I turn on my heel, assessing what will be my new prison. And my eyes widen as I realize where he has put me. I am not just in a room, but a suite.
The walls are covered in pale blue, and white silk hangs from the ceiling, fanning out as if they are waves crashing onto the floor below.
Above the fireplace, an antique mirror hangs, and the way it reflects the blue paint and the silks makes it feel like the ocean is right here in front of me.
Two luxurious couches lie on a thick cream rug and a huge diamond chandelier hangs from the ceiling.
I walk through the only door and pause on the threshold. Itâs a bedroom.
The bed is big. Almost scarily big, and something about it sets my nerves on edge. There is nothing else in this room. Just the bed as if everything else has been stripped bare.
And that makes me panic more because it feels so explicit, so obvious that that is what he sees me as, what he is keeping me here for.
I step back and walk into the dressing room. A bathroom is just beyond it. The wardrobes are filled with dresses, all similar to the one I have on: frumpy, ugly, covering.
Am I relieved? A part of me is. Clearly, he is not going to dress me as Issar has done. He will not turn me into a plaything for him, but I am still here, in his castle, with little more than a bed in my room.
If that doesnât say what he wants, then nothing does.
The bathroom is grand. There are double sinks and a huge golden bath in the center. It looks more like a pool than a tub and I want desperately to fill it and climb in, but I donât. I donât dare.
Something tells me that is what he wants me to do. Helos has chosen this suite specifically. He has given me a room with just a bed and a bath big enough that even a mermaid would be beguiled by it.
He is seducing me, luring me in, and I wonât fall for it.
I canât fall for it.
But my resolution crumbles when I see what is on the side.
In a jewel-lined pot so big it is practically a bucket is salt. Itâs filled to the brim. A ladle is plunged in among the crystals and I can practically taste the purity of it from where I am standing.
I dip my finger in and bring it to my tongue and I moan so loudly as the crystal melts into my saliva. It isnât just salt. Itâs sea salt.
I close my eyes and I can see exactly where it came from, which sea, which specific pool of water. I can see the fish that swam through it, the dolphins that played in it.
I can see this waterâs history from the moment when it evaporated, turned to cloud, and finally rained down over the ocean and first joined with the salt.
The creature stirs so violently I have to grab the wall to hold myself.
I know what she wants. I donât want it. I know I shouldnât, but as her needs push through, I give in.
Helos is going to use me anyway. I might as well take a little enjoyment before he does.
But I prop the chair against the door anyway. Heâll break it down if he truly wants to come in, but the fact I have a little security gives me some reassurance.
I turn the gold taps. They squeak slightly and then the water gushes out. I pour eight ladles of salt and watch as it swirls and disappears, and then I wait.
It takes forever to fill. The bath is so big. All the while, I am pacing, fretting, scratching at my skin, and gnawing my lip because I need to be in it, to submerge myself already.
When itâs finally full, I turn the taps off, yank the dress off, and climb in. The water is hot. But the salt is barely noticeable.
I clamber out quickly and slip on the marble floor, ending up sprawled on my front with my legs splayed. If Helos walks in now, I would be done for, and that thought gets me quickly to my feet.
I carry more salt over and dip my toes in to test it. When it is finally enough, I am able to sink once more and that same feeling of peace comes over me.
I stretch my legs out, pointing my toes, and I float. The bath is so big I can lie completely spread-eagle and no part of me touches the side. My hair floats in the water around me, and for one brief moment, my heart feels at ease.
The creature inside me is soaring. After all the hours of being cooped up with Helos and unable to do anything, she wants to stretch her wings, and I sigh, knowing that she is right.
We both need what she is after.
I lower my hand and begin touching myself. The saltwater against my pussy gives me a new sensation, and I moan as my body responds instantly. I feel myself throbbing, aching, and hungry for this now.
I remember the dream, the carriage, being in the water, and I let my senses take over as I slide my fingers over myself.
For most water is not a lubricant, but for me, it is like being drenched in oil. My body feels slick, silky smooth. Every second my fingers slide down, I ache with a desperate need for release.
I gasp and some of the water slips into my mouth. I can taste it again, the salt, the sea. The creature in me needs this.
And I need this too. If I am to stand any chance of controlling her, any chance of surviving, I have to do this, just like last time. My need is too great, my carnal instincts too overpowering.
If I do not cum, then I will become feral, wild. I will transform into everything they think I am, and there will be no stopping me until the creature inside is sated and half the city is mad with need for me.
My body is writhing, splashing the water. It laps at me, and it is like waves of the ocean. I groan as my body is suddenly on fire. I roar, my head fully submerged, my body with it, but it doesnât matter.
