Page 10 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Pailtyn

I t’s quiet. After all the fanfare of the Choosing Ceremony, we’re back home, back in our nice peaceful seclusion. Only, it doesn’t feel peaceful.

I can hear my mother storming from room to room, calling out for various things that apparently are urgently needed now that I am to be wed.

I roll my eyes, and stare out the window, stare at the pretty ornamental garden below me.

All the flowers are starting to dieback now.

All the pretty flush of summer is definitely over.

For some reason, that fact seems to fill me with more dread.

More trepidation. As if even the seasons are revolting over this abject insult to nature.

Where is Antonio? Why hasn’t he reappeared?

It’s not like him to be absent so long.

And it’s not like him to give up so easily, either.

He was so adamant, so vehemently against this match and now there’s nothing but crickets. It just doesn’t make sense.

I scrunch my nose up, rubbing absentmindedly at the skin on my arms. Am I imagining it or is there already a chill in the air?

Is winter already knocking at our door? With our house on the Moors, it’s not unheard of for this area to skip autumn entirely, and it’s also not been unheard of for the first snows to come and kill off the last of the summer bloom.

I turn my eyes to the thick clouds on the horizon.

Perhaps that’s what’s needed. A nice storm, something to clear the air.

Perhaps that’s what’s wrong with me, that it’s just the pressure playing havoc with my headspace.

I let out a giggle at that, I mean, what am I, some silly country girl? Some character in a book?

No, I can tell myself all the lies I want, and it still won’t alter the facts, won’t change the truth.

I know this is bad, because this shouldn’t be happening. My mother, the Senate, hell, even our Grand Master should be stepping in and stopping this abomination from proceeding. And the fact that no one is – well, that just proves how truly fucked I am.

“What are you doing?”

I practically jump out of my skin at the sound of my mother’s voice. Normally, I’m so good at hearing her approaching footsteps.

“I was just admiring the garden.” I say. It’s not a total lie.

She frowns, glancing over my shoulder like she expects there to be something forbidden there, like she expects the very devil to be sat on the bench, holding out a shiny apple to tempt me.

When she sees there’s nothing, she lets out a deep sigh. “We need to get you bathed.” She says, like I’m an infant unable to do anything for myself.

“Bathed?” I repeat.

She nods, wrapping her arm around me in what feels like a loving gesture, but it also feels like one of restraint. “Now that you’ve been elevated, you have to have daily baths, in holy water, right up until the ceremony. It helps purify you. It helps wash away your sins.”

It’s hard not to roll my eyes at that. What sins could I possibly commit while I’ve been here, under her and my uncle’s watchful gaze for almost the entirety of my life?

I keep that comment to myself as she leads me through to where my suite is.

Rebecca stands, waiting for us, with her hands clasped in front of herself, and her head bowed. I can hear the water bubbling away as it fills the tub.

“You know your orders.” My mother says dismissively.

Rebecca nods, moving quickly to leave but at the door, I can feel her steal a glance my way.

I can feel the weight of it. And I can feel something else lurking underneath it – is it sympathy?

Is it concern? I don’t have time to dwell on whatever it is because my mother is chattering away, sounding far chirpier than she has in years.

She pulls down the zip on my dress, eases it off my body and tells me to get in.

I do as I’m told, wincing slightly at the heat of the water.

“It has to be that hot,” She says gently. “The heat helps with purifying.”

I meet her gaze and again, say nothing.

A knock at the door gets both of our attention and my eyes widen with shock as a man, a priest walks in.

“Is she ready?” He asks, speaking to my mother, as if I’m incapable of having any thoughts of my own.

My mother smiles, inclining her head. “She is.” She replies.

The Priest motions for her to move out the way and my fear erupts as this man, this stranger walks right up to me, as he stares at me, at my nakedness.

“What is going on?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“Be silent.” The Priest says immediately. “A woman’s tongue is filled with lies.”

I frown, feeling even more confused, and in truth, more horrified. What the hell is going on? I’m being treated like I’ve done something abominable. Something deserving of punishment.

