“Hit me in the feels a lot.” – Galena S.

“It was amazing.” – Kimberly Ann

Chapter 1

The wagon bounced over the terrain, jostling the iron cage that held me. My bruised shoulder banged against one of its thick bars. I grunted, the chains from my shackles clanking as I tried to steady myself.

With a loud crack, Lord Saggart's whip struck the dark canvas covering my cramped prison. “Be still, slave!”

I flinched at the sound, then curled my lip at the bastard, only brave because he couldn't see me through the thick fabric. The whip would find my back if he could.

I’d overheard him talking before we left and learned we were traveling to the king’s palace in Oxwick, less than a day’s journey from our village—my former village. Lord Saggart was giving me to the king as payment for owed taxes. My nightmare was finally coming to an end. Serving the king had to be better than being owned by Lord Saggart. Anything had to be better than being Lord Saggart’s slave.

Another bump in the road, and my bruised shoulder struck the bars once again, a painful reminder of Lady Saggart’s broom handle hitting me earlier that morning. The spiteful cow just had to get a few last whacks in before I left. I winced, then sucked in my lips, trying to prevent myself from making more noise. Lord Saggart’s whip couldn’t reach inside the cage, but I still jumped every time it cracked, and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Eventually, the scents of the city wafted into my cage. The aromas of fresh bread and cooked beef mixed with the odors of rotten vegetables and horse manure. Voices mingled, most indistinct, but a few stood out: merchants beckoning customers to look at their wares, a baby laughing, another crying, and someone shouting about news of a ship sinking. Bells rang and horses’ hooves clopped against stone, and all of it made me wish I could see outside. What did a city look like? I wondered if I would ever find out.

The wagon stopped, and Lord Saggart spoke with someone, giving his name and saying he had a gift for the king—that was one way of putting it. Someone pushed the black cloth open enough to peer at me for a second. Then his peering eyes disappeared, and the wagon continued a short distance before we stopped once more.

Afternoon sunlight blinded me when Lord Saggart removed the canvas with a swoosh. He unlocked my cage, then grabbed my arm and yanked me out. Pain shot up the limb into my shoulder, and fresh scabs on my chest from the last time the lord had “fun” with me opened. I scrambled toward him to lessen the force of his pull, trying to go with the motion so I wouldn’t end up face-first on cobblestones. With an awkward stumble, I barely managed it.

“Idiot,” he said. “You’d best not make me look like a fool in front of the king. Now come,” he sneered. “And keep on your feet.”

Like it was my fault I’d nearly fallen.

With his hand wrapped around my upper arm and his fingers digging into the muscle, he hauled me toward an enormous, gleaming white building, leaving the two farmhands he’d brought with instructions to stay with the wagon. We went through a thick archway taller than four people. I gazed up with my mouth agape and floundered for a step.

Lord Saggart tightened his grip, drew me toward him, and lowered his head until his breath grazed my ear. “What did I tell you, you fool? Do you think I won’t use my whip in here?”

Normally, fear would engulf me, and I’d shake and cower at his threat. This time, though, I dared to glare at him, not bothering to hide my hatred. His dark, beady eyes narrowed into angry slits. He knew as well as I that he wouldn't use his whip there. He’d whispered the threat for a reason. We were at the palace, and he didn’t want anyone to hear. He wanted to look good in front of the king and impress anyone else watching who might be important. Even I knew that, fool and idiot though I might be—at least according to him.

I gawked as we passed six life-sized statues of majestic horses running across a long, shallow pool. Perfect greenery surrounded the pool’s sparkling water, without a rogue shrub branch to be seen, nor a single blade of grass out of place. My eyes scanned the dozens of columns and arches that encircled the expansive courtyard, all brilliant white and trimmed with gold and royal purple accents. Five round royal purple domes topped the palace, the largest in the middle, with a golden spire that reached toward the sun.

My gaze shifted downward and landed on a wide stairway before us. At the top stood two round columns more than twice my height, framing a set of double doors carved with beautiful uniformed patterns laced in gold. Two men in crisp, deep purple uniforms adorned with fancy gold buttons opened the doors as we approached.

Inside, I stood with my neck bent, marveling at the dome ceiling towering several stories above. How did someone get up there to paint it? Though one could scarcely tell it was artwork. Its blue sky and puffy clouds created quite an illusion.

Lord Saggart shook my arm, rattling the iron manacles on my wrists. The sound echoed through the palace hall. “Stop ogling,” he commanded, casting me a sideways glance of disapproval.

I worked to prevent my lip from curling, but the hatred in my eyes remained.

A man approached and led us to the throne room, a grand space covered in white marble floors with gold veins—I knew it was marble because Lord Saggart had a marble-topped table. The room’s columns dwarfed us, as did its ornate windows covered in lush, deep violet drapery.

