Niklaus pushes his tray away, cursing under his breath in revulsion. I watch the way he traces the lines over his knuckles. A simple gesture he only does when something deeply troubles him or makes him nervous. He does it over and over again as he works something out in his mind with a forehead ridged with tension and clenched jaw.
“Víentezech püvuiz.”
Jack and Sophia diverrt their eyes back down to their trays as a thunderous male voice whooshes over my shoulder. The warm breath is stained with the heady scent of pork and tobacco. I wrinkle my nose and refuse to turn around.
“Or is that not your native tongue?” the rumbling voice speaks again, seeming to command obedience with its baritone.
“Correct,” I respond curtly.
“You may look upon me when I speak to both of you.”
I turn in my seat before Niklaus does. He takes a long sip of his water, then rotates slowly.
The man before me is a thousand-year-old oak tree. I make eye contact with his belt buckle made of leather and solid gold. His muscles are that of a statue, protruding and made of stone from the finest sculptress. And I have to crank my head to stare straight up at him, at least six feet and eight inches from the ground.
“Up. Now.”
I examine the weapons of gold and diamonds hanging around his waist. The man does not wear a shirt. It’s all leather straps and weapons cutting off the circulation in his enormous pectoral muscles.
“Have we done something wrong?” I ask.
The man lowers himself to eye level, boring a set of strange, bloodshot eyes on me. Shiny, bronze skin, full red lips, and hair in a stunning display of braids twirled around a metal headdress on his head.
“You tell me. I do not have any documentation of your arrival. It’s as if you two have leaked in with a breeze through our ventilation system.”
I can’t help but have the urge to cower. His voice is a cathedral, low and ominous, rolling over me like a death sentence.
“We should not be here, you are right. We have broken no laws,” Niklaus responds.
The brawny, god-like man slides his glare to Niklaus, giving him a judgmental once-over.
“Follow me. Willing or unwilling,” he orders.
“Are you letting us go?!” I shove my tray to the side and stand excitedly.
“Now!” he roars, silencing the room.
My adrenaline fires spikes of energy through my spine. Before it’s too late, I lean across the table to Jack and Sophia.
“If we do not meet again, please know that you will both marry. You will both have children. They will be twins. And you will love them dearly.” I savor that little spark of hope that gleams in their eyes. “It…it was so special for me to meet the two of you.”
A hand catches on the inside of my elbow, and I’m towed away from our table. Chains are hooked and latched on our iron collars. Our large friend has an impenetrable grip as he hauls us down the long corridor where the music is louder and the stench of human feces and rusty metal is stronger. I curl my fingers on the inside of my collar, trying to soften the strain as I’m practically dragged across the brimstone floors.
I think about how I’m going to explain to my mom that I met her father in prison. That what she knows about him isn’t the whole story. He wasn’t born in Dementia. He lived in Vexamen for more than half of his life. And Sophia? I wonder if my father knew where she was really from. I wonder if he ever told my mother.
“You speak if you’re spoken to.” The man looks down at us from over his shoulder, curling his lip in disgust. “You disobey a command, I rape your woman and chop your body into tiny pieces.”
I release a startled breath, sticking my jaw out. He’s looking at only Niklaus now, and his expression is unwavering and absolute.
“Yes. Fine. We just want to leave,” I say quickly, before Niklaus can piss this guy off.
The doors open, grinding against the ground, and welcoming a gust of dusty air that sends the stray hairs on my face flying back. At first glance, I think the figure greeting us in the grand sitting room is a man based on the same lofty height as our escort, but it is not. The person smirking and nodding at our guard is a rather beautiful woman.
“Désvou niéz?” The woman nods to us, batting her wispy, long eyelashes.
“Yes. But they cannot understand you,” our escort replies, softening a bit for the woman.
She lowers her pointed chin, scrutinizing me with deep-set eyes, and enlarged pupils. Her manicured fingers caress glossy lips, then they return to her belt of gold daggers.