41~ IV ~
It had become clear that the shame was ingrained within her.
After so many years shying away from mirrors, horrified that her mother would catch her peeking at herself, Lena had come to fear her own reflection. Was ashamed of it. And now, more than ever, as she gazed at herself in the long glass beside the bureau, draped in the finest gown she had ever laid eyes on, she struggled not to wince.
At any moment, she expected her mother to come bursting in. To be struck and hollered at and locked away in her room for punishment. But nothing disturbed the gentle silence, save the quiet sounds of her own breathing.
And no one arrived to stop her from staring.
Never before had she seen the curves of her own body. Her nightgown had been a sack of cloth. A sheet to hide any trace of femininity. And her Sunday clothes had been very similar.
But this dress did exactly the opposite. Its tight, boned corset conformed to the slopes of her body like a wax mold, the skirt running in rivulets down over her legs, its smooth fabric whispering against her thighs. Her shoulders and arms were bare, and the sensation of the air against her skin made her feel naked.
She felt the most guilt upon the sight of her chest. And yet she could not break her sinful gaze away from her ample bosom, accentuated by the corset, creating hollows and swells she had never known. Could never have imagined.
Until now, she had never seen herself as a woman.
Lena tore her eyes up, finding her cheeks flushed in her reflection, and she ran a hand over the silk choker around her neck to distract herself. She'd never worn a piece of jewelry that hadn't been adorned with a crucifix.
And the lack of the cross's weight was incredibly liberating.
Lena allowed herself a final once over, convinced she would turn away as soon as she was certain she looked presentable. She had been grateful for the bathing chamber - and for the tub already filled with hot water she had discovered inside of it.
She must've soaked for an hour, and she considered herself lucky whoever was meant to receive her hadn't caught her so off guard.
Lena studied her long, blonde locks, now clean and somehow lighter and softer than she remembered. That bath seemed to have taken away more than just the dirt. It had washed away a great deal of the filthy memories and fears.
But there were still so many left.
A soft knock snapped her attention away from the mirror, and she felt her heart leap into a stuttering pace within her chest.
She smoothed down the dress against her torso, facing the door and clearing her throat. "Y-Yes?"
The sound of the lock turning was loud to her nervous ears, and when the door opened, she could not deny who she'd been anticipating.
But it was not him.
It was the man who'd led her to the room in the first place. And for some unknown reason, she felt her shoulders sag. Whether in relief or disappointment, she did not know.
"It is time," the man said gruffly.
Lena swallowed thickly, fiddling with her hands. "I…" she stuttered. "I'm afraid I could not find any shoes."
"You will not be in need of any."
"Oh." She squeezed her hands together, attempting to compose herself. "Of course. Yes." And she joined him at the door.
The Crown Princes of Hell…
Lena allowed herself one final, shuddering exhale before she accepted the man's arm.
I have brought this upon myself.
It truly was a feast fit for Kings.
Or, Princes, rather.
That man had led her through the labyrinth of hallways and into a dining hall so grand she had stopped dead in her tracks. A massive, glistening chandelier, adorned with thousands upon thousands of diamonds, lit the room, accompanied by torchlight from the sconces lining the walls.
The marble hall possessed one enormous round table, fitted with more chairs than Lena had expected and set with the finest silverware she had ever laid eyes upon. Flawless crystal glasses and gold place settings.
She was afraid to touch anything.
The man - her guide in all things, it would seem - led her to her seat, and for several minutes, she sat alone in the hall, gaping at all of its finery.
And she was only just beginning to grow confused when a sudden gust of air had her golden locks flying madly about her head, and a moment later, the proud Prince she had seen in the throne room was seated across from her.
She failed to stifle her gasp.
He was clothed in evening wear; a dark, fur-lined robe layered over a perfectly tailored tunic, with a crystal amulet dangling from his neck. His gray eyes were trained upon her, dark eyebrows slightly furrowed in curiosity - a stark contrast to his pale face. And that long, black, glistening hair fell like a curtain over his broad shoulders.
"We meet again, Miss Cross." He produced a slow, comfortable smile. "I must say, you look ravishing. I hardly recognize you."
