Page 19 of Barons of Decay (Royals of Forsyth University #10)

A rianette

I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for the knock on my bedroom door. I’ve been up for hours, stomach twisting and turning with nerves.

Today is the first day of school.

Getting ready was a challenge. Every movement seemed to aggravate the pain in my chest and nipples.

I spent an hour holding a cold washcloth over each breast, taking deep breaths as I acclimated to the piercings.

I’d dug through the full closet and dresser for something to wear, finally settling on an outfit that seemed appropriate and comfortable.

I spent time on my hair and experimented with the makeup I found in the vanity drawer. The only time I’ve worn makeup was during my dance performances, where the other girls and I would take turns painting each other's faces before going on stage.

Today, I go for something different, mimicking Regina’s style.

I applied a smoky shadow and dark eyeliner.

I stopped short of the bold lipstick, opting for a shiny gloss instead.

Standing in front of the mirror, I tugged down the sleeves of my black cardigan in an attempt to hide the fresh wounds and old scars on my wrists.

The skirt exposes my scabby, bruised knees, but I found a pair of thick black socks in my dresser drawer that pull high enough to cover them.

I don’t think anyone can see the metal bars pierced through my nipples.

At least if they don’t look too hard.

I jolt at the heavy knock on the door, rushing over to open it. The man on the other side of the door isn’t one of my Barons or a Shadow. For a split second I wonder if he’s my King, but there’s no ring on his finger and he’s unmasked.

The Baron King is never seen without his mask.

“Good morning, Baroness,” the man says with a grin. He’s around my uncle’s age, his blond hair lightly silver around his temples. “We haven’t been introduced yet, but I’m Graves. I work for the King.”

“Good morning,” I reply. “I’m Arianette.”

“Your Barons are waiting to take you to the university and I’m here to take you to them,” he steps back, giving me room to step into the hall. “I also had a message from the King.”

My pulse quickens. “Does he want to see me?”

“No, not today.” His expression turns sympathetic. “He’s a very busy man–”

“Of course.” I pull my sleeves over my thumbs.

“–today is a big day. It will be the first time your peers will see the new Royal leadership of brN.” He gestures for me to take a turn, leading down another hallway.

“He also wants you to understand that it’s imperative that you stay close to your Barons when you’re not at home.

It’s important to follow their guidance and orders when you’re in public. ”

“I can do that.” I have done that–the throbbing pain in my nipples a constant reminder of the control they have over me.

“But most of all,” his eyes flick down my body and then back up, “remember you’re a representative of brN and the House of Night. How Forsyth views you is directly related to how they view the King.”

There’s something heavy behind his easy tone. A threat perhaps. Threats are something I understand. “My future husband shouldn’t worry. I am devoted to him and showing Forsyth that loyalty. I won’t cause any trouble,” I promise. “I’ll be a good girl.”

He coughs, his fist rising to cover his mouth. When he recovers he smiles gently and says, “I’m sure you will be, Arianette.”

I follow him down a hallway that eventually leads to an outside exit.

At the door he stops and lifts a leather satchel from a hook on the wall.

“Something for you to carry your supplies for school in.” The black leather is soft and worn.

My fingers run over the stamped pentagram on the flap.

I open it up and see a notebook and a case for my pencils and pens.

Tucked along the side, I notice a bag with a drawstring at the top.

“Are these…” I ask, heartbeat fluttering. I loosen the string and look inside. The shoes are a rich, warm brown hue, a color that perfectly matches my skin. The satin gleams in the light. “They’re beautiful.”

“New pointe shoes for your class. You’ll find the other items you need as well.”

I grin, the sensation strange after so much time. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Arianette,” he replies. “Have a good day.”

If the fact that the King made sure I was taken care of isn’t enough, I’m equally not prepared for that first step outside the house.

Other than the Hunt, this is the first time I’ve been outside since I was found by the river–not that I remember that.

For the weeks I was held in the crypt there were no windows, and even here the glass is muted with color.

Looking up, I shade my eyes from the sun that is already over the trees, bright and glaring in my unaccustomed eyes.

