Page 44

In his other hand, he held a whiskey glass. “Open your mouth.”

Briony could do nothing else but obey. She parted her lips, and Toven tugged her head back by the hair.

He poured the whiskey into her mouth, letting it splash over her lips and trail down her chin, dripping down her chest.

She squeezed her eyes closed, trying not to cough against the burn of it. She heard the whiskey glass shatter as it was tossed away, and then his hand was low on her hip, his fingers curving around to press against her backside as he coaxed her against him.

She grabbed for his shoulders as he tugged her head further back, exposing her chest and throat to him.

She could only see the upside-down ceiling, but she nearly jumped out of her skin at the electric burn of Toven’s hot mouth on her chest. His tongue glided from the top of her bra up to the pulse in her neck.

He was licking up the whiskey. A squeak popped from her throat, and her back ached at the position even as fire pooled under her skin.

She could feel his teeth at her throat, and then he was sucking kisses over her breasts, licking up any drops still left. Her chest heaved for air, and just before he pulled her up to stand tall, she felt his fingers release her backside before swiftly coming back to slap a cheek.

She grunted, and his tongue slipped over her throat as he raised her, up her chin, stopping before her mouth.

When she was upright, she couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Go,” he said, throatily. “Take your dress and wash it out.”

Briony nodded, her heart thundering. She gathered her dress and ran to the door, not daring to look at any of the men in the room.

***

Briony turned the water to scalding for her bath. Her skin was electrified in every place Toven’s mouth and tongue had been, and she was mortified that in any other situation, she would relish the memory of it. But now she wanted the water to burn the memory off her.

To be so reminded that she was property in the same breath as feeling Toven Hearst’s mouth on her skin was … a mess. And she cringed with the knowledge that this was surely just scratching the surface of what others were going through.

Once she’d scrubbed every single inch of her body, twice, she was better able to focus her mind, and after reheating the water, one thing came back to her.

Liam needed a text on boundary lines. Specifically his father did. And Liam had mentioned Ashmont, too, an abandoned village in the west on the other side of Bomard’s dead tree forest. What could they be doing in the west? Was it another attempt at leaving Moreland?

Not for the first time did she wonder how the countries across the sea felt about Mallow’s seizure of Evermore.

When Briony thought she had burned off the feeling of Toven’s tongue and Canning’s knuckles, she wrapped herself in her dressing gown and stood by the window.

There was a quiet knock on her door. And even though she knew exactly who it was, she told him to come in, even in just her robe with wildly drying hair.

The door opened quietly, and Briony continued to stare out the window. When he didn’t say anything, she finally turned to face him.

Toven stood in the doorway, not daring to enter. He leaned against the frame, affecting casualness, but his fingers were twisting his Bomardi ring.

She didn’t know what to say. So she skipped it.

“Why did I have the pox?” she said tiredly.

Toven pressed his lips together in a fine line. “There is a party every weekend. You’ve had pox for four weeks, too ill to attend. And now you are no longer ill. Clearly.”

“What kind of party?” Her voice cracked. “Is it anything like that,” she said, indicating what had happened downstairs.

He looked past her shoulder, out the window. “It’s a chance for Bomard to mingle and gloat over their victories. Nothing like that happens in public, but behind locked doors … in many ways, it’s worse.”

Trying to keep her breath steady under the weight of her ribs, she realized something. “Are there other Eversuns there? The heartsprings?”

When he nodded, her heart skipped a beat, her mind running wild with the opportunities—

“Cordelia Hardstark is no longer in attendance,” he said, clearly reading her. A heavy silence. “She doesn’t tend to play nice with others.”

She stared up at him, feeling a familiar irritation surge through her. “And will I be expected to ‘play nice’?”

His eyes flashed at her, and he said, “You’re too smart not to.”

He was right. She’d been looking for a way out of Hearst Hall. And now that it was here, in front of her, she wouldn’t spoil it.

“So we’ll go this Friday,” he said.

She turned back to the window. She felt him start to leave and said, “It was a good try. The whiskey.” He paused, and she didn’t look at him.

“It’s a shame Canning thinks he owns the line.

” Her mind twisted, and it felt like when she and Rory used to stay up all night, trying to plan for every eventuality on the battlefield.

“You’ll have to get one over on him somehow.

” Her voice was cold. “No one should order a Hearst around like that.”

Toven didn’t say anything in response. And a few moments later, the door clicked closed.

***

Friday evening arrived, and with it a new dress in her wardrobe.

Briony stared at the green silk swinging innocently on the hanger—the finest fabric she’d been offered yet.

It was draped like an Eversun dress, with thin straps and a drop back, but the silk would cling.

She traced the long hem; it would trail past her ankles.

A pair of black heels sat at the base of the wardrobe.

There was no bra appropriate to wear with it; that was, of course, the point of it.

She was to be shown off. What had Toven said? A chance for Bomard to gloat over their victories? Was she one such victory?

At a quarter past ten, he knocked on her door. He glanced over her once, his eyes not resting anywhere too long, and stepped inside to begin a portal. He was in relaxed Bomardi clothes—trousers and waistcoat, with the sleeves of his black shirt loose.

The portal yawned in the center of her room, and he reached his hand out for her tattoo.

Briony paused, wanting to ask a million questions before stepping into the unknown. “Will Mallow be there?”

“No. My father is with her elsewhere.”

Briony now had two million questions.

She stepped forward, feeling the silk move against her skin like water.

Her back was completely bare, and she wanted to ask if she’d worn the dress right, but he still hadn’t really looked at it.

As much as she had been violated the other day, hadn’t he been as well?

Forced to do something he didn’t want to?

“Will something similar happen tonight?” she asked, not elaborating. They both knew what she meant.

His eyes were cold and dead as he looked at her. “No. You will stay close to me, and we will let everyone see you so that we don’t have to return for several weeks. That’s all.”

She swallowed, shivering.

“There will be minor contact,” he said, clarifying her question. “Between us. No one else.” His eyes were on the portal, and she wondered how much minor contact either of them could stand.

She was about to ask him which estate the party was at when he reached for her again, grabbed her arm, and tugged them both through the portal.

She wished she’d asked. She wished she’d prepared.

The wind whipped her dress and her hair, and she heard the crash of the ocean.

They were at Biltmore Palace. They were at her family home.