Page 79

A few monsters grunt their support for Sir Jimmy, providing an answer to the unspoken question of whether Sir Jimmy will be protected while we’re in the castle. The gazes and nods of some very formidable monsters further confirm my belief that Sir Jimmy is in good hands. It’s better to have someone outside the castle if this goes wrong, and our Bianca would never want her father in danger.

Remy gestures toward the door. “Let’s go. One violent act and this is going to go badly.”

“About that, we all agree,” I mutter and nod to Sir Jimmy before Archie and I follow Remy and his knights toward the door.

Chapter53

Bianca

The wrought-iron cot is massive and definitely the appropriate size for the most likely dungeon dweller in Monster Land, but for me, it seems a bit lonely. The thin mat covering it doesn’t look clean, but my dress contains miles of fabric that will prove useful in the near future. The bathroom facilities consist of a jug in the corner, but hey, my first dorm room didn’t even have a jug, so there’s that. But nothing about the dank accommodations matters because Bastien’s drowning in guilt.

I stand at the bars, closest to where he leans against his. “It’s not your fault.”

He’s trembling, so tortured it breaks my heart. “But, Mistress, itismy fault. She would have released us—youand your pet Taran—if I hadn’t…”

I wrap my hands around the rusty bars, exceedingly miffed at being prevented from physically comforting him. “Feel inside me, Bastien. Do you feel how incredibly proud I am of you? You spoke truth to snarky, horned power. I’m beyond impressed and delighted.”

Unfortunately, neither my words nor my beaming pride make even the slightest dent in his poisonous self-loathing.

“I’mthe reason we’rehere.” He glances around the space as though it’s the worst possible setting in the history of the world. He clearly hasn’t used a portable bathroom at a three-day outdoor music festival.

I study the same exact reality that’s weighing so heavily on him. “It’s not that bad.”

His opalescent eyes are wide and disbelieving, confrontational even.

I squeeze my lips together as my body shakes with silent laughter. “You’ve seen Archie’s rutting shack, right? No jug in there.”

Bastien blurts a slightly unhinged laugh. “Mistress, sometimes I worry that you aren’t quite right in the head.”

I snort and I fully own it. “I may not beright, but there’s no one I’d rather be wrong with than you.” I lean my head against the metal. “Bastien, this ismyfault, if we’re blaming anyone butQueen Snootyup there. This entire affair was a total dereliction of proper mistress behavior and I’m completely open to having Pennie punish me for it.” I give him an overstated wink.

Bastien ignores my attempt at sexy humor. “If I had just remained silent, like a Taran…”

Oh, now, I’m snippy. “If you say one word about how you or any Taran should obey ignorant, bigoted rules, or how you shouldpretendyou aren’t sentient, or that you should have groveled before that horned bully upstairs… well, I don’t know what I’ll do.” Convincing threatsarechallenging; I’m feeling some empathy with my dad. And ice cream shops aren’t handy, so…

Bastien’s irritation spikes. “We have to face the truth about the world we live in…” He blathers some seriously hefty nonsense about how I should beg to see the queen, disavow everything he said, and promise to sufficiently discipline him for his inexcusable outburst.

Blah, blah, blah… blechy blah…

I’m barely even listening because pure stupid hurts my ears. Nope, I’m plotting my next course of action, waving the white flag on using words to wage a war on his deep-seated, lived experience of victimization and subjugation. He’s known me for a few very passionate days. He’s lived horrors for a lot longer than that, fear as his constant. We aren’t going to solve this today, but I’m grateful to know exactly where his pain lives and, after we get Nico back and are far from this dungeon, I’ll help him through all of that.

Oh, maybe my therapist might want the chance to date a hot monster in exchange for providing counseling. This realm—starting with the queen—needs a truckload of therapy. The good doctor just went through a very public anduglydivorce. Maybe I’ll send her a wedding announcement one day.

In the short term though, I decide to test a distracting theory onMr. Verbal Self-Hating Vomit. I seize control of his body more abruptly than normal and deliver a couple biting nipple twists that inspire a high-pitched squeak from my darling Bastien.

His glare and dropped jaw precede a punishing, “Mistress!”

“Yes, dear?” I purr with syrupy sweetness. “Oh, sorry, do go on… all of that was riveting,truly.”

Bastien gapes at me. “We have to face the truth. Iamto blame!” He yelps deliciously as his sensitive nipples get a firm squeeze. “Mistress,” he whimpers, but whether that’s inspired by discomfort or arousal is a mystery to both of us. “Please, just let me take the…”

I pinch his ass—yup, I like this game. Then I test my remote spanking abilities, and his impressive squeal and ragged pants prove I’ve found a heretofore unexplored aptitude of mine.

“Mistress, just let me…” His words are overtaken by a satisfying whine that causes my inner badass domme to preen.

I summon my dedicatedget-resultstone as I say, “Bastien, tell me the truth.”

Mr. Pouty mutters, “Are you going to pinch me if I do?”