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“Quiet, Arianette, be a good girl.”

I’m standing by the edge of the stage in my leotard and tights. There’s an audience tonight. They’re enthralled by the boy on stage, how mature he looks in his blue suit, how cleverly his fingers move over the chords. I’m nervous, my stomach aches. I tug at the sleeve of my uncle’s jacket.

“Shhh!” he snaps. I haven’t even said anything.

There are two different rows of children. One for performers. One for the others. I’m jealous of the girls’ dresses. Of their styled hair and the makeup on their eyes and mouth. I glance down at my scuffed ballet shoes and once again feel that fullness–the ache.

“Uncle,” I whisper, not wanting to interrupt the boy on stage. I shift on my feet, fingers pressing between my legs. “I need to go–”

My eyes snap open, bladder screaming, swollen and achy from the urgent need to urinate. I move to toss my legs over the edge of the bed, to stand, but my knees slam into hard metal and my head crashes above. “Ow,” I yelp, slowly becoming awarethat I’m still in the cage. Also aware that I need to pee–really fucking bad.

“Let me out.” I rattle the cage. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Quiet,” Hunter mumbles. Ares has moved his nose next to an opening in the iron, giving me a long sniff.

“Quiet, Arianette, be a good girl.”

That night is burned into my psyche, the excitement of finally getting to perform. The hope that I’d win approval, show that I’m worthy. Useful.

I shudder at the memory, which doesn’t help the urge forcing me to clench my legs together. I whine, “I need to go to the bathroom. For real.”

“You’re in there until the King says otherwise,” Damon says, feet coming into view as they hit the floor and he stands up. “Fuck, that bed is comfortable.”

“Can’t say the same about the chair,” Hunter grumbles. A moment later he also stands, and I watch their bare feet just outside my cage. “Ares,komm.”

“Where are you taking him?” Damon asks, standing. I crane my neck, trying to get a better view, but all I see is him shoving his hands down the front of his shorts to scratch his balls.

“Outside.”

“You’re taking the dog outside to pee, but you won’t let me?” I shout, rubbing my hand down my back. It aches from sleeping on the floor, just like the rest of my body.

“Ares didn’t sneak into the King’s room and steal his shit,” he throws out, before heading out the door with the dog.

Damon squats, making himself eye level with me.

“Please,” I beg him. “I’ll come right back in.”

“Sorry, Baroness. I already fucked up by covering for you once. I’m not doing it a second time.”

“I’ll do whatever you want.” I squirm, twisting. I think of the things I know he likes. “You can pierce me. I’ll touch you. Lick you.” My mind scrambles. “You can do it in public.”

“Is it that big of a deal if you piss on yourself?” His eyes narrow, watching me. “You’re literally locked up in a cage. Like an animal. Well,worsethan an animal.” He snorts, obviously thinking about Ares, who slept comfortably at his owner’s feet. “You fucked around and found out, sister, now you reap the consequences.”

He rises and moves out of view. Itisa big deal. Good girls don’t make messes. They’re quiet. They’re unseen. I’ve broken every one of those rules since I’ve been here and like Damon said, I fucked up.

I killed Armand because he was a traitor, but no one knows that.

“Let me out!” I scream, slipping my fingers through the grate. I jerk and shake the stiff, cold metal, but it doesn’t budge. Breathing hard, I freeze when I hear the hard flow of water–no, not water–it's the steadystreamof Damon relieving himself in my bathroom. The sound triggers my bladder, a spasm running down my body. Squeezing my eyes, I use every ounce of will to hold it in, but I know the second before it happens that I’ve lost control.

A moment later, warm liquid floods out. “No,” I sob, the urine spreading. “No.” It seeps out from under the iron onto the floor. “No, no, no, no…”The wail is both foreign and familiar. Humiliating and raging. I’m angry with myself. Angry for being so weak and stupid andbad. I kick the end of the bed, busting my toe. “Ahh! Fuck!”

The toilet flushes and he returns, making a show about not stepping in the mess. “Gross,” he says, his face out of range.“Filthy.”

“Fuck you!” I shout, hating him. Hating myself. With a disgusted noise, he leaves, and I let the shame wash over me. Neither Damon nor Hunter are going to release me. The King will find out. They’ll all know. I’m dirty and bad.

Just like my uncle always said.

I’ve just founda dry spot at the top corner of the bed when the pad of soft footsteps enters the room. A series of snorts and sniffs follow, the dog's black nose edging around the wet pool, although never stepping into it. Even he doesn’t want to get soiled.