Page 31 of Barons of Decay (Royals of Forsyth University #10)

T imothy

There is no more sacred place in the House of Night than the sanctuary.

Even after all these years, I feel the same powerful emotions as I did when I first stepped foot in the hallowed space and accepted my oath of fealty as a member of brN.

Later I took on the role of Baron, participating in the Hunt and Claiming.

Over the years, the magnitude of that power has shifted, between highs and lows, settling on my shoulders now with the weight of my sins and the heavy curse that came with them.

Consequences.

They come for us all.

I walk the distance from the narthex to the front of the room, toward the throne.

I have my own rituals to attend to, ones built over time.

I pass the rows of empty pews, each step holding a memory.

This is a place of ceremony, for celebration of marriages and births.

The anointing of Shadows as they pass through brN, beginning to end.

I pause just before the throne, looking back down the aisle.

The memory of Amber standing at the other end flickers in my mind.

She was gorgeous. Mine . Or so I thought.

My gaze shifts next to the throne, to the pedestal holding the bronze ceremonial bowl. Amber and I stood over it, not once, but twice, mixing our blood and promising ourselves to one another, and then later affirming to raise our child–our legacy–to the will of the King.

Bitterness rises in the back of my throat, and I turn away, hating how what once was joyous is now nothing short of sharp, continuous pain.

I take the short walk to the transept, a shallow alcove jutting out from the chapel.

It’s decorated with the symbology of our people–our past. It’s the one place I allow the festering truth to reveal itself.

Approaching, I kneel and remove my mask, prepared to face the demons of my past. There’s a grainy, framed photograph of Clive Kayes, the man the majority of Forsyth believes me to be.

He’s frozen in time, looking as he did the last time anyone in public saw his face, just before his son, Benji, took his life.

Back then I thought Clive Kayes was an old man.

Ironically, I’m now the same age that he was when he was killed.

Reaching for a long match, I strike it against the rough paper. The sulfur tip sizzles and I light a black candle in honor of the fallen King.

There is no image of my cousin Benji in this place of sanctuary.

No trinkets that carry his spirit. There’s no candle to light.

Not because he murdered his father. A son killing his father in Forsyth is as common as rain in the spring.

No, it’s because this is not the place for blasphemers, adulterers, or worse, those who plan to use their power to harm the innocent.

Consequences.

They came for Benji at my own hands after he led my wife, Amber, down a path of uncharted wickedness, seeding her fragile mind with dangerous ruminations.

They bore a child together, which was betrayal enough, but when I found out what they wanted to do with the bastard…

I swallow, striking the second match. I stare at the tip of flickering flame a moment, saying an oath of protection for the child, now a man, Whitaker Ashby.

Memento Mori is our motto, but I embraced another one that day. In morte vita est. In death there is life.

Before I killed Benji I didn’t fully understand the truth of those words.

To secure Whitaker’s life, I had to extinguish my cousin’s.

I had the Shadows bury my uncle in the Kayes crypt, and my cousin deep under another set of bones in the catacombs, put on the mask, and stepped into the role of King.

I could have killed her, too. I had every right, and no one in Forsyth would have blinked an eye, but…

Consequences.

She was also the mother of my child, Remington.

Removing the gold ring from my pocket, I place it on the altar.

The rage I felt when I realized it was missing–that the girl stole it–was all-consuming.

Too consuming for this many years later.

The hold Amber has on me is perilous. Humiliating.

A risk to everything I’ve worked to accomplish and my plans moving forward.

All the work I had done to become a better man faltered in that one moment.

With that in mind, I strike the third match and light two candles with the flame, one for Amber, one for my son. Those seeds Benji had sown in Amber, they’d worked their way from mother to son, his mind as restless as hers. At times, I fear, as dangerous.

My hopes of healing him–saving him–were lost long ago.

He’s entrenched with those who pander to his weaknesses.

He loathes me, which is fair, I’d participated in my own manipulations, all with good intentions.

He doesn’t understand all of this was for him–for us –and now I am trapped fulfilling the obligations of a different path, one he was chosen to take.

The girl I’d hoped would tie us together, in a few days, will be my bride, not his.

