For a moment, everyone around me just stared at Niako. Then an appalled reaction rippled across the guards in grunts and jerking of heads. An older guard with severe eyes and a sharp nose braved a step toward Niako.

"Your Highness, surely you know who this man is?"

"I know who he was. He was Toom. He was a prince. But now he is only a Claimed."

I heard the words but was unable to fully register them. I felt disconnected from my own body, as though watching a scene in a puppet show.

Another guard raised supplicating hands. "He may be pretty, Your Highness, but we can find you a prettier and much less dangerous prize."

Niako smirked. "And where's the fun in that?"

The first guard tried again. "He is your enemy, sir. Wouldn't you like to watch him die?"

"Perhaps. But I'd rather watch him suffer."

Feet scuffed the ground, and a few men tugged at their uniforms as though they had become too tight. The first soldier took another step toward Niako.

"Your Highness, if I may suggest —"

"You may not. I have given my order. Bring the gold collar."

For some reason, those last words sliced through my trance, and panic and despair clawed at my chest. I jerked wildly against the ropes binding me.

"No." I barely recognized my own hoarse voice. "No. Don't do it. I would rather die."

Niako leveled me with a strange look, eyebrows raised. "I'm afraid that choice is not yours to make, my friend."

I bit out my next words through clenched teeth. "You are not my friend."

"True," he said. "I am your Master."

"I will never call you Master."

He tilted his head slightly and quirked a small smile. "We'll see."

Niako nodded at the guard nearest to me, and I saw the guard's arm blur in the corner of my vision. Then darkness blanketed the world.

* * *

My forehead pounded, my eyes burned, and my throat felt raw. I lifted a hand to rub my eyes, but an immobile resistance cut the motion short. I blinked at the metal cuffs on my wrists, anchored by a heavy chain to a rung on the floor a few feet from me. My chest was bare, and simple tan trousers covered me from the waist down.

Craggy black and gray stones checkered the four walls, and starved sunlight trickled through a slit near the ceiling on one side. On the opposite wall, a stone door slotted open at the bottom.

I pushed myself up to sitting, head swimming. When I scooted closer to the metal rung connected to my cuffs, I was able to lift my hands to my face. After rubbing my eyes, I let my hands drift down toward my neck. I knew what I would find there, but the smooth cold of the gold collar still sent shivers of disgust through me.

The memories washed over me and drowned me like icy waves, each more chilling and painful than the last. Astoria's brilliant smile. The Rakim soldiers crowding each exit. The finality in my father's gaze as he commanded me to leave. My frantic search for Finny, calling her name, over and over, until my throat shredded. Screams of anguish as my father's body burned. The acrid stench of his burnt flesh mingling with the sharp alcohol dousing my own clothing.

And finally, Niako, appearing from nowhere, ordering them to stop in that nauseatingly detached voice — only so he could do worse.

I Claim him.

Every part of my body protested the words, recoiling with revulsion. 

I forced myself to focus on my one remaining hope. Finny could still be alive. Maybe she had hidden somewhere, or maybe Stro had been able to smuggle her out of the palace grounds before the bloodbath. And if Finny was alive, I would do anything to keep her safe.

Even play the part of Niako's Claimed.

As if summoned by my thoughts, muffled footsteps sounded from just ouside the room, and the heavy door creaked open. A moment later, Niako stepped through the doorway.

His cold, uncaring eyes swam in front of my vision, and the sickening jumble in my head rearranged itself into a murderous rage. While he had pretended to care for me, Niako had helped his family devise this plot to massacre mine. I should have let him drown in the lagoon ten years ago. Now the feverish desire to wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze until the light left his eyes made my hands shake.

His gaze dropped to my tremoring cuffs, but his voice remained indifferent. "Hello, Claimed. I hope you are finding the accommodations adequate."

I swallowed, and knives gouged inside my throat. "Finny. Where is Finny?"

He flicked a wrist. "Forget about her. She is no longer your concern."

"Is she hurt? Is she..." But I could not bring myself to finish the question, so I instead asked, "Is she with Stro?"

