Page 60 of Born for Silk
"Mm.” Her eyes, glimmering amber orbs, say she agrees. “I am odd, too. I'd be Marigold. It's bright, and the bees love them. I'll pollinate the entire planet until we are overrun with flowers.” She looks me over, nodding to herself. “We must look a sight lying on the grass together.”
I shrug. “I don’t mind, if you don’t mind.”
Her measured smile softens on me. “I can see you as London. It was supposedly a royal city.”
A moment of reluctance pauses her, but then she reaches for my wrist, lifting it up for her perusal. Her touch is lighter than the breeze.
"They mutilated you," she whispers.
She takes in the healing skin graft.
My brows pinch as I trace the sad curve of her lips. She has been through something traumatic, like me. Maybe. Or nothing like me, but something has scratched her soul. I can see the blemishes left in her eyes.
"They were going to eat me,” I admit.
She carefully lowers my hand to the soft, green blades. "Silk Girls aren't meant to have any negative experiences. It’s better for the cells, no cortisol, no stress, peaceful births and babies.”
My throat tightens. I’ve messed up. It’s not like it was a choice, but it is my problem. "I'm sorry, my queen."
"You're not a very good Silk Girl,” she mentions, and though the words are harsh, she utters them without malice. As though she were merely recognising the colour of my hair.
"I know."
She sighs long and slow. "I'm not a very good queen."
Wow.
"The fuck are you doing!"
Rome grabs my upper arm, dragging me to my feet, where I barely manage to stand.
It all happens so quickly. He is holding my arm too high. I’m too short. I cry out; the weight of my dangling body on my shoulder hurts. I feel as if I may split in two.
“Boy.” Kong is upon us. “Let her go.”
Rome drops me to the ground.
“Rome.” Tuscany breathes. “Don’t.”
I fall like a wet cloth, the grass scraping my arm as I land. Shocked, I peer up at him, shrinking into a tiny, insignificant puddle at his huge feet. I scoot backward on my backside.
He points at me. “You’re out!”
“Rome!” Tuscany yells.
“My king,” I plead, shaking hard. “She was sad. I was just talking to Tuscan?—”
“What?” He jolts toward me. “Did you just use her name?” If he could burn me to nonexistence with his dark, cruel gaze, he would. “You will never speak her name again! She gave that up for you people! You will never speak again. And that is a damn kindness. No more questions from you. No more special treatment. I don’t care who you are. I understand the need for obedience and conditioning right the fuck now!” he roars, his body shaking with rage. “There is no place for a girl like you here! You’re lucky you have your pretty throat. Get her out of my sight!”
His words are bullets, and they find their target, right in my heart. “My king, please,” I beg.
“Sire!” he roars, the sound booting me in the chest, his eyes burning with fury so powerful it sparks through the air.
“Come, girl.” Kong grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet, nudging me forward.
Shallow breaths racket through me—words, panic, pleading, apologies, confusion, all bursting up my throat simultaneously.
I stumble but peer back to see Tuscany—my queen— standing, angry, and waving her little finger at his broad chest, but Rome glares at me. She reaches up and, with one finger, she directs his cheek back to her.