I need this water on me, in me, all over me as I scream and scream.
My legs flail, and for a minute, I am lost in the ecstasy of my own orgasm. Of my own world. Where there is nothing but me and this water and my fingers making me cum so hard as I flush out my arousal.
When I am done, I lie panting, letting the water soothe me. I feel the creature drift away into the farthest recesses of my mind.
She is content, satisfied. She has had her fill for the moment, though we both know she will be back again soon enough.
It would take me years to contain her, to lock her back up again, and while I am around all these people, all this lust, I donât stand a chance of doing it.
I will have to manage her, placate her where I can, feed her when I must, and hope that it is enough to keep us both safe.
I donât know how long I float for, but I become aware of the fact that the evening light is setting in.
No doubt Helos will come soon.
I shudder at the thought and pull myself from the tub, yanking on the chain so that it empties with a great gurgling sound.
The bathroom is stocked with the most luxurious towels I have ever felt. Theyâre so soft against my skin that they feel like velvet. I wrap a towel around my hair and a bathrobe over my body.
When I walk into the bedroom, I can see the candles have all been lit. Someone has been here.
In this room while I was in the bath. I hesitate, trying to sense if they are still there, but I canât feel any other presence. I am alone.
But I do smell the food.
A tray has been placed on the table between the couches and I walk over, sit down, and pull the lid off.
I canât tell what it is. The food looks strange, but I can make out the vegetables and the meat, and the smell of it is not unpleasant. I grab the fork and eat quickly.
My senses tell me this is a trap. That this whole room, this whole setup is part of the kingâs plan.
When I am finished, I put the cover back on and go to get dressed.
It is night now. We must have arrived not long after midday. Iâve been here for hours and Helos hasnât come, but I know in my heart itâs just a matter of time now.
I grab a dress from the closet. Itâs a pale simple dress that cuts high over my collarbones and is easy to do up without help. My hair is almost dry. I chuck the towels in the bathroom on the rail.
And then I sit, waiting, with my legs tucked up under myself on the couch.
At some point, I must have drifted off. I wake to the sound of footsteps and my heart starts racing.
But the door doesnât open.
No one comes. I am still alone.
I frown, confused, and curl back up. I donât want him to come, I donât want him here, but every second I am waiting it feels like he is torturing me. That he is playing a game beyond my understanding.
***
I wake as the sunlight streams into the room. I have slept the whole night here on this couch. Someone has been inâa servant, I think. Theyâve taken the old tray of food and there is a new tray laden with fruits, yogurt, and honey.
Clearly, I was too far into my sleep to notice them.
I click my neck. My body feels stiff and tight from the uncomfortable position I have slept in. I begin to eat, and though the food tastes so good, nothing can take away from my thoughts.
Helos didnât come. He left me alone.
I donât understand it. It makes no sense. Why would he have brought me here, showed me off for everyone like that, and locked me in this suite if he wasnât planning on using me?
Why would he have taken me from Issar in the first place?
When I finish my food, I get up and go to wash. I donât feel like I need it, but the cool water on my face is refreshing. Iâm tempted to have another bath, but the voice in my head tells me he will come.
He will call for me today.
Perhaps he was giving me last night to rest, to recover from all the drama, but that thought doesnât give me comfort because no man would want me to rest unless they had something very particular on their mind.
I sit in the bathroom, on the chair, unsure what to do. Now that Iâve thought of a bath, the idea is all I can focus on, but I donât do it.
I donât want to because the last place I want Helos to find me is here, naked, floating like some sort of delicacy for him to indulge in.
I wonât make this easy for him.
I sit here for most of the day, waiting, listening. Occasionally, I hear footsteps and each time I freeze, my panic soaring within me, but no one comes in, and each time it passes.
A maid brings a tray of food for lunch and I hold my breath, hiding, waiting for her to go, and eventually, she does and the piercing silence returns.
As day gives way to night, I convince myself that this will be it.
That he will come now.
That he will burst through that door and throw me on the bed, and just like Issar, he will strip me, hurt me, force himself on me, and only when his own carnal needs are met will he leave me alone.
But it doesnât happen. I spend the evening exactly where I am, on this chair, in this room.
In darkness.
Another maid comes in and swaps the lunch tray for a dinner one, but again I hide. I donât want even her to see me. I want to be alone and try to figure this out, but nothing makes sense.
When I fall off the chair in my sleep, I force myself up and grab the blankets from the bed. I pull them into the bathroom and construct a makeshift bed of sorts, a nest, in the corner.