He blinked once and then shook his head. "Stro is no more."

Another blade in my throat. "And Finny?"

I thought I saw a flicker of hesitation.

"Please," I said, ripping out the single syllable in a throaty rasp. "I need to know."

"No, you don't. You need to know only what I need you to know."

"But if she —"

He raised a palm to stop me. "There are two guards right outside this cell right now who can hear everything we are saying. Do I need to ask them to join us and teach you some manners, or will you behave and listen to me?"

"Behave," I repeated, not an answer but an expression of incredulous scorn.

"Good," he said, ignoring the obvious spite. "Now listen. The Claiming Ceremony will take place tonight. The guards will bring you to the colosseum shortly. During the ceremony, you and four other Claimed will receive your first lesson in obedience — a public lashing. After five lashes, you will be given an opportunity to save yourself from further pain by declaring me your Master."

"That will not happen."

"Not after five lashes, no. That would be too soon — the crowd will expect more from you. You will wait until ten lashes before you say —"

"I will never say it."

He cocked his head. "You may think that, but you have never known this kind of pain. Even the strongest always break. Take twenty lashes if you feel you must. But my advice? Don't wait until you are permanently damaged."

"I don't take advice from backstabbing monsters."

His face remained a blank slate, but his shoulders stiffened slightly.

"Suit yourself," he said, and he strode out of the cell. The door thudded shut.

For the next hour, I heard only the occasional shuffle of feet or murmur of voices outside the cell. Two guards, Niako had said. I wondered if one was Ruck. Would Ruck pretend not to know me, treat me with the same indifference he showed the other Claimed?

I remembered Copper from the Serving Ceremony. It's a pity you were not in time for the Claiming Ceremony, Makari had said. I saw the twitch of Copper's eye at the mention of the Claiming Ceremony and the ugly stripes crisscrossing her back. Twenty lashes.

The door creaked open again, and two guards entered the room, one tall and thin and the other short and heavily muscled.

The short man crouched in front of me. "Listen, Claimed. We are taking you to the colosseum now. Prince Niako has given us orders not to harm you, but if you so much as look at one of us wrong, I'm going to call it self-defense. Understood?"

I didn't answer.

The thin guard unlocked my hands, and the short guard hauled me to my feet. I wanted to fight back, but my mind would only spin in circles.

Yesterday, I learned how to whittle. This morning, I ate cinnamon cake crisps for breakfast.

Hours ago, I was still a prince.

The guard snapped the cuff over my wrists. 

Outside the door was a short corridor with bare walls and just two other entrances, one on each end. The guards steered me toward the door on the left. It opened to a narrow gravel road lined by crooked buildings with thatched roofs, and some unconscious part of my brain registered that we were near the Sleepy Eye Tavern. I allowed the guards to push me forward as my thoughts zigzagged like gnats.

The Central Plaza. Niako was just showing me how he can turn a copper into a gold! Where had Finny gone? Was Stro truly no more? The path through the woods. Run away... you would be safe. The colosseum. Copper mines in Fooja, gold mines in Rakim. Copper buttons on our vests, gold garments on Makari and Astoria. Copper Fallen Gods, gold Goddess Rashika. I would hate to see you make a decision you would one day regret.

I should have seen this coming long ago.

Spatters of pink still painted the sand, and the smell of burnt flesh still choked the air, but the bodies and charred Fallen Gods had been removed. In their place, five flogging posts lined the center of the arena. A man and woman I did not recognize were already tied to the first two posts. Tight leather bindings strapped their ankles to the ground and arms above their heads. Naked and restrained, they already looked defeated, but I knew the tittering crowd would demand blood anyway.

Rakim and Kalasiki nobles packed the colosseum, faces alight with feverish anticipation. Most eyes seemed to be drawn toward me, and I wondered if they knew who I was. But when a scan of the nearest faces revealed only sadistic lust, I realized my allure was the thrill of watching a powerful man be broken — like seeing a feral beast brought to heel. 

My chest heaved.

