Chapter Eight
Aster
Silk Girl Vows:
For The Trade, I will share my last breath if The Cradle need me to. Whether it is land, man, or breath, I do not take possession.
I spoon some oatmeal between my lips, humming.
My cheeks radiate heat, so I wave a small parchment hand fan in front of my face, fanning the sweat to a glistening cool mist.
Glancing around the table, I notice the others are rosy-faced, while above us, the air conditioner hums softly so I know this isn’t an external heat. Nope. We are burning up from the inside out. All of us.
‘Ovulating, little creature.’
I suppress a groan as the events from yesterday unfold behind my eyes like turning pages in my memory.
“Lick.”
“Concentrate on me, little creature.”
“Go to your room.”
“You’re aroused.”
I knew what being a Silk Girl entailed. Adore. Pleasure. I understood the process and the anatomy, but nothing could have prepared me for the… intensity. Of bringing a massive man to shuddering pleasure. Of being praised with a silent lap of his lusty eyes.
I press my legs together, heat rolling between my thighs. I’m worried I’ll leak through my knickers and leave a patch of moisture on the chair.
“He didn’t come last night,” Ana mutters, snatching my attention away from the memory.
“Come inside you or to your room?” Blossom asks, and I nearly spit out my meal. So, we do talk about things.
“Not at all,” she answers, playing with her food.
I sit up, remembering the blood and the body-shaped pattern smeared through it. “Really? Is that strange? Does he usually visit every night?”
I like Ana more than any girl I’ve ever met, but I suddenly feel two opposing forces. One is regretful that something may have happened to her lord, and one is guilt-mixed with relief that if that is true, the king has not chosen a Silk Girl for his heirs yet.
After yesterday, after the feel of him throbbing down my throat, his growls of ecstasy, his thighs tightening under my palms, and then—I almost sigh aloud—our candid conversations… we talked.
The king is my… friend.
I don’t want him to be that close to anyone else, and that goes against everything we are taught, but I’m not made of stone, carved with a blade. I am made of flesh, with a brain and heart that lives independently of what the world tries to carve into my character.
But having character is not virtuous.
I inhale hard, wishing my mind was at peace.
I chant the vows; I take no possessions! I do not own my own breath should The Cradle need it. I know this. I know, but…
I am helplessly drawn to him.
To his cruel honesty. To his blunt demands. I like the iron boundaries he builds around himself because I love that he lets me peer through the cracks every now and then.
It is like seeing inside a mystery.
She pulls me from my thoughts. “He comes to me every night that the lords visit The Estate. Sometimes, he talks to me after the act. About all kinds of secrets. He knows they won’t travel far, because who would I tell, and who would even believe me if I did?”
“They are not meant to talk to you. Ever. Not during your Purpose or in the light-hours. What if you recognise his voice?” Iris says. She has finished her studies. She can probably recite the contents word for word. If she’d only share some of it with me, maybe I wouldn’t ask any more ignorant questions.
Lord Darwin spoke to me…
Maybe because he never intended on picking me, so voice recognition or not, it would never be a problem.
“Besides Sire’s occasional orders, none of the lords have ever spoken to me,” Daisy muses, looking at her meal. “I am thankful. I do not wish to know them outside of my Purpose. It would confuse me.”
Ana looks at Iris. “You would be surprised how much you rely on sight to give you information. I feel lost in the dark. Anyway, I’ve never spoken to a lord outside of my room either, so I cannot recognise anything… And his touch and voice become one at night.” She lowers her voice. “We are in love.”
“You're not,” Daisy says, lifting her hand to soothe Ana’s back, concerned. “Don't talk like that. You’ll get hurt.”
“Fur talk like that,” Iris spits out.
I snap my eyes to her, narrowing her to a tiny target in my vision. I should warn them about you.
"Love is not such a bad thing,” Blossom offers, placing her spoon in an empty bowl.
"It’s not a virtue.” Iris darts her gaze around the table, trying to pull in an ally. She doesn’t get one. “It's dangerous."
"He will let you go,” Daisy says, gentle but firm. “You will leave The Estate when you stop birthing, but he will stay. And he will continue with a new Silk Girl or be pleasured by the House Girls."
Blossom shrugs. "Nothing lasts forever. She can enjoy it while it lasts. That’s not unseemly."
I look at her. "What does that mean?"
Blossom glances across at me. "Nothing lasts forever? Well, she is a Silk Girl today and in love. Then she’ll be a Sired Mother, and she'll have the love of the babies. She will be fine in both places.”
Oh. I see.
"Love is such a Common issue.” Iris turns her nose up and takes a sip of juice, as though to swallow the conversation. “It's simply parasitic."
Suddenly, a blur of white catches my eyes.
I glance out the long, sweeping window that exposes the large courtyard surrounded by high limestone walls.
Through the thick glass, a girl drops backward to the lawn as though she passes out. A man thunders over, Kong, I recognise him, and he drops to check on her.
Wow, he got to her side fast…
He reaches for her cheek, but she flinches away. She looks like a tiny fairy, and he is her monstrous Guardian. Kong is a huge Xin De male, easily two feet taller and three times thicker than her. It dawns on me then, that must be what I look like beside the king.
Ana interrupts my thoughts when she addresses Iris with subtle disdain. “I’m in support of The Revive, Iris. So, if by Common, you mean Human, then yes—"
"Who is that?” I interrupt, protecting Ana from oversharing her thoughts with Iris.
“Who?” Blossom turns around just as the girl waves Kong away, and lays still like a doll on the greenery. Her honey-brown hair arches like wings in the emerald mesh. “Oh, that’s the Queen."
No…
Tuscany?
The king’s sister?
Can’t be.
"How old is she?" My gaze rolls over her petite body, at her chest she clutches a small brown fluffy toy eagle.
Ana says, "She is in her late twenties, I believe. She was ten when she became Queen. So twenty-eight, maybe."
I cannot stop staring. "She looks no older than me."