She forced herself to relax in her seat, and she had just begun working up the courage to respond when a sudden swathe of heat and a roaring flame shocked her senses a second time.
The wild-haired and fiery-eyed man had appeared in the next chair over, amidst a settling shower of sparks. A blackening burn mark stained the marble on which his fingertips rested, and the infernos neath his lashes had fixed their gaze upon her. He waved away the tendrils of smoke rising from his body casually, adjusting his gold tunic and sweeping back the auburn locks that so resembled flame.
This time, Lena did not allow herself to relax. And yet, the crashing wave of water that rained down upon the chair beside the fiery man was still a great shock. The blue-eyed one became visible when the miniature hurricane washed away, its damage mostly contained to his seat. However, a few stray droplets from his soaking brown hair fell upon the fiery man's forearm, and Lena watched as he hissed and yanked it away, massaging the skin.
"Honestly, West - must you?" he snapped.
The blue-eyed man merely grinned, running his hand once more through his wet hair and squeezing out the sleeves of his white dress shirt.
Lena tore her eyes away from him and fixed them on the empty chair beside the proud one, waiting. She would control herself this time.
Several long moments passed as she awaited some magnificent display.
And yet, nothing.
"She looks as though she expects something," a voice mused, and Lena jerked her attention to the fiery man. He was eyeing her with no small measure of dark amusement as he played with one of his forks, heating up the metal until it glowed a vivid red.
But again, her response was interrupted, this time by the sound of heavy footsteps.
A moment later, the warm-skinned man she had been waiting for took his seat beside the proud one, slipping the neatly folded silk napkin from his plate and placing it in his lap.
"You look disappointed, Child," said the proud one, and Lena felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment.
She ducked her head, unable to bear their powerful stares, instead directing her attention to her nervous, twiddling fingers.
The next voice she heard was the warm and deep tone she remembered from the throne room.
"I am of a grounded element," said the warm-skinned man, and she could find no excuse not to look at him now, too terrified of appearing rude. "I cannot transform and shift as my brothers can." Of all their expressions, his look was kindest, and the sight of it brought her a small amount of ease.
"Forgive me," Lena murmured, her voice barely audible. "I meant no offense."
"Always so polite," said the proud one.
"And so skittish." This came from the blue-eyed man. The one known as West, or so it seemed.
Lena flushed again, trying to straighten up so that she appeared less frightened. She managed to paste a nervous smile upon her face, folding her hands neatly in her lap as her mother had taught her.
She had made a horrible first impression. This was no time to squander a second chance.
"Better," the proud one observed. "We shall eat when my final guests arrive. I am certain you are famished."
This reminded her of the two remaining chairs, empty at her sides. And she could not help the small ounce of hopefulness she felt well up inside.
"I believe introductions are in order."
She looked back to the proud one, glad of this. She was growing so lost.
Sweeping back his curtain of dark hair, the proud man gestured to the one with blue eyes. "My brother Leviathan, of the West," he announced, and a spark of recognition surged within her. She stared at the man's handsome, sly face, glistening with water.
She had read of Leviathan in her book.
Catching herself gawking, she quickly inclined her head to him, remembering her manners.
Leviathan was grinning when she looked back up, his white teeth sharp, his eyes dangerous. He reached for the goblet in front of him, and she watched as he dangled a hand over it, filling it with water, and then began to drink.
"My brother Belial, of the North."
Her eyes shot to the kindly one, recognizing him now as the Crown Prince of Earth she had long studied. When she inclined her head to him, he returned the gesture.
"My brother Satan, of the South."
She could not withhold her quiet gasp, but it was fortunately covered up by the fiery man's own growl of protest.
"Not by choice," he hissed at the proud one, and if she was not mistaken, she thought she saw steam rise from his skin. He then directed his burning gaze to Lena. "You will address me as your Southern Prince, if you must address me at all."
Lena swallowed, taken aback by the fury in his eyes. "Of course." She bowed her head.
The proud man brought attention back to himself. "And I am Lucifer, of the East."
Lena dipped her head a final time, and she could think of nothing better to say than, "I am honored."
It was true. For better or for worse, she had been accepted into the home of higher beings, and the least she felt she could do was pay a little respect.