She was to be his salvation, instead, now it’s just another consequence.

Taking a deep breath, I reach for my mask, eyes falling to the stack of candles. Impulsively, I grab the candle and strike the final match, lighting the wick.

I swallow and speak to the powers that rule us, light and dark, the only words that suffice, “Give her the strength for what is coming. There will be no mercy.”

“Come forward,” I say when I hear her footsteps falter near the side door. I feel soothed, the emotions I felt before no longer have me in a chokehold. I’d left them, along with the ring, at the altar.

She approaches the throne dressed in velvet and lace. It doesn’t do much to take away from the dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes, or the timid way she walks–her muscles aching after sleeping on the hard floor in a confined space.

I didn’t consider her state when I barged through the door the night before. Didn’t fucking care. But I didn’t expect to find her in the bed, naked, those full round breasts tipped in silver. Damon’s work, I assume.

That’s the image that flashes over her as she moves closer.

The flat belly under the swell of her perky breasts, the dark thatch of soft hair covering her pussy.

I stared down at her on her hands and knees, at the soft flesh of her cheeks.

I call her a girl, she acts like it, but there’s no doubt that she has a woman’s body.

It’s made of a woman’s curves, the kind you hold onto and plunder.

It was the second time I’d seen her exposed.

The first, writhing on the altar. The second, scared and confused. Obedient.

Both times brought the same feeling in my chest: disgust.

The woman in front of me lifts the hem of her skirt by the lace and curtsies. “Your Majesty.”

I fight an eye roll, and plan to kick Graves’ ass later for putting her up to this nauseating display.

“That’s enough,” I mutter. “Stand straight.”

Our eyes hold for a long moment, until she blurts, “Please don’t send me back. I won’t do it again. I’ll sleep in the cage. I’ll do whatever you–”

“Quiet.” Her mouth clamps shut, although it seems to take a herculean effort. “As much as I’d love to send you back to your uncle, that is not possible.” I look down at her. “As was my hope that you would adapt to your role as Baroness by attending class and your Barons with no complications.”

Her jaw loosens and she starts, “I’m–”

“Shut. Up.” Emotions flicker across her face.

She struggles to control them–which is a problem.

She struggles to control herself. Even more of an issue.

“This is my home, Baroness. A home I open to a chosen few in Forsyth each year. I provide one worthy female a room, nourishment, safety, and protection. In exchange you are at the will and command of my Barons, who are at the will and command of their King.” I pause, letting her comprehend the information before I continue, “And are currently restraining themselves at my request.”

She shifts her feet, the patent leather soles scuffing softly. I have no doubt she’s thinking of the carving on her chest and the bars I saw threaded through the peaks of her nipples. I can only assume she’s experienced more under their hands since the Hunt, damages I can’t see.

Back in the day, I would have torn her to shreds.

“The situation between us is unprecedented, which may make things confusing for you, so let me be clear: you are not to wander the House of Night without approval. You are not to touch anything that doesn’t belong to you.

You are never to go in any room that isn’t explicitly approved, especially mine, ever again. ”

She nods, and I note that for once she’s keeping her mouth shut. Good, maybe she’s trainable after all.

“In less than two weeks the wedding will take place on Samhain.” I gesture to the sanctuary. “Here, actually, in this room.”

She looks around, taking in the space for the first time, absorbing the arched stained-glass windows, the leaded glass filled with brN symbology.

The large pentagram on the back wall behind the throne is omnipresent, a reminder of who and what we are.

Her eyes skitter over to the altar, where the candles still flicker with light.

“Your uncle assured me that you were prepared to handle all of this, but it’s clear I’ve been misled.” I tap my ring against the arm of the throne. “I’ll notify Graves that we need to consult a professional.”

“A professional what?” she asks, then slams her mouth shut again.

“In weddings. Etiquette. Appropriate behavior. And…” I clear my throat. “Expectations.”

Her brown eyes lock with mine. Her innocence oozes off of her in waves, but those eyes… they swim with something deeper. More mature. More emotion than I feel comfortable sitting with. I lift my chin. “You’re dismissed.”