My mother lifts her hand to get my attention and silently she gestures at me to lay back, to be obedient.

The Priest moves about, sprinkling herbs and oils into the water. They fill the room with a fragrance that is almost bewitching.

When he reaches my head, he starts chanting, speaking a language I don’t understand, saying words that to me, hold no meaning. But I feel as he places his hand on my head, as he pushes hard enough that I’m dunked under the surface.

I barely manage to hold my breath as the water rushes over me, as those herbs that smelt so nice now rush up my nose, now stick to my skin.

He twists his hand in my hair, using it as an anchor to control my movements.

When I breach the surface, I can’t help but gasp.

“Be quiet.” He admonishes again before he submerges me once more.

My hands jerk out, my feet kick and I know water must be sloshing everywhere but I can’t help it.

When he’s finally finished, he’s dunked me so many times, I’ve lost count. My hair covers my face, that heavily scented water streams down and now the perfume feels suffocating.

The Priest struts to the end of the tub where my feet are and he stares down at my body, almost leering at my breasts.

“Well?” My mother says.

“She will learn.” The Priest replies without taking his eyes off me. “A few more sessions and she will compliant enough to prove she is without sin.”

I blink back, barely understanding what the fuck this man is talking about. My mother bows as though this is the greatest damned honour, and she walks over to him, placing a red velvet bag into his waiting hand.

As soon as he’s gone, I let out a sigh that could be a sob. I don’t even know where it comes from, but it feels like something deep inside me is desperately clawing to escape.

“There, there.” My mother murmurs soothingly, grabbing a brush, moving to fix the state that is now my hair.

“What, what was that?” I ask. Why didn’t she even give me a warning that that was going to happen?

“It’s part of the process of washing away your old life and welcoming in your new.” She says softly.

“So, do all brides do that?” Surely, someone would have told me of this before? Someone would have mentioned it?

“No, Paitlyn.” She begins teasing out the knots, working out the damage that was done to my long hair. “Not every bride is going to become Chapter Lady.”

“I don’t want it.” I say before I can stop myself. “I don’t want him, I don’t want this, I don’t want any of it…”

I hear the brush hit the marble floor. I feel her arms wrap around me. “Oh, sweetie.” She says so softly. “I thought that was the case. I could see it on your face, could see it in your reaction when he choose you.”

Maybe I’m a fool, maybe I’m a simpleton, but the way my heart leaps at her tone. “So, we can stop this?” I gasp, turning around to face her.

Only, her reaction is not what I expect at all.

“Stop it?” She repeats. “No, Paitlyn, we can’t stop it. It’s too late for that. Far too late.”

“But…”

“If you’d spoken up this morning, if you’d told me before the ceremony…”

I gulp, gripping the side of the bath more firmly. Is that true? Would she have even listened to me if I had? It’s not like I haven’t tried numerous times. Besides, she was more than set on this match before the thing was even started.

“He announced you publicly. The only way you can get out of this now is if you’re dead.”

Dead? I tremble more, I let those bitter, angry tears fall as I stare back at her.

“But…”

“And you’ve dug yourself further into it by initiating the Purification Ritual just now.”

“But…”

“It’s too late, Paitlyn. It’s too late.” She says in such a firm, final voice.

“Momma,” I don’t mean to do it, I don’t mean to start sobbing the way I do but the fear, the confusion, the lack of control about any of this, it’s taking over and I can’t think rationally, I can’t even think at all.

She pulls me in, hugging me so tightly and in this moment, this touch of comfort feels exactly like what I need.

“It will be okay.” She reassures me. “Everything will be okay.”

“But how? How can it?” I don’t want to marry him. I don’t want to ever see that man again.

“Is there no way…?” Maybe I’m mad now, because all I can think about is faking my death, telling everyone I died in some freak accident, and then I could get away.

It’s not like we don’t have money, and connections.

Hell, we’re Founders. Maybe Antonio would do it, maybe he could sneak me out and then…

She shakes her head, brushing my tears from my face. “What’s done is done.” She says. “God has chosen this path for us. We may not like it, we may not want it, but this is our destiny.”

