Before she could fully absorb the gold-veined marble beneath her feet, Astaroth snapped his fingers. The sound cut through the air like a whip crack.
From a shadowed corner, a figure stepped forward—a girl no taller than Natalia's shoulder, with cheekbones that could slice paper and eyes the color of frozen garnets.
Her wings folded against her back, black feathers rustling like whispered threats as she bowed her head, never once blinking or breaking her gaze from Natalia's face.
"Vassal, prepare to give the pet a bath," Astaroth said, the corner of his mouth sinking as he inhaled deeply through his nose. "She reeks of Earth." He reached out, thumb brushing across Natalia's dirt-smudged cheek.
"And don't forget to clean up her face while you're at it." Natalia's jaw clenched, her fingernails digging half-moons into her palms. Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths as she stared back at him, nostrils flaring.
"I am not your PET!" The words exploded from her throat, each syllable a bullet. Her face burned hot enough to scorch. "You asked my name—Natalia Iverson—so USE it!"
She lunged forward against her chains until they bit into her ankles, drawing blood that trickled warm between her toes.
"Call me 'mortal' or 'toy' again and I swear I'll—" The rest died as the girl's fingers clamped around her arms like iron bands, crushing muscle against bone.
Astaroth's mouth curled into a lazy smile, his eyes glittering with something that might have been respect—or hunger.
"You will not speak to the Master that way." The girl's fingers dug deeper into Natalia's flesh, each fingertip a separate point of pain. Her ruby eyes narrowed to slits, pupils contracting to pinpricks.
"He can address you however he wishes." The temperature around them plummeted ten degrees, frost crystallizing along the edges of Natalia's vision.
Astaroth slid between them with liquid grace, his wing extending to create a barrier. "Easy there, vassal." His voice dropped an octave, vibrating through the marble floor.
He pried the girl's fingers from Natalia's arm one by one, revealing five perfect claws indentations, each filling with blood. "Our guest bleeds red, you see."
He traced a fingertip across the marks, his touch feather-light. "Fascinating how easily they break, isn't it?" Natalia's jaw clenched at "they," but she found herself leaning toward his warmth, away from the girl's winter-breath.
The vassal's spine snapped straight under her master's gaze, her breath hitching as she reached for Natalia with fingers still crusted with blood. The chains rattled like death tolls as Astaroth thrust them into the vassal's waiting hands.
Natalia's throat closed, her lungs burning as she swallowed a silent scream: Don't leave me with her. The girl's frozen-garnet eyes promised retribution, and Natalia found herself inching closer to Astaroth—the devil she knew versus the demon who'd just tried to flay her alive.
"She will not harm you unless I command it," Astaroth said, his attention already consumed by a leather-bound tome. The words sliced through Natalia's thoughts like he'd carved them directly into her skull.
His hand slashed the air in dismissal, and Natalia's heart slammed against her ribs as the vassal's iron grip closed around her arm, dragging her toward her new horror.
The baths were hidden near Astaroth's lavish suite. Natalia hesitated at the threshold, her hand trembling on the iron handle before she pushed through.
The spacious room with its polished stone walls promised comfort, yet felt like another prison. Steam rose from the massive stone tub—inviting as a warm bed, threatening as quicksand.
She inhaled sharply, jasmine and honey flooding her senses, making her dizzy with longing for cleanliness while her mind screamed to flee.
The warmth that caressed her skin felt like both salvation from the castle's icy drafts and a trap designed to lower her guard. Her fingers clutched at her travel-worn clothes, protective armor and shameful rags all at once.
"Strip," the small girl commanded. Natalia crossed her arms over her chest, fingers digging into her sleeves. The young girl rolled her eyes and placed one hand on her hip.
"You can't bathe while fully clothed," she said, the corner of her mouth quirking upward as she gestured toward the steaming water with an open palm.
Natalia's mind raced between panic and practicality. The bath's steam beckoned with promises of warmth, yet exposing herself to this strange creature felt unbearable.
"Turn around while I enter," she demanded, her voice wavering between command and plea. The vassal crossed her arms and shook her head, eyes unblinking. Natalia's fingers trembled at her shirt buttons—should she refuse and suffer the cold, or submit and lose this final dignity?
She tore at her clothes, desperation mounting as she wrestled with her pants against the relentless chains. Tears brimmed in her eyes, threatening to spill over as she fought against her restraints.
The vassal observed her torment with cold indifference, letting her struggle for what felt like an eternity. Finally, with a dismissive flick of his wrist, the chains fell away, the soft clink resonating in Natalia's ears like the hollow sound of defeat.
"Don't even think about running. My wings will strike you down before you take a single step," the vassal hissed, her eyes blazing a fearsome red.
Natalia shuddered, feeling utterly vulnerable under the intensity of that menacing stare. She managed only the slightest nod, her body trembling as she turned toward the murky water.
Each step was a struggle, yet a flicker of strength returned to her weary limbs. Only now did she realize how the day's chaos had drained her energy.
As she slipped beneath the surface, Natalia's shoulders dropped three inches and a sound escaped her throat—something between a moan and a sigh. The water lapped at her collarbone, washing away grime she hadn't realized was there.