I fixed my gaze at the man sitting on the throne a distance in front of us. We walked toward him with Lord Saggart’s fingers digging into my arm even more than before. How badly I wanted to wrest myself free and be done with him. But there were guards on either side, and my nightmare was almost over. Best not to ruin anything now. I would belong to the king soon, and I’d heard King Yanthos was a good king, a fair king. Though he had a reputation for mercilessly eliminating his enemies. Still, rumor said that as long as the king liked you, he’d treat you well.

I aimed to ensure the king liked me.

So I walked with Lord Saggart without a fuss and kept my lips sucked in to prevent myself from making any pain noises. As we drew nearer, King Yanthos grew larger and more imposing on his oversized throne, resting on a platform at least a dozen steps up. But despite his outfit of velvet and silk with elaborate gold trim probably worth more than a dozen slaves, King Yanthos looked like any other old man. If not for his regal clothes and the jewel-covered gold crown resting on his straight white hair, I wouldn’t have known he was a king.

Lord Saggart stopped a short distance from the bottom of the stairs, bowed his head and took a knee, dragging me down with the motion. I followed suit.

“Lord Saggart,” King Yanthos said with what sounded like either anger or annoyance to my ears.

Lord Saggart lifted his head. “King Yan—”

“Shut. Up.”

His words were so clipped, I couldn’t help but glance his way. I caught sight of the deep scowl he wore before Lord Saggart jerked his head back down and yanked my arm. I complied with his silent demand and lowered my head again as well.

“So,” continued King Yanthos, “you’ve come to give me a gift. I assume that gift is the slave you’re holding onto like a baby holds his blankie.”

A smirk tried to break free from my lips, but I clamped them together. I’d never heard anyone talk to my master in such a manner.

Lord Saggart raised his head. “Your Majes—”

“I said, Shut. Up.”

I held in a chuckle as Lord Saggart lowered his head again.

“Evandar,” the king said, “see to that boy’s manacles.”

Boy? I was short for a full-grown man and too thin because the Saggarts barely fed me, so I couldn’t blame him for the false assumption. Would it be to my benefit? Could it be?

The feet of a guard, Evandar I assumed, appeared before Lord Saggart and me. “Keys,” he said to Lord Saggart, who then fumbled through his bag to find them. Once he did, Evandar freed my wrists from the heavy irons and guided me to the side of the hall. He looked at the king, so I did as well.

“I accept your gift,” said King Yanthos, his face twisted in anger. “But this will be the last time I accept anything other than taxes owed, Lord.” He’d said the word “Lord” with so much contempt, it almost sounded like he hated Lord Saggart as much as I did.

“And don’t let me hear one more report of unnecessary cruelty or the fleecing of your villagers,” he continued. “You may take your leave.”

Lord Saggart raised his head, “But Your Majesty—”

“But what?” The king’s voice boomed, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I reevaluated my earlier assessment of not being able to tell he was a king if not for his clothes.

He lowered his voice, and his words were measured. “Don’t try my patience,” he said, and, somehow, the stillness of his voice felt even more intimidating than the boom he’d released a moment prior. The urge to cheer him on filled me though I contained it.

“You’re lucky I’ve allowed you to step foot in my palace. And that I haven’t confiscated your lands… yet. Now, get up and get out.”

The guards, all twenty or more of them, pounded their pikes against the floor. I startled.

Lord Saggart swallowed audibly, then looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. He rose, bowed, and left the hall. I continued to hold in my smirk, though my insides jumped up and down in elation. The man who’d filled me with fear for so long had been put in his place, and publicly to boot. It was a good day, and I belonged to King Yanthos now. Things were sure to improve.

Once the door closed behind Lord Saggart, King Yanthos fixed his gaze on me. His face had softened, but I couldn’t read his expression. “Now, what to do with you?” He moved his hand, gesturing me to come forward.

I complied.

“What’s your name, boy?”

My name? No one ever cared about my name. “Zayne, Your Majesty,” I said. I’d been called “slave” so often and for so long my own name sounded foreign to my ears.

“And how old are you?”

I contemplated lying about my age, letting him continue to think I was a boy, but then thought better of it. “Twenty-two, Your Majesty.”

“Been with Lord Saggart a long time?”

“Just over nine years, Your Majesty.”

“Mm.” He pressed his lips into a thin line, scrutinizing me for several seconds. “You’re not the straightest arrow in the quiver, are you, son?”

He could tell already? My voice gave me away if I talked long enough, but I’d hardly said anything. “I… I…”

“Right.” He winked. “You don’t have to answer, son.” He stroked his white beard and looked up like he was thinking. “I wonder…” After several seconds, he met my gaze again. “Are you the adaptable sort?”

For the king, I’d be adaptable. Anything to impress him. “I think so, Your Majesty.”

