The Lily Brand Read Online Free Page A

it was empty, while Gérard moved sinuously before her, his eyes never once leaving the face of his mistress.
    Lillian watched, detached. Hercule did not need to refill her cup.
    A dark cherry gleamed between Camille’s lips, before she sucked it into her mouth and chewed, smiling. The next was crushed between her fingers, staining her skin. She spread the sticky juice on her throat. Slowly, she leaned her head back, and, lithe as a cat, Gérard rose—the sign to Lillian that she could leave. She saw his tongue sweeping white skin just before the door closed behind her.
    Downstairs, Maurice had her coat and the man ready for her. The traces of his punishment were not visible at first glance. Or perhaps the breeches and the shirt covered them; Lillian did not know. The gag still filled his mouth. Better than the bridle Camille so liked.
    Wordless, she took the chain that fastened on the ring around his throat, a dog on a leash. Shackles held his hands on his back, where another chain ran up to fasten on the ring at his neck. Thus, he would not get far, should he decide to run away. Camille preferred to make sure nobody slipped her control.
    Wordless, Lillian took the riding crop to use when he failed to show appropriate subordination.
    Maurice bowed, and she stepped over the threshold outside. The man in shackles followed without resistance. By now he knew better.
    Lillian’s stepmother did not have much use for gardens. She preferred the games inside the mansion; it was cooler in summer and warmer in winter. Sometimes, though, she would have a man’s naked body covered in ice, chilled for her pleasure. Also, she did not like flowers except for roses. She liked it when the men brushed her body with roses while the thorns were buried deep in the flesh of their hands. Thus, with the exception of the rose garden, the grounds had not been tended in years. The bushes had grown over the statues of stone and over the small benches scattered around the garden. The paths hid behind curtains of greenery, which had rendered them almost invisible.
    Yet Lillian did not hesitate to pick her way through the overgrown garden. She walked carefully, of course, mindful of the thorny branches which lay waiting to trap the folds of her coat and dress. The man had been given boots, she saw, so they would not have to clean him up later.
    At this time of the year, the leaves had already started to fall and reveal the branches gray and bare. In many ways, the garden was as ghostly as the mansion itself. But, oh, how many times she had wished that the plants would reach out and envelop the house, bury it under a green blanket!
    La belle au bois dormant .
    Lillian’s lips turned up in a humorless smile. There would be no prince coming to release her from the evil spell
    In her dreams, the plants would grow and cover the walls of the mansion, would press against the glass of the windows, would seek out the tiniest cracks in the walls. And, once inside, they would grow and grow and twine themselves around Camille. Around and around until there would be no trace left—
    Lillian gave herself a mental shake and looked over her shoulder at the man trudging behind her. His chest rose and fell with laborious breaths. What could she say to ease his troubles? For him, there would be no deliverance. And so, she remained silent.
    To the left, a lichen-covered Pan peeked out of the bushes, lounging on a bit of rock, flute raised to his lips as if he were about to compete with the absent birds. Just visible under the dark green tendrils was one of the broad, powerful shoulders, a hint of muscles bouncing in his arm. His very presence seemed to mock the man in shackles, for the faun had achieved what the prisoner had not: escape from Camille’s web.
    Lillian stepped down moss-covered stairs. Overhead, the tops of the trees touched intimately, while under their feet dead leaves rustled—or perhaps it was the whispering of ghosts, quietly conversing among