03: My Ruthless Captor

LADY BAEVERA

At some point, another restless sleep crept in. This one dragged behind it a nightmare I’d not had in centuries.

Our first encounter. 

Two hundred years after Revandrel walked away from the Eldareth estate as a bloodied figure in the night, I met him at a formal dinner gathering.

I just walked into the event hall with gloved hands, a polished smile, and effortless elegance, when I felt a prickling gaze.

I looked up, and our eyes met.

Run. That was my first instinct. 

It had bothered me greatly. Because why would I, Baevera Eldareth, feel such a thing for him, little Evan of yesterday?

So what if he had filled out since then? What if his eyes now carried a hardness they never used to? What was that to me?

Why should the ghost of that last threat he spat at me the night he disappeared still echo in my head loud enough to shake me?

Annoyed with myself, I straightened. Anger steeled my spine as I lifted my chin and walked toward him with my head held high.

“What is a filth like you doing in a gathering such as this?” My voice dripped with the confidence I wore like a second skin. Also did an excellent job of hiding the fear in the pit of my stomach. “Or do you think I will stop attending social functions simply because a peasant like you walks the same universe?”

His eyes were still learning how to freeze back then. They had not mastered that cold void he wielded so expertly now. But I saw the hate and anger in them, even then.

“I am an Eldareth, Revandrel. You cannot harm me,” I said. “Your little speech that day? It never bothered me. I never lost sleep over it.” Lies. 

I had laughed. High, dismissive, a little too loud. Hoping it would hide my trembling nerves. “I do not care that you exist. I never have.”

I waited for him to say anything at all that might ease the heavy dread sitting in my chest. Something to make me believe I had nothing to fear. To help me believe my own words.

But he never said a thing. Not even one.

He simply turned and walked away.

However, not before he lifted his hand, holding up a single finger.

One.

Our first encounter.

Two more to go.

•••

My eyes snapped open.

I jerked upright from the cold, hard floor, breathing hard, my head pounding. I clutched my skull as I tried to calm down.

Of course, that memory would choose now to claw its way back into my mind. Now, when I was rotting in his dungeon. 

Almost a millennium later, and that single encounter still had the power to make me cringe. Gods, how foolish I had been.

Footsteps echoed nearby, drawing me out of my self-pity.

Another bath, incoming. I braced myself.

But it was not one of the guards who walked in. It was Revandrel.

Hands clasped behind his back, he strode into the dungeon like a king in-charge, his long black robe trailing behind him. 

A guard rushed forward with a key, unlocking the gate. I stepped back as he entered and came to a stop before me.

“How long do you plan to keep me here?” I asked, voice dry and brittle. “I hope you realize by now my clan knows I am missing. They know where to look.”

He tilted his head, indifferent. “And how would they know that?”

“I made the trip to the Union Tree with Lady Helory of House Cinx,” I said tightly. “She knows I am gone. And you will be among the top five names to be investigated.”

He shrugged, unbothered. “They have no proof. But they can certainly try.”

I was dehydrated, starving, cold, and bone-deep tired. “What do you want from me?” I rasped.

Silence.

Those cruel gray eyes studied my face for far too long.

“With a face like that,” he said at last. “I suppose if one looked long enough, they might find some... appeal.”

My stomach twisted. “I do not understand.”

Revandrel lifted his gaze back to mine. “It is absurd, is not it? That someone like you would have a face that pretty.”

That caught me off guard. I never expected such compliment from him.

“Gee, thanks. I had no idea you noticed,” I said dryly. “I distinctly remember you calling me an ugly mutt last time. Why, Lord Cel’theren, do you want me?”

He closed the distance and lifted my chin with two fingers. His touch was cold. 

“Get off your high horse, Baevera. Your blood may sicken me, but your body repels me more,” he growled. “I would sooner stick it into a drooling, unwashed feral.”

I flinched.

Of course I did. Only he could direct such disgust towards me and mean it.

His gaze swept over me like a razor, and I suddenly became painfully aware of how disheveled I looked. How weak I must seem.

“Your current condition aside, even if you were to clean up and dress in your finest Eldareth silks, standing at the height of your elegance and glory, I will still find you repulsive,” he added in a blunt tone. “Disgusting as rotten meat. Repellent, like grave mud.”

Ouch.

I stared back at Revandrel, refusing to let him see how deep his words cut. “I also have no desire for your body or your fangs near my neck, so I will take the venom you spee as the compliment it truly is.”

“Sure. I do not see why you should not,” he released me, stepping back just enough to give the illusion of space.

I crossed my arms. “Since you hate my blood so much, and the bond that formed between us, what are your plans? Kill me to rid yourself of it?”

“I plan to wait a few weeks for the unsealed bond to transfer to someone else,” he replied smoothly. “As much as I looked forward to finally having a bloodhost, the poison running through your veins will never be my substance.”

I tilted my chin, staring him down with all the mockery I could muster. “Let's say you do manage that. What makes you think you will survive the waiting period it takes for a new bond to form?”

“I will take my chances,” he said without missing a beat. “You, however, are in no position to worry about anyone but yourself. I have decided to put you to good use.”

“What does that even mean—“

“You are going to work here in Naked Den as a whore. For the highest bidders,” he declared.

My heart slammed to a halt. My arms dropped to my sides. 

No.

I must have misheard.

“You are kidding, right?”

“I am as serious as a feral episode.” Revandrel turned, walking a few paces away before glancing back, giving me a cruel smirk. “One thing you will learn about me, Baevera: I do not kid. And I never bluff.”

