"No, despotis," Acheron said, clenching his fists as if trying not to reach up and touch the man who was wrenching his hair. "Please. I swear I've done nothing wrong."
"Let him go!" I grabbed the man's hand and tried to force him away from my brother. "How dare you assault a prince! I shall have your head for this!"
The man laughed in my face. "He's no prince. Are you, Acheron?"
"No, despotis. I am nothing."
The man called for his guards to escort me out.
They came immediately into the room to take me.
"I will not go," I told him. I spun on the guards and gave them my haughtiest glare. "I am the Princess Ryssa of the House of Arikles of Didymos. I demand to see my Uncle Estes. Right. Now."
For the first time, I saw reservation enter the man's eyes. "Forgive me, Princess," he said, his tone less than apologetic. "I will have you taken to your uncle's greeting room."
He nodded to the guards.
Appalled by his arrogance, I turned to leave. In the black marble, I saw him whisper something to Acheron.
Acheron's face paled. "Idikos promised I wouldn't have to see him anymore."
The man yanked on Acheron's hair. "You will do as you're told. Now get up and prepare yourself."
The guards closed the door and forced me from the room. They led me back through the house until we came to a small greeting room that was bare save for three small settees.
I didn't know or understand what was going on here. Had anyone ever touched me or Styxx the way that man had touched Acheron, my father would have had them instantly killed.
No one was allowed to speak to us with anything less than respect and reverence.
"Where's my uncle?" I asked the guards as they started to withdraw.
"He's in town, Highness. He'll be back shortly."
"Send for him. Now."
The guard inclined his head to me, then closed the door.
I'd only been there a short time when a secret door opened beside the hearth. It was the overseer who'd been in Acheron's room when I first arrived, the older woman who'd been concerned for his welfare.
"Your highness?" she asked hesitantly. "Is it really you?"
It was then I realized who she must be. "You're the one who wrote asking me to visit?"
She nodded.
I breathed in relief. Finally someone who could explain. "What's going on here?"
The woman drew a deep, ragged breath as if what she was about to say hurt her deeply. "They sell your brother, my lady. They do things to him that no one should have to suffer."
My stomach shrank at her words. "What do you mean?"
She twisted her hands in the sleeve of her dress. "How old are you, my lady?"
"Three and twenty."
"Are you a maiden?"
I was offended that she would dare ask such an intimate question. "That is not your concern."