Chapter 23 Slippery Talks

Chapter 23 Slippery Talks
NYX

Oh, kill me already.

Wait—No. I don’t mean that, but Daciana’s presence is enough to wish for death. It’s sickening and nauseating and my organs start to feel like they are folding into little balls in my stomach. 

Sable, taking the lead, spins on her heel with the grace of a dancer, planting her hands on her hips as though she’s about to scold a child.

“Lady Daciana, darling,” she sing-songs, “I need the filthiest maid in the manor to scrub my feet, scour my chamber pots, and polish the inside of my privy until it gleams. Nyx here has already insulted you. Perfect qualifications for a torturous day at work,  don’t you think?”

She tilts her head, squinting. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes to punish slaves.”

“That’s because I am not loud with my punishment, my lady.” 

“Hm.” Daciana’s attention flicks to mine, a scornful gaze surveying me. She looks one intrusive thought away from ordering my head on a platter.

The feeling, fortunately, is very, very mutual. 

Her lips curl into a sharp, condescending smile—not sure which of us it’s directed at. “She’s a goat and a fool,” she purrs, gliding closer and permitting her jasmine perfume to asphyxiate me.

Did she soak in it overnight? 

“Don’t go soft on her, Lady Sable. She’s beneath even the dirt under your nails.”

“Of course,” Sable nods in the affirmative. “I know what to do to sly little ones like her. I will make sure she suffers for every disrespect.”

“Very well.” Daciana brushes past me. The silk of her sleeve grazes my arm like the tongue of the same snake she had a shower with.

I’d die to see her eyes open in fright just like that day. Except this time, when she faints, she’d never wake up from it.

Beside me, her voice drops to a whisper meant only for my ears. “Remember, five days until my birthday, slave.”

“Oh. Happy birthday, dearest Luna,” I whisper back sarcastically, with a bow and a tone so oblivious. I pretend not to know what she’s driving at. 

She scoffs, her eyes darkening. Now she looks as much of a devil as she truly is. “After you’re the arrow’s target, I’ll dance on whatever’s left of you.”

Rather than give any of the snarky responses dancing on my tongue, I inhale deeply, holding it together. He who laughs last—after all—laughs best.

Daciana sashays away, a snicker between her teeth, and her maids follow, including Madeleine who keeps glancing at me like she’s trying to choose whether to despise or admire.

Doesn’t make a difference. I despise them all, and anyone who blocks my path will taste my sword. Any.

Even Sable. 

Jolting me back to reality is Sable’s arm that she loops through mine and tugs me away before I can do something stupid.

Sable mutters, “She’s vile. I’m talking to Kane. Turning you into a pincushion for drunk Alphas? That’s barbaric.”

Blackhollow is the definition of barbaric.

“I’ll be fine,” I lie, forcing a grin that feels more like a grimace. “Besides, what chores do you actually need help with?”

“Hm…” Sable looks away, grinning. “Chores. Important, difficult chores. You climb up the black mountain and fetch me two rocks from the top of it.”

“My lady! The black mountain is eight thousand meters tall.”

“See?” She shrugs, “Difficult chores.”

Mischievous. “I’m starting to think you just like my company.”

Her bright, reckless laugh echoes off the stone walls as we go. “Guilty. Come on.”

Soon, we are in her chambers. Sable practically drags me in and kicks the doors shut. It’s sun-drenched and as beautiful as I remember. 

My mouth still falls open in awe. I have never been more grateful that she has no maids. I drop onto a seat and Sable groans through clenched teeth, “Can’t wait to get out of this!”

My brow arches. “Out of what?”

Without ceremony, she unfastens her gown. “This heavy, itchy piece of clothing! Why can’t we wear leather jackets and pants like the men? Even the slaves look more comfortable.”

“I have worn leather jackets and pants all my life,” I tease.”

She shoots me a glare, her cheeks rosy pink and lips protruding downwards. “Show off.” She undoes another string and fabric pools at her feet, leaving her in nothing but a dark corset with its laces cinched tight enough to make her waist invisible. Her skin is as white as milk, a beautiful sight to behold, really. 