All the blood drained from my face.

“You you… you cannot be serious!” I screamed, composure gone. “What the fuck, Cel’theren!?”

“Oh, please. Spare me the dramatics.” He clicked his tongue. “Save it for those who do not know what kind of whore you really are beneath all that highborn grace.”

What the hell? I glared at him.

“Pretending to put up a fight will not change a thing. Not the outcome, and certainly not who I know you to be…” His voice dropped and he whispered slowly. “…Red Mask.”

The breath punched out of me, and I staggered back like he had struck me. In a way, he had.

He did not just say that.

“What…what did you just call me?” I croaked, eyes wide.

He sucked his teeth. “Word on the street is Red Mask was one of the best whores the world ever had. I will have you know, your retirement caused depression in half the wealthy males’ population.” His gaze dragged down my body. “Though for the life of me, I cannot fathom why.”

I could not breathe.

Oh gods. Oh cruel, merciless

gods…

My legs buckled, and I sank to the ground. Suddenly, I was feeling cold and dizzy.

This was not real. It could not be real. Had to be a nightmare. A hallucination. Anything but this.

“But no matter,” Revandrel continued airily. “Far be it from me to judge males for their terrible, terrible taste in females.”

“How did you know?” I choked out.

“I happen to know Jolan Kolls.”

Jolan. He knew Jolan.

How well? How much did Kolls tell him? Does he know everything?

My heart hammered so hard in my chest, I was surprised he could not hear it.

“You know, I followed Red Mask’s career from start to finish,” he drawled, amused. “A century of pure whorism and profit. Legs spread wide for whomever offered the highest coin. Honestly, it is a blessing the world does not know your real name.”

“Stop… St-stop talking…” I could not breathe. I was going to pass out. 

“Anyway, I am giving you the chance to become the best version of yourself again. I bet that century was the highlight of your life.” He smiled coldly. “Consider this the beginning of another. Your second chance to do what you love.”

I shook my head really hard. “I do not want to.” 

“Oh, but I think you will.”

“And if I refuse?” I asked hoarsely. 

He smiled again. “I already intend to take everything you own. Starting with your docks. Your seaports. Your fleets. Everything under your name.”

“You will never get your hands on anything that belongs to me!” I spat, fury sparking. I wanted to claw his eyes out.

“Patience, Eldareth,” he purred. “Patience.”

He tapped his chin in mock thought. “Where was I? Ah yes. Since torture is already on the table, regardless of whether you become my whore, what else… hmm…” He smirked. “Ah. How about I tell the world that you are Red Mask? With proof, of course. The kind that cannot be denied.”

Blackmail. 

My hands started to sweat. My blood turned cold. 

“I wonder what they will do when they find out how you doubled the Eldareth wealth,” he snorted out a laugh. “I can already imagine the scandal. It will be the talk of this

century.”

I wanted to punch him. Shift into my beast form and rip him to shreds. But I was not stupid. 

Revandrel Cel’theren did not care that I was a female. He would hit back. And he would hit harder.

I will not cry. I will not cry. Heavens, please do not let me cry. Not for him. Never for him.

I gripped my clothes so tightly my knuckles went white. My body was shaking visibly now.

He saw it all: the battle in my eyes, the fierce shimmer of tears I refused to shed. 

And he smiled. Truly smiled. 

Gods, he looked like the devil when he did.

“Ah, there it is. The infamous Eldareth pretense. All of you were such good fucking actors.” He took a step forward, watching me like I was entertainment. “Save the drama for the exhibition. It is in three days,” he advised me. “Sell the audience whatever fantasy you like. Pretend you are still a virgin, I do not give a damn, whatever floats your boat. All I care about is the coin you will bring in.”

“I will not do it.” The words came out broken and desperate. I hated how I sounded, but I could not help it. 

He snorted. 

“Give me any torture you want. Whip me, skin me, break my bones on the rack, use the iron chair, the flaying hook—hells, stake me to the pyre. But not that!” I cried, panting. “Anything but not that...”

“You will need a proper bath and food if you are going to be worth even one glance, so you will be moved to the quarters,” he continued like I hadn’t spoken at all. “For what it is worth, I still do not believe you are Red Mask. I still think Jolan fed me a load of bullshit.” 

Revandrel’s gaze ran over me again, the look of disdain unmistakable. “If you were a succubus, it may be a bit more believable. Those ones were made for sex. It is who they are, it is their identity. Then there is you…my fucking Urekai stepsister.”

“That is because I am not Red Mask or whatever!” I shouted at the top of my voice. “You do not believe it either, so why are you selling me out?!”

He shrugged lazily. “I am keeping an open mind. You know that saying; ‘do not knock it till you have tried it?’ I am counting on it.”

“You are not listening to me! I will not do it!” I was panicking. It was in my heaving chest, in the shrill of my voice. “Is this what you do now? Blackmail females into whoring for you? I always knew you were a monster, Revandrel, but I never pegged you for a trafficker!”

“That is because I am not,” he grinned at me. “You are the first and last of your kind, Lady Baevera. Unless there is another daughter of Magnus Eldareth out there I know nothing about.”

“Do not do this…please...” I shook my head miserably. “I beg of you, please.”

The amusement drained from his face then, and he dropped all mask of playfulness. “I love the way you beg. Practice more because you will be doing more of it in the future. This is just the beginning.”

Shame washed over me. Yet I still whispered, “Please.”

“You owe me, and I am collecting.” In a cold, final tone, he added. “Get ready for the exhibition.”

Then, he was gone.