Queen Orelia’s castle was warmer than the ship, by far. Even the marble floor was warm to the touch on Faryn’s bruised and frozen feet, as if hot rocks had only just been removed from its surface. Yet, Faryn still had the urge to rub her arms furiously to ward off her chill. A chill that she didn’t think would go away no matter how warm her environment.
The slaves were lined up in a great hall that was dimly lit with sconces on the stone walls, the wax dripping down the candles along the walls and into creamy puddles on the floor. Faryn gazed around the hall, taking in the elegant columns with vines climbing their way around the marble until reaching the ceiling. Exotic flowers and plants filled the corners and tabletop surfaces. A fountain stood in the middle of the room in the shape of a Greek goddess, looking so much like Dido, a temptress carved in marble, her beauty and sensuality emanating from the stone. Dido’s statuesque form poured blood-red liquid from a pitcher into the mouths of a carved nude male and female who knelt before her in supplication. Their bodies were connected in an embrace, heads upturned, mouths open, both receiving what she offered. Wine, not water.
Where was she? What was this place?
She recalled stories regaled to her in her youth of places such as this. Where queens reigned supreme and wantonness was a daily ritual…
As Faryn watched the fountain, mesmerized by its uniqueness and sensuality, several male and female servants, dressed in only silver-chained loincloths, their torsos bare, entered the great hall. She gasped in shock at their near nudeness, even though she herself was completely without clothes. They walked past the fountain, scooping the wine into their own pitchers.
They approached the newly gotten slaves, who stood in a row, Faryn all the way at the end, as she’d been last to enter. The servants passed down the line, pouring wine into the slave’s parched mouths. When a female slave approached Faryn, she forgot about wanting to resist anything of this place and opened her mouth, greedily taking in the sweet wine. The female servant continued to pour until wine dripped from Faryn’s mouth, over her chin, down her neck and body. Nay, she was thirsty, but not that thirsty.
Faryn closed her mouth, wine splashing over her closed lips. She tried to back away but someone held her in place from behind, pulling her arms back so her chest was thrust out and she couldn’t move. Her back pressed against warm hard flesh—a male chest. The female servant who stood in front of Faryn leaned forward, her exotic jasmine scent mixing with the aroma of wine, as she gazed into Faryn’s eyes, assessing.
The woman pulled a linen square from somewhere and started to wipe away the spilled wine along Faryn’s chin and neck. When she moved to Faryn’s breasts, Faryn resisted, wanting to clean herself up. With a strength she’d not known she had, Faryn yanked her arm from the man’s grasp behind her and ripped the linen from the woman’s fingers.
“Dinna touch me,” she hissed.
The two of them only laughed and moved on to the next person in line. Another woman. But she did not resist their ministrations. If anything, she relented, closing her eyes. And Faryn was too shocked not to watch as the man and woman licked the wine from the other woman’s body.
Fingers roved between the woman’s legs, touching her in her most private place. Faryn gaped as the slave moaned at the touch. Gaped wider when her own body sparked a little twinge of something foreign and wicked.
More wine was poured over the woman’s body and then more mouths were upon her, sucking up the sweet liquid and tasting her flesh.
Faryn backed away, her legs growing weak. What was happening?
’Twas as if she’d been brought to a brothel. An oddly elegant and majestic brothel.
The lot them appeared delirious with pleasure. Eyes rolling back into their heads as lips, tongues and fingers stroked every part of each other. The other slaves in line, too, looked just as shocked as Faryn. Cheeks flamed red, eyes wide.
Before she could wrap her mind around what was happening, a shriek of pleasure left the slave’s lips and her body convulsed. Faryn’s own body pulsed with an unbidden hum.
Dear God, what was this place? The first gate of hell, Captain Noir had called it. But why Faryn? What had she done to deserve to be banished to hell? Queen Orelia’s den was an erotic nightmare.
She had to get away from here.
And then, from across the grand hall, her eyes locked on Captain Noir himself, a dark expression on his ruggedly handsome face that made her unsteady on her feet.
Mo chreach!
Was Orelia truly choosing so quickly?
Wraith hadn’t even a chance to enter the great hall before they were upon Faryn, for devil’s sake!
He stood, paralyzed, and somehow able to keep his mouth closed as the two assessors approached her, poured wine on her. Then his pride soared as Faryn took control of the situation, and they moved the next woman in line. But that didn’t get the sensual thoughts that were sparked out of Wraith’s mind. He imagined Faryn, her body writhing in pleasure, mouth half-open in a silent moan, eyes closed tightly as four of Orelia’s servants pleasured her. Mouths on her breasts, mouth on her pearl, hands brushing all over her flesh. Och, watch it would be like to see her climax, legs shaking, a moan of pleasure on her lush lips. The image was so blinding and real, his body reacted violently, cock twitching.
Jealousy filled him at the thought of anyone in this room touching her but him.
She was supposed to be his. He wanted to be the one to give Faryn pleasure.
And there was no time to waste, as he caught sight of Orelia from across the room, her own gaze riveted on Faryn. She twitched her fingers and the two assessors moved back to Faryn. Ballocks! Now or never. He stepped forward.
“Step away from the woman, ye heathens.”
The servants pulled back, their eyes filled with uncertainty. Lids lifted and a pair of startling glassy blue eyes locked with his. Faryn.
He clenched his teeth and hissed a breath. She was so beautiful, and from the look on her face, completely mystified. Seeing her thus only reaffirmed his goal to have her. Hell, he’d fight off every one in this great hall if he had to.
“Now, now, Captain Noir. Tsk, tsk,” came the queen’s voice as she melted from the shadows. How many times had he seen her come away from some darkened corner, pleasure filling her eyes at having seen her servants bring a slave, male or female, to fruition? “Would you rob me of my pleasure so soon?”
As if on command, four-dozen, at least, armed guards also stepped from the shadows, prepared to put him in the ground. And he had no doubt, as he’d seen them do just that the last time he was here to another bloke. Wraith was a damned good warrior, but not against nearly fifty men—those just weren’t good odds.