I draw in a long, ragged breath. It’s hard not to notice how she uses the term ‘we’ when it’s me who’s actually fucked here, not her.

Me who’s going to have to marry that man.

Who’s going to have to kiss him, and smile at him, and spread my legs and…

my stomach twists at the thought, at the idea of Gunther, naked, and on top of me, of him in me, of him grunting away as he works his cock in and out.

Dear God, I can’t do this. I can’t.

My mother seems to read my mind. “I know it’s daunting, darling. But you’re strong. You can do this. And if you shut your eyes, you can pretend he is anyone. You can imagine that your husband is someone you desire, someone you want to fuck.”

My head is already screaming at me that I can’t. That this is the most reckless, most dangerous thing I could possibly think of doing.

“Even Antonio…” She says gently.

My eyes widen. Does she really think I’d do that?

Yes, I once had a childhood crush on the man, yes, right now, I would absolutely marry him if that was the option, but that’s not because I’m in love with him, not because I fancy him, it’s because the alternative is so much worse.

Antonio is an escape, nothing more. He represents the fantasy of a life I’m starting to realise I will never have.

“I don’t…” I begin but she places a finger over my lips to silence me.

“Sssh, it’s okay.” She says. “This is what it is to be a woman. This is what it means to endure. We do our duty in our marriage beds, we smile, and act pleasing for our husbands, but they cannot read our minds, they cannot control our desires. You may not be able to physically perform such acts, but in your head, you can do whatever you want, you can be with whoever you want. And that’s how we get our dreams. How we get our desires. ”

I gulp back, hearing not logic, not reason, but alarm bells. What she says goes against everything we’re taught as Brethren. What she’s saying is a form of adultery. It has to be.

She smiles again, nodding in such a convincing way I almost believe her. And then she picks up the brush and starts combing through my hair once more. “Now, let’s talk about the marriage ritual.”

I feel a shiver run down my spine, but I nod, willing her to continue. I need to know what I’m facing. If tonight has proven anything, I need to be forewarned.

“The ceremony will be held in the cathedral, in front of everyone,” she begins, her voice taking on a practical tone. “You’ll be purified beforehand, of course. Then, you’ll walk out in front of the waiting crowd, with all eyes on you.”

I can picture it already. The grand cathedral, the press of the masked crowd, the weight of their expectations. My stomach churns again, but I keep my face composed.

“Gunther will be waiting for you at the altar.” Mother states. “He’ll lay you down on the crucifix, where the High Priest will confirm your... purity.” She pauses, looking at me meaningfully.

I feel my cheeks burn, but I don’t look away. I knew that part was coming. That’s a given in every girl’s first marriage. The bride must be pure. A voice whispers in my head that that would be a way out of it, if I could ruin myself, if I could spoil my virginity, then Gunther would never marry me.

But I would also be ruined.

My family would be ruined.

I know for sure that I’d be sent to Oblivion for such an insult.

“…then, as part of the ritual, Gunther will place his hands around your neck. It’s symbolic. A representation of you leaving behind your old life and being reborn as the Chapter Lord’s wife.”

I nod, trying to absorb it all. It sounds terrifying, but what choice do I have?

None, that’s what. The only thing I can do now is be a good bride, to do what is expected of me. Afterall, that’s the only path left to walk.

My mother leans in again, her voice intense but quiet, as if she doesn’t want anyone to hear.

As if she thinks half the servants have their ears pressed against the door.

“Paitlyn, listen to me. You must behave, obey and play the perfect wife. Long term, Gunther will grow old, and then everything will change...” She leaves the sentence hanging.

“Change, how?” I ask.

She cups my cheek, her eyes blazing in a way I’ve never seen. “Just play your part, and then, my darling, you will have the world.”

Is she really saying that? Promising that? That, what, we’ll take over, we’ll somehow rule the Brethen? I want to laugh. I want to throw my head back and laugh so hard. Only, it’s not funny. What she’s saying is treason. More treason.