"Keep your head down," the short guard behind me grunted, whacking the back of my skull.

The two guards pushed me forward again. When we reached the third post, they yanked me to a halt, and one of the guards unlocked the cuffs behind my back. With a clink of metal, my wrists were suddenly free. 

While my mind was still catatonic, my body refused to willingly allow this treatment. I twisted away and lunged to the side. I made it three steps before the guards caught up, one grabbing my legs while the other slammed into my back, tackling me to the ground. When I thrashed against their hold and managed to wrench my hands free, a gasp rose from the audience, a sharp inhale of excitement and awe.

The heavy footsteps of more guards swarmed toward me, and a dozen arms grasped my limbs, pinning me and jerking me to my feet again. One guard yanked my arms up above my head and cinched my wrists to the post with leather.

Hard-soled boots forced my legs to spread, and then more straps tightened around my ankles, securing them to two metal rungs a few feet apart on the floor. Fingers dug into my jaw. Hard leather was shoved between my lips and tied behind my head. Then the hands left my body.

Movement flashed in my peripheral as a man was strung to the flogging post on my right. He was larger than the Claimed at the first three posts — not as tall as me, but at least as bulky. A faint recognition teased my mind, but I could not place him. His entire body was shaven, and glittering copper paint covered his skin from head to toe. In the slits between his copper eyelids, bright eyes flared with rage and defiance, but his feeble struggle was no match for the three guards escorting him.

I could not see the last flogging post, but I heard a woman cry out and beg as the guards strapped her down. When a hand cracked against flesh and the woman screamed, fury spiked in my blood. I jerked against the restraints and craned my head toward the fifth flogging post, but the copper man obscured my view.

I didn't notice the chairs set out in front of us until five people filed onto the stage, each immaculate and dressed in expensive garments — monsters cloaked in finery. A golden-haired woman in an intricate lace dress strolled up to the chair facing the woman on my left, and Makash strutted over to the one across from the copper man, polished black boots crunching the sand.

Then Niako plopped down in the chair facing me.

Niako crossed one leg over the other and leaned back against the chair, draping an arm over the back. He wore the navy blue frock from the Challenge Day dinner. Head tilted slightly back, he twisted his lips in what might have been a smirk.

The straps cut into my flesh once more as my muscles flexed, imagining driving a sword through his gut and watching the smirk be replaced by the glaze of death.

I was so wrapped up in my fantasy that the first lash took me by surprise. Without time to flinch, the sharp sting of the whip made me gasp. For the second lash, I was prepared. Even as the Claimed on either side of me whimpered and screamed, I weathered the second, third, fourth, and fifth lashes soundlessly, biting hard into the leather-covered wood.

The tie at the back of my head was jerked loose, the bit was removed, and the footsteps behind me retreated. The five monsters facing us rose to their feet. Makash approached the copper man with heavy footsteps, power rippling in his movements. Niako approached me more slowly, lazily. With my legs wrenched to the ground at the sides, he loomed over me.

"Declare me your Master," Makash thundered.

The other monsters repeated his command to their own Claimed, and the man on the first post sobbed his defeat. "You are my Master," he gasped. "I will serve you and only you. Please, Master, have mercy."

The man's "Master" raised his fist to the Claimed man's lips, and the Claimed pressed a kiss on his knuckles. Then a few guards approached the man and untied his wrists, retying them behind his back. As the audience gave a patter of meager applause, both Master and Claimed were escorted to the side of the arena.

Niako met my glare with all the bored confidence of a cat cornering an amputated insect and said neutrally, "I won't bother. I know it's too soon." He returned to his chair.

Footsteps approached behind me once more, and the bit was shoved back into my mouth. A moment later, the whipping resumed.

The second round was worse. My body reacted not only to the pain but also to the crack of the whip and the cries of the other Claimed. The sick anticipation of each stroke was worse than its bite through my skin.

Then the guards removed the leather from our mouths, and the so-called Masters approached us once more. Makash initiated the demands once more, voice reverberating with authority. 

"Declare me your Master."