I feel off balance, like a baby deer taking its first steps, and it’s made worse when I attempt to loop the satchel across my body.

A sharp pain spreads over my chest from both the piercings and carving.

“Are you seriously wearing that?” I stop in my tracks, looking for the voice coming from across the driveway where Damon stands next to the open door of a big black truck.

His eyes are dark– angry –matching the attitude of his all black clothing.

A long jacket, shirt, jeans, and boots. Behind him, sitting on the blood red driver’s seat, Hunter peers out.

It’s the first time I’ve seen him without a mask and despite his height, and the tattoos visible just under the collar of his button-down shirt, I’m struck by how boyish he looks.

His light brown hair is neat, but looks like the slightest breeze could undo the tidiness.

Like his body, his face is lean, nose straight.

It’s his eyes that throw me off. Pale blue but intense, like they’re tracking my every move.

“Is this wrong?” I ask, fussing with the hem of my skirt. When I found it crammed in the closet with the other outfits, it seemed perfect. With the way Damon is staring at me… I must have been wrong.

Damon swallows and says, “It’s–”

“You look like a fucking schoolgirl.” Hunter snorts.

I glance down at the black and gray plaid skirt that hits mid-thigh. It’s a little short, but I found thick socks in the dresser drawer, and a cute vintage button-up cardigan with beading around the collar. “I’m going to school.”

“You’re going to college ,” Hunter repeats, like I’m an idiot.

Am I? Am I an idiot?

I’d spent years thinking about what I would do if I was allowed to go to school–r eal school –not the cold basement room at Strong Manor where all of my classes were held.

We had a teacher, Mrs. Whipple, who was old and mean, her temper short as a fuse.

Our uniform consisted of khaki pants and a blue collared shirt. No variations.

Even after being admitted to Forsyth, my uncle only allowed me to attend online. My only classes outside of the house were for dance. Somehow in my head this was the outfit I’d pictured. I’m not sure where it came from. Maybe a book or a TV show.

“I didn’t know,” I tell them. “This is my first day and I don’t want to screw it up.”

“It’s not about screwing up,” Damon snaps, running his hand through his hair. “It’s about looking like the Baroness. Like the kind of woman the King would marry.”

My heart rate skitters, the anxious feeling of doing something to displease him rising in my chest. “Should I change?”

“It’s too fucking late.” Hunter cranks the engine and the big truck rumbles to life. “I’m giving a presentation in my mechanical engineering class at ten, so get in.”

There’s a beat where we all look at one another, but the standoff is between the two of them. Finally, Damon grunts and says, “Fine.”

He doesn’t move as I approach the open door, but he grabs my arm, leans in and asks quietly, “How are your tits?”

“They hurt,” I reply, squeezing between him and the truck, “but I think you know that.”

I spent most of the night alternating between trying to remain completely still and easing the pain with a cold washcloth.

Another reason I’d chosen the cardigan was because I could button it over the top of the new piercings.

Tossing my bag onto the floorboard of the truck, I leverage myself onto the running board.

Moving slowly, I try not to do anything to irritate the wound on my chest or my healing nipples.

“Pick up the pace, Baroness.” Damon’s hand flattens under my skirt and boosts me up.

His fingers dip between my thighs, brushing over my pussy.

His touch sends a jolt of heat through my body and tears well in my eyes.

But worse, my nipples tighten, igniting a fresh throb of pain across my breasts.

I scramble to the middle of the bench seat next to Hunter, who frowns down at me.

“Are you crying?” His eyes flick to Damon, who has climbed in behind me and slammed the door. “Why is she crying?”

I feel dizzy from the overload of my senses, the pain and humiliation, the confusion my body feels when I’m around these men.

Inhaling, the cab smells like a mix of leather, soap, and cigarette smoke.

It’s warm with the bodies so close. I can’t help but think of the things their hands have done to me.

“Show him,” Damon says, elbow propped on the car window.

“What?” I lift my arms to cover my chest, but that just hurts more. I wince and shake my head. “I don’t want to.”

“Can she say that?” Hunter says, those pale eyes looking over my head to Damon. “She can’t say no to you, can she?”