I donât want to sleep in the bed. It is so big, so dominating.
I donât want to even look at it. It feels like a giant beacon in my rooms signaling what Helos wants, what he and everyone else is after, and if I could, I would move it into a corner, burn it even.
I huddle up among the softness of the duvet. I canât even feel the cold marble beneath it, though over time it starts to seep through. If Helos comes and finds me like this, will he be amused? Will he laugh at me?
I shake my head because there is no if. He will come. They always come.
Only he doesnât.
Light streaks in and I groan, realizing that itâs another day. I havenât even eaten my dinner. I wasnât hungry and I was reluctant to move, to leave the safety of the space Iâve created.
All I can think of is him. Where is he? What is he doing? Is this what he intends for me, I wonder. To keep me here, in this place, waiting for him to come.
Perhaps he plans to weaken my resolve, to starve me, and have me begging for him when he finally does show.
I scowl in disgust. It would work on the creature within me, but not me. I can outmaneuver this if I am careful, if I am smart.
I get up and fill the bath once more; only this time, I make the water lukewarm. If I am careful, if I can sate the creatureâs needs with this, then I should be able to keep control when Helos does show.
I pour more salt in. I want to drown her in it, get her drunk on it. I want her to be so intoxicated by the gifts I am giving that she will not look for anything beyond me.
I climb in even as the bath is filling. I canât afford to take long baths. I need to be quick.
Lots of short dips, like mini hits for her to enjoy, and each one will wrap her tighter and tighter around my finger, and bend her to my will.
When my first bath is over, I get out, dry myself quickly, and pull the same dress on. I donât want to be attractive. I donât want to look desirable in any way and at least this dress is easy to do up.
The creature in me is writhing in pleasure. She doesnât know what has hit her. Itâs like all her birthdays, all her feast days in one.
She canât understand why I am being so kind, but I can feel her gratitude and it makes my eyes well. She isnât often happy with me. We are at odds so often it feels strange to have her think positively toward me for once.
We are like twins, stuck in the same body; she is the hedonistic one, the dangerous one, the reckless one, and I am the sensible one, who looks out for our survival, who has to think and act for the pair of us.
An hour later, I take another bath. Again, I donât take long. Ten minutes max, but it is enough. I can feel the effect it is having on her. She is drunk already, docile almost. If I can keep this up, then maybe I stand a chance.
Almost to the dot, I take another the next hour. Each time my body submerges, she comes to life. She swims, she dives, she pirouettes, and I can feel her joy permeating through.
And when I step out of the water, she retreats, falls back, practically curls up, and goes to sleep. I know that this is working. I can feel it. I just have to keep it up.
I am so focused on these baths that I forget to eat, and when darkness falls, I realize an entire day has passed and I havenât consumed a thing. I walk into the sitting room and see a familiar tray waiting.
I know I am alone. I can sense it and I tuck in quickly. Night is when he is most likely to come. Something in the deep recesses of my consciousness tells me this.
That he will creep in and find me when I am asleep, when I am at my most vulnerable, and being outside of the bathroom, being out here by the door makes me feel vulnerable.
When I am finished, I quickly sprint back to the bathroom and shut the doors. I want every warning I can get when he does come.
But he doesnât.
Another night passes and I spend it flitting from sleep to awake as my mind starts to go crazy.
When the next day comes, I donât know what day it is anymore, or how long I have been here. The bath is still full, but even the sight of it makes me sick.
I am so bored and so frustrated too.
There is nothing to do, no books to read, nothing to entertain me. I think I might be going mad. Perhaps this is his plan, to lock me away until I am insane, or worse: until I finally fade to nothing.
I snarl loudly, letting it echo in the space around me. Does he think I am this weak?
To be used like this, to be flouted about for his people to see, to validate his kingship, and then to be locked away and be forgotten the minute his ego is sufficiently massaged?
Will he bring me out each feast day, flaunt me once more before packing me back neatly into my box like the good little toy he thinks I am?
I am not some trophy to be used as such.
I want to scream, to lash out. To hit something. To hit ~him~. If he were here now, I think I would lose my senses; in fact, I know it. My anger would flare and I would be uncontrollable, unrelenting until he realizes exactly who he is dealing with.
But he doesnât come. No one comes. No one except the maid and I still hide from her, though now I am unsure why. Perhaps it is a force of habit, but I donât want to see her; I donât want to see anyone except him.
I want to make him pay, make him regret the way he is treating me, though deep down I donât want to have the chance.
I donât want him to come because I would rather stay in this silence, in my anger, alone, than risk him showing up and deciding he does want me after all.