The women on the second and fifth post both whimpered words of defeat and submission, kissed the knuckles of their Masters, and were finally dragged away. The crowd's applause was louder now. Only the copper man and I remained.

"It's time," said Niako. "You know what to say."

I clenched my jaw.

He sighed and turned back toward his chair.

The bit returned, and air kissed my back as the guard behind me raised his whip once more. This time, the flog met no protective barrier, and the sharp cord sliced deeply into my skin. Despite my efforts not to show my pain, a cry tore free from my chest before each stroke even landed. By the fifth stroke, the whip met flesh already slickened by blood with a squelching slap.

The footsteps behind retreated.

The footsteps ahead approached.

Niako's effortless swagger and bored gaze was its own kind of torture, but I forced myself to stare him down. Looking away felt like submitting.

"Declare me your Master," Makash once again demanded from my right. 

Niako's cold eyes met mine as he spoke. "As fun as all of this is, I have other places to be. Just say the word, and we can leave here."

But neither the copper man nor I spoke, and Makash and Niako returned to their chairs.

I didn't think the pain could get any worse. I was wrong. My mind splintered, fragmenting into jagged pieces. The screams grew louder, and I could no longer distinguish my own from those of the copper man. Sticky pain lanced through every nerve until my whole body was aflame. Sweat soaked through my hair and trickled down the side of my face.

I was barely aware of the bit being removed, but I saw Makash and Niako approach. Makash's eyes danced with bloodlust. Niako looked less delighted. There was a new tension in the set of his shoulders, and I thought I saw a tick in his jaw. Perhaps he was angry with me for keeping him from his plans for the rest of the night. 

Drowning in pain and humiliation, I took this as one small victory.

I chanced a glance in the direction of the copper man, hoping to gain and give strength from our shared suffering. He did not return my gaze. Instead, he hung his head, sobbing softly.

"Declare me —" Makash started.

"Master!" the man blurted out without lifting his head.

A sick jolt of recognition pierced me, more painful than any whipping. I knew that voice.

"Stro," I whispered.

The copper man's eyes flicked my direction. With his shaven head and that animal fear in his tawny eyes, he looked so different from the pleasant, bearded guard I once knew.

"Don't look at him," Makash told Stro. He lifted a hand and dragged it down Stro's bloodied back.

Stro's head snapped up as he shuddered and heaved. "Master, please! I will serve you, Master. I will do anything."

"Hmm," said Makash. "And who are you?"

"Who am I?" Stro said, his voice faltering.

Then Makash clawed at his back, and Stro threw back his head and screamed, eliciting a delighted gasp from the crowd.

"Your name is Copper," said Makash. "And you are nothing but my Claimed."

"Yes, Master," said Stro. "I am called Copper. I am yours. Please have mercy, Master."

Makash's smile widened, and he patted the man's back more gently. "Good boy," he said, and he lifted his fist toward Stro's lips. His fingers dripped bright red blood, staining Stro's lips as he leaned forward to place a kiss on the knuckles.

Bile rose to my throat, hot and acidic, and I swallowed it down. Shaking with hatred, pain, and horror, I forced myself to face Niako.

Though his eyes were still cold, I heard a slight irregularity in his breathing, as if he were recovering from a punch to the gut. He reached up a hand, and I flinched, remembering how Makash had savaged Stro's back, but Niako only traced a finger across the stubble of my jaw.

Leaning forward, he whispered in my ear, "Just say 'Master.' That's enough to end this. One word, one time. It doesn't have to mean anything."

"Never," I grunted back.

His teeth clicked together as his jaw set. Then he withdrew and returned to his seat.

During the next round, my vision swam, and my flexed muscles began to loosen, unable to fight the pain. The violent sting transformed into a throbbing which spread across my whole body, and I could no longer discern where the whip landed. Darkness crept into the edges of my vision. All else faded from my sight except for the dark man draped in the dark chair, still watching me. I felt the heat of the lash, the heat of the humiliation, the heat of rage. But despite all that burned, a cold numbness pushed into my core.