“And do you believe yourself strong of constitution?”

Constitution? Though I grew up around nobles and learned to speak properly, I didn’t even know what the word meant. I nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Good. Good,” he said. “I think you’ll do just fine. Yes, I like this idea,” he said, more to himself than to me, then turned to the guard standing to my right. “Evandar, have Garret summoned.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Evandar said with a bow, then turned and departed.

A brunette in a servant’s dress entered from a side door and approached the king. She handed him a silver chalice. “Your wine, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Nadya.”

She smiled, then bowed and left through the same door in which she’d entered.

King Yanthos swirled the wine, then took a sip before meeting my eyes once again. “Have you heard of the Hand of Death?” he asked.

Everyone had heard of the Hand of Death. “Yes, Your Majesty,” I said.

“He will be your new master.”

My eyes widened. He was giving me to the last known Wyra in existence? To his part human, part beast assassin? My palms sweat, and blood pounded in my ears. So much for my good day. So much for the end of my fear-filled nightmare of an existence.

“Don’t be afraid. That’s what tempts his beast most. If you can hold your fear, you’ll be fine.”

Hold my fear? Was he mad? I’d lived in fear for nine years with the Saggarts, and now this? This was even worse!

Evandar returned, his expression serious. He probably didn’t want to see the Hand of Death, either. King Yanthos directed the guard to take me to the side to stand with him. I followed Evandar’s lead, and the hall fell silent. The guards stood still as statues, and King Yanthos focused on his wine, casually taking a sip now and then. I shook uncontrollably and tried not to soak my slave’s rags in a nervous sweat.

After what felt like an eternity, the monster entered, his booted footfalls echoing in the hall. He walked with long strides and, despite the warm temperature, wore a thigh-length black leather coat with the collar turned up. Though considerably taller than me, with shoulders twice as wide, he didn’t look like a monster. Still, I trembled.

He knelt and raised his head to peer at the king. Two black lines running down his cheeks above his braided beard poked out of the collar of his coat. I’d heard of the lines. They were what marked him as the king’s Hand of Death.

Aside from the marks, though, he appeared to be a man, an inordinately muscular, large, fierce, imposing man who scared me more than any I’d ever laid eyes upon. That was saying a lot, considering the cruelties and abuse I suffered at the hands of the Saggart family.

I jerked my head down to avoid the sight of him. Even beyond his reputation and knowing who and what he was, something about looking at him terrified me. I was lucky I didn’t wet myself.

“Rise, Garret,” King Yanthos said.

Garret? That’s right. That’s who the king had told Evandar to summon. So the monster had a name other than the Hand of Death. Regardless of his name or appearance, he was a monster. There was no exaggeration to those words. Even lowly slaves like myself had heard the rumors of his victims, those with the crown of King Yanthos etched into their chests, drained of blood and missing so much flesh they were hardly recognizable. It was said that no one could describe his beast form because no one who’d seen it lived to tell about it.

“I have a gift for you,” King Yanthos said to him, then ushered me forward. “Zayne, say hello to your new master.”

I tried to look at the monster, now standing and even more imposing than before. I only kept my eyes on him for a second before I felt as though I might vomit. “Hell–hello, Master,” I said as I stood trembling in my worn shoes.

“A slave, Your Majesty?” he said with surprise in his voice. But even laced with surprise, his deep bass resonated throughout the massive room. It was the type of voice you’d expect from a man his size, the type that would be sexy if it came from a lover whispering in your ear, but one you’d never want to hear while in the woods by yourself.

“Why not?” the king asked. “You have no one to take care of your home, and I thought he might be a nice reward.”

A gift? A reward? Of course. I had no feelings. My thoughts didn’t matter. I’d just been handed to the king by my previous owner as “payment” for missed taxes. Why not hand me to another? The life of a slave, passed from person to person, now from person to monster.

Lost in both fear and my seething thoughts, I missed part of their conversation, but then some of the king’s words caught my attention. “If you kill him, well, he’s only a slave. I can always find you another.”

I glanced at King Yanthos’ aged face, a large portion of it covered in a white beard that surrounded a jovial smile that didn’t match the words he’d just uttered. If he kills me? My fears weren’t unfounded.

The rest of my time in the throne room passed as a blur. Before I knew it, I was following the monster through the room’s side doors, staring at the back of his leather coat and the long braided ponytail, interwoven with leather strips, that hung from the crown of his head. The lower portion of his head was bald same as mine. I had a curly crop of brown hair at my crown, but kept the rest shaved per orders of my previous owner.

People in fancy clothes, and even uniformed guards, darted away from the beast before me, averting their eyes and giving him a wide berth as he approached. I wished I could dart away, run away, crawl into a hole—anything to escape being this man’s prisoner.

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