them vibrate like the tense strings of a harp.

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