Originally, Doll House had worn a different name, but the moment Cuppedia had taken up residence, this new name seemed a more fitting choice. Jac suspected it was Cuppedia herself who’d invented this fresh title.

It was disgustingly cute. Jac had no idea why Aran allowed that great pile of all things pink and lacy to mar the inner circle’s pristinely manicured landscaping—not to say that Doll House wasn’t pristinely manicured, but Mother Light did it stand out from the rest of the inner circle’s greenery and stone-blue color scheme, the mature Order.

The only part of the house, windowsills, shutters, doors, and roof that weren’t varying shades of pink was the white, lacy trim.

It was where Jac was supposed to live, as Cuppedia was her patron and Jac was therefore one of her many dolls. But Jac had taken one look at the garish pink nightmare and immediately refused to sign any contract unless it allowed for her to live elsewhere. So she’d ended up at Muse House.

Jac strode up the (pink) front steps, detailed with swirling floral patterns, toward the great arched front doors. Two attendants stood at the ready, one on either side of the double (stained pink) doors, their crisp white suits and pale pink corset vests, painted faces and falsely rosy cheeks and lips making them look like they’d just been lifted from their boxes, to be displayed upon a young girl’s shelf. They bowed as one, and greeted her before pushing open the doors and stepping aside to let Jac through.

The inside of Doll House was so much worse than the outside. There must have been some limit to Aran’s patience with Cuppedia’s obsession with frill, lace, and velvet, because most of it was contained within the walls, out of sight of Broken Earth’s public. Everywhere was pink patterned wallpaper, overstuffed velvet chairs, couches, and cushions, paintings of (pink) flowers, little tables with lace doilies and tea set upon (pink) tea set that were never used to actually serve any tea. Servants and fellow dolls moved demurely around the entrance hall, up and down the great grand (pink) staircase in their frilled dresses with skirts so wide it was a falling hazard for two women to try to pass each other on the staircase, even large as it was.

“Jacqueline!”

Cuppedia rushed down the stairs looking even more unhinged than usual.

She was tiny, and her little white heeled booties did nothing to change that. Her baby-pink dress was wider than it was long, the skirt short enough to show the full length of her white thigh-high stockings that made Jac’s feet feel sweaty and sticky just looking at them. Her tiny corset had been cinched so tight it made Jac wonder, not for the first time, where the hell Cuppedia kept her internal organs—assuming she had any. Her hair was down, all eighteen miles of black, shiny curls dripping down the stairs after her like thick oil. If Jac hadn’t been made to brush through every single one of those locks on more than one occasion, she would never have believed it was all real hair, growing right out of Cuppedia’s incredibly tender scalp. Her smile, blood-red lips stretched unnervingly wide, looked deranged.

It was impossible to tell Cuppedia’s age just by looking at her. The powder she caked on her face simultaneously made her look older and younger. From her stature, she might have been ten years old, and certainly her high voice and high energy had a distinct childishness—but her eyes…

Belle said Cuppedia had the eyes of an ageless demon, one who had witnessed the first death and who would one day witness the last. Jac didn’t know what the fuck that meant, but it felt accurate. She gave the impression not just of a doll—but a possessed one.

Cuppedia’s booties clicked across the entrance hall, toward Jac. “My Jacqueline, home again!”

Jac bristled—‘My’—but let Cuppedia take one of Jac’s hands in her own tiny, porcelain fingers. Because the name fit.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

For a few minutes, Jac allowed Cuppedia to gush about Jac’s silky, rose-gold dress as if she wasn’t the one who provided all of Jac’s clothing, let her pout about how Jac wouldn’t wear any of her frilly dresses while attendants stepped carefully over Cuppedia’s trailing hair. Finally, Jac said,

“My Lady, I have words, private ones, addressed to your ears.”

Cuppedia sat across from Jac, perched daintily on the edge of the overstuffed couch in a spare tea room. “Sit up, Jacqueline. And close your knees.”

With a huff, Jac straightened in her armchair. “Did any of my words stay within your head, My Lady? I could have stopped the Selachian in his tracks. We might have returned home dragging the … the target’s corpse behind us, instead of only empty hands—but the contract stole my magic when I needed it most.”

Pouting those painted lips that left red like blood around the edge of her little teacup, Cuppedia said, “Your job is to protect the prince’s pet, not battle Ubikas.”

“Belle stood right in front of a shifted Selachian assassin who wore gore like a suit, and when I reached for my magic it was nowhere to be found.”

Cuppedia shrugged her shoulders within their puffy sleeves. “If she could truly name him Threat, you wouldn’t have even had to reach, your magic would already be in your hands.”

Jac grit her teeth, careful to keep the snarl off her face. “And what about if I could name him Threat? How can I keep her safe if some Inhuman is holding my guts in his claws?” Her skin burned, sweat beading at her temples. And emotion welling behind her eyes. “I’ve served you, served the queen well—it’s senseless that my contract is still so tight around my neck.”

Cuppedia set her teacup and saucer onto the table between them, looking at Jac through those obscenely long lashes. “You’re sitting before me, as beautiful as ever. You didn’t need your magic.”

“Only because the Tr—because Ubika got distracted by another opponent,” Jac said. “Otherwise I’d have been,” her voice caught, “ripped apart, and powerless to do anything about it.”

Cuppedia’s eyes, empty as buttons, bored into Jac. “Your contract is set, by my blood and yours.”

Jac leaned forward. “You can amend it, I know you can. Allow me to protect myself, or one day some stray Selachian is going to take your doll from you, Cupped—”

“SHUT UP!” She stood suddenly, sending her teacup flying. Her voice was unbelievably shrill, and unbelievably loud. Jac never got used to it. “YOU’LL LEAVE ME! YOU ALL LEAVE ME!”

The tiny, ageless woman panted, her little ribcage straining against her corset with each breath. Even under all her powder, Jac could see the red flush shining through. Her face had warped from a perfect, porcelain mask to something with deep lines and bulging eyes and twisted features.

“YOU ARE MINE!” Spit flew from her mouth. “WE ARE STITCHED TOGETHER BY OUR BLOOD. YOU ARE MINE!”

Cuppedia swung a fragile-looking fist down into the table, and it cracked like gunfire, snapping clean in half. It was a strength she shouldn’t have.

Jac’s strength.

Jac’s stomach churned, sending bile crawling up her throat. How could she have done this to herself? How had she bound herself, her strength, to this … thing?

It wasn’t easy, but Jac stayed still and calm, even as her heart pounded and a thousand different emotions she couldn’t name swirled inside her, all masked by a singular, bright rage. At Cuppedia. At herself. Belle had coached Jac on dealing with these explosions—similar, in some ways, to Richard’s. She waited until there was a break in Cuppedia’s screeching, and then said, calmly but firmly,

“I will not leave you, Cuppedia!”

“YOU WILL! YOU ALL LEAVE!”

“I don’t want to leave!”

She stopped screeching, but her chest still heaved, eyes locked on Jac’s face.

“I—” Jac had to take a deep, steadying breath, to keep the bile, the disgust down. Because these next words, foul as they were, were true. “I don’t want to leave. Because I need you. The strength your magic gives me… I need it like air.”