"I enjoy her," Leviathan murmured, running a thumb across his lower lip as he watched her pensively. Lena blushed deeply, and she felt fortunate that the Prince's final two guests chose that moment to arrive.
Deep voices sounded from behind her, and Lena found herself suddenly in shadow, cast over her by the two massive men approaching from the side. One of them was draped in a dark, hooded cloak - tall and thin.
She could not see his face, even as he took his seat beside her on the left.
The other was enormous and bulky, clothed in what seemed to be the attire of a guard, and when he sat at her other side she heard the distinct clang of his sword against the table's marble.
"Ah, just in time," Lucifer purred, clasping his delicate hands together in front of him. "Miss Cross, may I introduce Charon and Behemoth. Gentlemen - my guest of honor, Miss Magdalena Cross."
The one named Behemoth gave her a gruff grunt of acknowledgment.
Charon was still and silent, seeming to draw further back into his cloak.
And Lena had the distinct sense that they were not pleased to be attending this meal, and not for lack of appetite.
Lucifer rose up his hands. "Let us dine."
No one had spoken during the feast, which was all well and good, considering how much the delicacies of Hell had overwhelmed her.
It had been a six course meal, consisting of an introductory toast, with wine stronger and sweeter than any she had known in Communion. An appetizer of a spiced, meaty broth with more flavor than her tongue could handle, accompanied by soft, warm bread, baked to perfection. A salad of fresh herbs, pomegranate seeds and sweetened almonds, drizzled with rum. A main course of honeyed ham, seasoned potatoes and a serving of foreign vegetables that were altogether more frightening and more delicious than any earthy vegetable she'd tasted. A palette cleansing sorbet that had seemed to be the flavor of strawberries, raspberries, rhubarb and cherries mixed into one.
It was only when dessert arrived that the true conversation began.
Lena was shocked by her own appetite. Five courses in and she did not feel stuffed. And when the elaborate treats of the final serving were set out before her, she found her mouth to be watering.
It was some alien form of cake - thicker and more moist than any she recognized, soaked in a tart, candied juice and drizzled with molten chocolate that had been ablaze when it was served, and was merely steaming now.
It was the most incredible thing she had ever tasted.
"Charon, Behemoth," Lucifer spoke suddenly, and Lena was so surprised by a sound other than the clatter of silverware that she nearly choked. "Do you know why you are here?"
Behemoth dipped his head to his Prince, speaking in a low tone. "To accept punishment for our faults."
Lena seized her goblet, grateful that water had been provided to help chase down the lump that had formed in her throat.
Punishment?
"So insightful," Leviathan mused, collecting a stray drizzle of chocolate from his plate with his finger and gliding it across his tongue.
"Tell me, Charon," said Lucifer calmly, "what is your duty in our noble realm?"
And for the first time, Lena heard Charon's voice. A haunting, withered whisper that escaped like wind from underneath his hood.
"To guide worthy souls across our great river unto our cherished land."
Lucifer hummed, leaning his chin on his folded hands. "Beautifully said. I bid you, my friend - look upon our honored guest."
Lena's breath caught when all eyes suddenly landed upon her - even the hidden gaze of Charon.
"How old is she?" Lucifer questioned.
Charon's reply was quiet. "Seventeen years of age."
"And tell, does she bear any illness? Any great ailment?"
Charon hesitated. "No, my Prince."
"What about enemies? Know you of any who willed her harm?"
This was his longest pause. "Not of a physical nature, my Prince."
Lucifer sat back, gazing impassively at Charon. "Then I see no reason for her to pass on at such an age. Tell me, dear friend - what possessed you to allow her passage with my servant across the river Styx?"
Charon bowed his head deeply. "Forgive my insolence, great Prince. I trusted his intentions blindly."
Lucifer clucked his tongue quietly. "Trust none, suspect all, my friend. A mantra you would do wise to remember." There was a long silence. And then, "What say you my Brothers?"
"Nine lashings," was the Southern Prince's instant reply. And when Charon's hooded face whipped up in surprise, the Prince bore his teeth with a violent satisfaction.
"Five," came the steady, insistent correction of Belial, who was gazing upon his fiery brother with a warning in his eyes.
The Southern Prince shifted his glare to him.