When the guard finished and the bit was removed, Niako approached me again. For a brief moment, some foreign emotion flickered across his eyes, but when I blinked and looked again, it was gone. He leaned close to me again, although he did not touch me this time.

"That's twenty-five lashes," he said, voice rough. "I think we've both had enough of this. Say the damn word, Toom."

"No."

Niako exhaled sharply and closed his eyes. His hands clenched and released. Voice barely audible, he said, "In private, you can call me whatever you want. Say it just once, loudly enough for everyone to hear, and I'll never ask you to repeat it."

"No."

A moment passed in silence. Then, even more quietly: "Please."

The word hung between us for a moment, the soft drawn-out s ringing in my ears. I blinked at him, trying to make sense of the change in his tone, but sweat dripped over my eyes, obscuring my vision.

Once again, I said, "No."

His Adam's apple bobbed once. Then he jerked up his shoulders. "Fine. As you wish."

I watched him walk back to his seat, but I had trouble tracking him. My vision swam, and my muscles held together by a thread.

Two lashes into the next round, that thread broke.

My body slumped as everything darkened. I was no longer aware of the crowd or my bonds. I felt only the pain and the desire to make it stop. If I surrendered to the sweet nothingness pressing in over me, would the pain go away? I hoped I would never wake up.

No. Finny. I had to survive this so I could find out what happened to Finny. Which meant I had to survive three more lashes.

And after the fifth, I would have to call Niako my Master.

I steeled myself for the third lash, but it never came. Instead, a quiet voice said, "That's enough. Take him down."

"I haven't finished this round, Your Highness," the guard grunted from behind me, and his sleeve rustled as he raised the whip once more. I tried to flinch, but my body refused even that.

"I said that's enough," the voice said, louder this time. "He's losing consciousness, for Rashika's sake."

The whip clattered to the ground, and a murmur of disappointment passed over the crowd. One voice rose above the rest, putting words to the mob's sentiment: "But Your Highness, he hasn't declared you his Master yet."

"Yes, well, he can't very well call me his Master when he is unconscious, can he?" said Niako.

And then from the side of the arena, Makash spoke. "How embarrassing, little brother. The Claiming Ceremony is supposed to demonstrate the Master's power over the Claimed. I'm afraid you are demonstrating the opposite."

A hush fell over the colosseum as everyone awaited Niako's response. But his voice remained calm, expressionless.

"I prefer not to disfigure him too badly before I even have a chance to bed him. I have better, more pleasurable ideas for how to teach him obedience."

The crowd erupted into cruel laughter.

I was only vaguely aware of the leather straps being untied, but the moment they released, my body dropped to the ground. A few guards tried to jerk me to my feet, but my legs refused to respond, and I sagged to my knees. The voices around me blurred into a din, and I had the uncanny sensation of floating above my own body.

A voice cut through the muddle. "Can't you see he can't walk? Carry him to a stretcher. Without touching his back."

Sweaty strands of hair stung my eyes when I tried to search for the speaker. "Am I dying?" I heard myself say, though I had not asked my lips to move.

"Shh, relax." Delicate fingers swept the hair from my eyes. "You'll be fine. It's over now."

The voice belonged to Niako, but the growing haze prevented me from remembering why that should have bothered me. My face turned toward his hand as my eyes fell closed.

Then I slid in and out of consciousness, struggling to separate my dreams from reality. 

A mattress beneath me. 

A light shining down on me. 

My mother beside me, pressing a cool hand to my forehead.

No, my mother was dead. It was the Royal Physician, Matino. But my father was dead, too, and I was no longer a prince. Why would Matino be tending me?

Cold salve smothered my back. I thrashed as though to physically fight the pain. Then a damp rag smothered my face, and the torment subsided.

I dreamed of dancing with my mother and Aunt Mitzy. Swimming in Fooja's ocean. Hiking through mountains with Finny on my shoulders. 

And strangest of all, I dreamed of Niako sitting against the wall beside the mattress, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, whispering, "Damn it, Toom, why didn't you run?"