Free House of Judges (House of Royals Book 4) by Keary Taylor

says from behind me, in the open doorway. “You need to get ready for your last show. Then it’s back to your trial.”
    I try to find the willpower to get up off the floor. I try to put it all aside and numb myself like I’ve become so good at doing. But instead the tears take me over. My shoulders quake, a sob rips its way from my chest.
    Madame curses, turning her back on me. “You’ve got ten minutes. Deal with your shit and get back out here.”
    Sob after sob rips from my chest as she shuts the door behind her. Fat tears roll down my face, and I wrap my arms around my middle, doubling over in emotional pain.
    I closed that part of my life off. I haven’t allowed myself to think about it in years. I made the only choice I could at the time and I moved on. I forgave myself and didn’t look back.
    But suddenly, the past has walked back up.
    With shaking hands, I reach up and flush the toilet, sending half a dozen human’s blood washing down into the sewers. I drag myself off of the ground. I stare at myself in the mirror.
    I’ve ruined Natalia’s beautiful work. Black streaks race down my face. My lipstick is smeared. My hair is a tussled mess from my hands running through it.
    I’m a beautiful wreck.
    A knock sounds on the door. “I can’t wait any longer, Lady Conrath.”
    I take a deep breath in through my nose and let it slowly out through my lips. I roll my shoulders back.
    I only have to pull it together for one more dance, and then they’ll release me from this prison and send me to another where I can fall apart for good.
    My shaking hand grabs the doorknob, and I pull it open.
    “Holy hell,” Madame breathes at me. “You’re a mess.” She takes a deep breath, studying me with her hands on her hips. “I guess it doesn’t matter for this last phase. Maybe you looking like this makes the effect even better.”
    She hands me another outfit, this one the most exposing of them all. I change without fuss. Without a fight.
    Just make it through this last dance.
    I grab my necklace from the pile of my clothes, and tuck it into the bra, unsure if I’ll get the chance to return after. The thought of losing it now…
    When I’m finished, I follow Madame through one last hall. The door at the end opens into a small room. Of course, at the center is a pole. A single chair sits in one corner. And dominating one wall is a massive mirror.
    But not a single client waits inside. I look around, confused.
    “You’ll dance,” Madame says. “For half an hour. Don’t stop until the music does. Your clients wish to remain anonymous; they sit on the other side of that mirror. They can see you, but obviously, you cannot see them. When this dance is over, you’ll be returned to await your trial.”
    I nod that I understand. She walks to the door and closes it behind her.
    Thankfully, that numb feeling once more creeps up my legs, seeps into my chest, reaches for my fingers. I’ve been getting so good at it over the past eight months. Maybe it’s because I’ve slowly been ridding myself of my humanity without meaning to. Maybe it’s just who I was always meant to be.
    I walk in front of the mirror, staring at myself. Imagining the sick perverts who sit behind it. Getting off on watching me. The types who comes to the Club often, watching men and women degrade themselves. Spending money on flesh they aren’t allowed to touch.
    The look in my eyes darkens as I stare at them, unable to see them.
    Music suddenly sounds from the speakers, harsh and fast. One last glare at the window, and I turn to the pole.
    I put all of my anger into this dance. All of the hatred I’ve felt for so long now. My insecurities and my fear. The manipulation I’ve suffered and the manipulation I’ve doled out. I let it all rip from my soul as I twist around that pole, bend over that chair, as I run my hands over my body.
    Every single emotion runs out of me, channeled into numb sexuality. My brain shuts the people behind the mirror