The vassal's footsteps clicked against stone as she approached, cloth in hand. Natalia's arms crossed over her chest.
"I'll do it." Her voice came out higher than intended. She extended her palm, fingers trembling slightly. The cloth passed between them, cool and damp. Natalia scrubbed at her arms, keeping her eyes fixed on her own skin while the weight of the vassal's gaze pressed against her. She cleared her throat.
"So... do you have an actual name? Or just 'Vassal'?"
The winged girl's eyebrows lifted a fraction. Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "Vassal," she repeated, as if Natalia had asked if water was wet.
"Right, but before that. What did your mother call you?" Natalia's history textbooks flashed through her mind—feudal systems, sworn servants, territories bound to lords.
The vassal's eyes narrowed, then softened, her mouth twisting as though tasting something both bitter and sweet. "Zila," she finally whispered, the name escaping like a secret she shouldn't share.
Then louder, her spine stiffening: "Vassal Zila, mistress. You are clean enough." She thrust a black silk robe forward, fingers trembling slightly. "The vanity. Now. Master expects—"
She stopped, swallowed. "Master demands perfection."
Natalia lingered in the water's embrace, one more moment of warmth before the cold uncertainty waiting beyond. The robe felt both salvation and prison as she wrapped it around her dripping skin.
Zila's hand brushed her shoulder, guiding her to the chair—gentle, then immediately firm, as though catching herself in an act of kindness. A second creature appeared at Zila's gesture, studying Natalia with eyes that couldn't decide between curiosity and contempt before slipping away.
Zila's fingertips brushed Natalia's scalp, radiating a gentle heat that made her shoulders drop. Not like Astaroth's scorching presence that had left her skin prickling with awareness.
This was softer, like sitting beside a hearth after being caught in rain. Natalia's tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth, questions forming and dissolving.
Zila," she whispered, testing the name again. The vassal's hands paused for half a heartbeat before resuming their work.
Natalia glanced around the stone chamber, searching for windows, exits, anything that might tell her where in this realm they were.
She caught Zila watching her in the mirror, those garnet eyes narrowing slightly. Natalia's fingers twitched in her lap, mentally counting the turns they'd taken in the corridor, calculating how far she might get before wings would overtake her.
"What are you?" The question exploded from Natalia's lips before she could stop herself, the words hanging between them like a thrown dagger. Zila's fingers froze mid-motion, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled sharply. Their eyes locked in the mirror—a battle of wills that made the air crackle with tension.
Zila's hands descended again, yanking Natalia's hair upward with sudden force that made her scalp burn. Each twist and pin felt like a small punishment as Natalia's dark locks were wrenched into submission. Blood pounded in her ears. She bit her lip against the pain, refusing to show weakness.
"We are dark fae, Shadreals," Zila finally hissed, her ruby eyes blazing with ancient pride. She jerked Natalia's chin up with cold fingers.
"Your kind once trembled at our mere whisper." With a savage final twist that made Natalia gasp, Zila secured the creation and slashed her hand through the air, summoning another fae whose skin seemed to absorb the room's shadows.
The questions about Shadreals died on her tongue. She leaned forward, straining to catch their whispers.
"—master would like her in this, don't you think?"The newcomer dangled a garment between two fingers, lips curling upward as she glanced at Zila. The fabric caught the light—iridescent blues and purples shifting like oil on water.
Zila's fingers reached out, tracing the edge of a revealing cutout. Her eyes widened, pupils dilating as she nodded. Natalia's pulse quickened.
She gripped the arms of her chair, nails digging into the wood as the vassals approached with the dress, their steps synchronized like dancers in a performance where she was merely the prop.
"Dress!" Zila commanded, thrusting the garment toward Natalia. The fabric slipped through her fingers like water, loops and ties dangling in bewildering patterns.
Natalia turned it one way, then another, heat rising to her cheeks as she searched for anything resembling a sleeve or neckline.
Zila's nostrils flared as she snatched it back, muttering something that sounded like "humans" under her breath.
Cool fingers brushed against Natalia's ribs as Zila guided her arms through hidden sleeves, twisted panels of fabric across her torso, and secured clasps so tiny they seemed to disappear into the material itself.
The deep violet shimmer caught the lamplight, casting strange shadows across her skin where cutouts exposed her collarbones, the curve of her waist, the small of her back.
Natalia's reflection stared back at her—a stranger with her face, draped in darkness, looking almost fae-like minus for the smooth expanse of shoulder blades where wings should have been.
She tugged uselessly at a panel that dipped too low across her chest, her cheeks burning.
"Thank you," Natalia said softly to Zila, then immediately regretted the words. Gratitude to her captor—what was wrong with her?
Yet when Zila's eyes widened, revealing a flash of vulnerability beneath that hardened exterior, Natalia felt a confusing pang of sympathy.
She bit her lip, caught between resentment and an unwanted urge to reach out. Zila's face shuttered closed again, all business as she gestured toward the door.
With each step back to the hall, Natalia's stomach twisted into knots. Her feet dragged as if chained, while her heart raced traitorously forward. She despised the thrill that pulsed through her at the thought of an eagerness for those violet eyes that had burned into her memory.
She wanted to flee this nightmare and never return, yet some defiant part of her whispered: but what if there's more to learn?