When she bends forward to catch the dress, her breasts threaten to stage a coup and escape entirely.

I don’t know why my eyes stay there. “Sable, your tits are a public safety hazard.”

She wiggles, delighted. “Jealous? They’re my best feature. Now, focus. That’s not why we are here.”

“Of course. Of course.” I can’t keep from smiling at how much of a friend she feels. 

Sable walks across the room and hauls a lacquered brown box from under her bed, flips it open, and reveals dozens of tiny crystal vials nestled in velvet satin. 

“Sensual oils. I need a woman’s opinion. We pick the top ten, return the rest. No questions asked.”

“Why do you need those?”

Her smirk is more than mischievous. “Who knows? I might get married soon. I should be able to set the mood, no?”

“Maried? To whom?”

“To Draven. My father wants it, cages the poor lad with imported wines and political talks every evening.”

“Lord Draven?” I echo. The man who caught me in a lie and looks like the moon goddess herself might make a few irrational decisions with? 

She sighs exasperated, waving a dismissive hand. “Let’s forget about it. I don’t like him, neither does he like me.”

“Who wouldn’t like you?”

Sable scoffs. “The person I want, apparently.” She fiddles with the box. “Do you know when I was little, I once had a 10-year-long crush only to be called ‘sister’ on the eleventh. Terrible, terrible time.” 

I gasp. “Ten years. Who?”

“A boy at the academy learned to read and write.” With unrestrained focus, she plucks a vial, uncorks it, and dabs a drop on her wrist. “Moonshade jasmine. Smell.”

Ugh. I really don’t want to smell any more of Daciana. Regardless, I lean in and take a whiff. And boy, it hits differently. 

The scent is heady, smells of night-blooming flowers tangled around a hint of spice and something dark underneath. “Smells like seduction in a bottle.”

“So it stays. Your turn.” She hands me a vial labeled emberrose. I swipe it across my inner forearm. Then she leans closer, bringing her face to my wrist, grazing my skin softly with her nose as she takes a sniff. 

Her eyes flutter and she coughs, “Oh, mood goddess! That smells filthy. In the best way.”

“Really?” I sniff too and cough all the same. “Like a farmer’s butt!”

“Trust me, you’ll love the smell of butts when it’s the butt of the man you love”

I scrunch my nose. “I highly doubt that.”

Sable takes my hand and wipes it. Her chest wiggles with every move she makes. Grabbing another vial, she dabs it over the skin on my forearm. “Frosted sin,” she says, looking at me through her lashes then leaning to take a whiff. “Have you ever been with a man, Nyx?”

I choke on my spit, instinctively retracting my arm. Why would she ask that? “No, I haven’t.”

She bites her bottom lip, pointing at my face. “You say no, yet look so red like you are replaying some steamy memories. Someone almost did, right? Was it a man or–”

“What about you?” I interrupt. “Have you?”

“Once,” she goes back to dabbing another liquid on her own wrist. Starlilac, it read. “But it was fast, only good for me. The other party doesn’t even remember it.”

“Oh… that’s terrible. I am so sorry.” 

“Ugh. Ogre’s butt.”

“What?”

She brings her wrist to my nose. “The smell. It reeks like the butt of an ogre. It has to go.”

I snort, nearly knocking her hands off. “Ogre butt is definitely going back.”

We go back to talking about scents because it’s undeniably what Sable wants. She doesn’t owe me any explanations and I can’t help but feel sad for her. 

She’s bright, really, despite everything and I just want to digest a part of her, ask her to teach me how she remained untainted despite it all. 

I’m drenched in different shades of sex. Any guard I walk past might force himself on me at the spot so I'd better shower before I walk out of the room. 

We’re giggling sweet, sticky, slightly obscene scent of midnight peach when a knock thuds against the door. 

My laughter dies.

I feel it before the sound comes again. 

Three sharp, deliberate raps. 

Something inside my chest pulls and yanks tight.  That infuriating tether yanking tight. My skin prickles, every hair standing on end.

“Who is it?” Sable casually asks. 

“Kane,” he says, sounding desperate. “I need to talk to you, Sable.”