"Well?" Lucifer asked, looking at Leviathan.
The handsome brother, somehow still dripping wet after six courses, twirled a lock of his hair around his finger in contemplation. Then, after a moment, he gave a slow nod of approval.
Lucifer turned his attention back to Charon. "And so it shall be. Five lashings. Leave us."
Charon had removed his willowy form from the table and vacated the room before Lena had had the chance to blink.
Lashings?
She felt a sinking fear mix with the guilt in her gut, and when she noticed her hands trembling she was quick to tuck them beneath her napkin.
"Behemoth," Lucifer said without pause. "What of you? You see all, Night Watchman. Have you a decent explanation as to how she entered our realm without your detection?"
Behemoth cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as he composed himself. "No, my Prince. I too was blinded by my trust of that treacherous, double-deal—"
"Very well," Lucifer cut him off. "My brothers?"
The Southern Prince spoke first once more. "Seven lashings."
When Lucifer glanced at Belial, he merely dipped his head. Leviathan followed suit.
"Seven lashings," he relayed. "It is my great hope that such mistakes will never occur again. Leave us."
And two empty chairs became the only company at Lena's sides.
She hadn't realized until now that she'd been twisting and knotting the napkin with her tense hands. Slowly, the Brothers' attention rested back upon her, and she felt the need to speak.
"I…" she whispered, and her voice was a croak. "I meant for none of this to happen, your…" she struggled to address Lucifer properly, "your Grace. I - I was foolish and afraid. I thought not of the repercussions."
She was met with a calculating stare.
"Please," she added. "Please, I beg you. Punish no one but me."
Lucifer gave a small, husky chuckle. "I punish those who know better, Child. Your ignorance is your innocence."
The Southern Prince's laugh was far darker, "Of course, if you insist, we will gladly assign you the appropriate sum of lashes." And he flicked his flame-like tongue over his teeth.
Lena released a shuddering breath. "It is only right."
"Do not tease her, South." Belial checked his Brother again. "She is so very frightened."
Lena was half tempted to slide her heavy chair closer to the Earth Prince, as he seemed to be her only ally at the table.
"All actions bear repercussions, Child," Lucifer purred. "I invited you this evening so that you would see."
And for the millionth time, it would seem, Lena felt her cheeks flush with shame. She was highly accustomed to the reprimanding of her parents. Of her bible tutor. Of the priest.
But this was a wholly different shame. Reprimand from a higher being. From a Prince. A god.
"However," he continued, and she risked a glance back up at him, "your motivations and your curiosity intrigue me. It takes great dedication to perform such an incantation. Perhaps you have earned some leave as my guest." He studied her in that way he seemed to always study her - as if seeing right through her skin. "At least until we can decide what is to be done with you."
And Lena's fiercely thudding heart seemed to slow its strenuous pace. She released all her held breath in a wave. "Thank you, your Grace. Thank you - I cannot tell you how—"
He waved an elegant hand in the air. "That will be all, Child. Gratitude is so very…" his lips pursed, as though he had tasted something rancid, "holy."
Lena could sense that she had been dismissed. And she had not failed to notice her guide appearing in the corner of the room, waiting for her.
But she could not keep quiet.
"Your Grace," she blurted, regretting the earnest in her voice. "Please…I - I must know."
He arched a thin, dark brow. "Know?"
It was so very difficult to ask when the better half of her did not want to know the answer. "How many lashes was he given?"
The look in Lucifer's eyes told her he knew of whom she spoke, but he was relentless. "You must be more specific, Child."
"The man who saved me."
The Southern Prince gave another thick, dark laugh. "I do not think she has the stomach, Brother."
Lucifer ignored him, looking upon Lena with a sober gaze. She steeled herself.
"Dantalian has been dealt with," he said at last, and Lena could not help but catch her breath upon the sound of his name. "We decided upon his punishment earlier this evening."
Beneath the table's edge, she gripped the chair arm tightly. "Please. How many lashes?"
Lucifer eyed her carefully.
"He was given twenty six."
Pronunciations:
Belial: bell-EYE-el
Leviathan: Lev-EYE-athan
Charon: SHARE-on
Lena: LAY-na
Dantalian: Dan-TAY-lyen