Page 26 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Pailtyn

I t’s been a week. A week since that awful night. He’s kept me in his bed ever since. I don’t know whether to be relieved about it or appalled.

Kora has been slipping the medicine into his food, ensuring he gets enough to be satisfied and right now, he’s clearly enjoying his newfound virility, not that I am.

But I’ll take his fucking.

I’ll take his grunting too.

I’ll take all of it if it means it’s contained to this room, these four walls. Just me and him.

As he leaves for another day of work, he informs me that he’s having a party tonight. A banquet. I don’t know what exactly that entails but I’ve heard rumours about them. We all have. They say the revelry is enough to rival the kinds of parties Nero held. To say I’m nervous is an understatement.

I stay in bed long after he’s gone. I hide under the covers, hating the way the guards are always there, always watching, while he gets dressed.

Thankfully they stay outside the room once Gunther is gone.

I guess he doesn’t want anyone but the maids to see me naked, unless he’s choosing to degrade me, that is.

Thank God for small mercies I guess because if I had to dress in front of them, especially the tall one, the monster one, - no, I shake my head, trying to bury my fear.

I need to be smart.

I need to be savvy.

What I’m doing now is working. I know it won’t last, that the man is like a volcano and any second he could erupt, but if I can limit the fallout, if I can manage it, then at least it will spare me some pain, if not all of it.

When the maids come to get me, I clamber out of the bed but gasp as I see the blood.

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

I hadn’t thought of that. Of the fact I was due on. Will Gunther be mad? Will he be angry that I’m not pregnant? I’m so stupid because I should have seen this coming. I should have realised. It’s been long enough since our wedding day, and the priest did say I was ovulating.

My hands wrap around my stomach as I feel that pang of cramping. I’m lucky that my periods aren’t that bad. Maybe it’s because I’m young but they’re usually light, usually done within a few days.

“Paitlyn?” Kora says as she spots it.

My face drops more. “I, we, we have to hide this.” I gasp.

She frowns, glancing at Ada, the other maid.

“Please. He’ll be angry, furious. I know he will.” I stammer. “We have to hide it.”

“You can’t hide the fact you’re bleeding.” Ada states.

She’s right. On some level she is right. But what if I can get Gunther drunk enough, what if I can pleasure him with my mouth? What if…I have to try. I have to. I don’t want to be beaten for this.

“Get rid of the sheets.” I order. “Burn them if you have to. And I need tampons.”

They both nod and I watch as they frantically pull of the bedspread and the sheets.

“Get in the shower.” Kora instructs. “I’m assuming you can dress yourself?”

“Don’t worry about me.” I say before rushing to the bathroom.

If this works, if I can do this, it’ll be a miracle. I say a silent prayer as I turn the water on.

Come on God, be on my side for a change.

When I get out, the soiled sheets are nowhere to be seen. The bed has been remade and Ada mutters about telling the cleaning crew that Gunther soiled them, so they don’t ask questions.

I shrug back, not giving a shit. It wouldn’t be a stretch to for him to actually defecate all over the bed considering he pissed on me only a few weeks ago.

“Here,” Kora says, passing me a box of tampons. As I take them, she grabs my hand, “These are technically forbidden.” She states. “Make sure they’re well-hidden because if he finds them…”

I nod, hearing the warning. “I’ll hide them as best I can.” I reassure her.

She gives me a tight smile back, one that does not fill me with much confidence, and I make a mental note not to reveal where the hell I got them from if they are found.

I don’t want her, or Kora beaten simply for helping me.

My stomach is in knots and it has nothing to do with my period.

I’m dressed in a silky dress. An almost sheer dress. A white dress.

I’m petrified that any minute I’m going to leak out, but I have no way of preventing it. I couldn’t even sneak another tampon for later and it feels like there’s a ticking clock above my head, an alarm ready to go off at any minute.

I’m stood beside Gunther as he sits in what can only be described as the most ridiculously tacky looking throne you could imagine.

It’s gold. Real gold. I don’t want to think how many millions of pounds the thing costs.

It’s got fancy embellishment around the back and arms to make it look like it’s Greek or Roman or from some equally ancient empire.

I doubt it’s real, though it could be. It just looks too polished, to damned gauche to be the genuine article.

Twenty of Gunther’s closest friends and allies lounge about while music plays one jolly tune after another. I don’t know any of them. Not one. My mother was not invited and when I think of my wedding night, I’m pleased that she isn’t here.

All of them are wearing tunics. All of them look like this is some sort of fancy dress party.

In front of us is a long glass table. It’s covered in fruit, and meat, and lobster and every imaginable delicacy.

My mouth waters as I look at it all and then I remind myself of what Gunther did, what I saw him do before the guests arrived, before anyone but me and the guards were here to witness it.

The table is low, low enough that people can stretch out on the couches and gorge to their hearts content. Not that they do, there are servants here, all dressed up in tiny little tunics and they’re the ones feeding them, they’re the ones raising their goblets, allowing them to drink and feast.

It feels like an orgy, an orgy for the sense, and a voice in my head is already whispering that soon enough Gunther will turn it into one of the flesh too.

As if on cue, the solid gold doors open. A man comes walking in. His face is hard despite his relatively young age. As he gets closer, I can see the savagery in his eyes. He looks like the sort of man you would not want to meet on a cold night, all alone.

I shudder, dropping my gaze as it feels like literal ice slips through my veins.

“Magnus.” My husband says, holding his arms almost as a mockery.

I bite my lip, bite back the gasp. That is Magnus Blake? Oh, I know of him, I know of his family. His father too and the horrific death his mother endured at her husbands’ hands. My eyes run over him before I can stop myself and I realise I’ve seen that look before, I’ve seen those features before.

No. Surely not.

I scan the room, staring at the guards and as they land on him, on that giant of a man, it feels like an entire bucket worth of ice falls on me. He looks back. That fucking monster stares right back at me and I swear his lip curls just a tiny bit.

It’s him. Isn’t it? He’s his brother. His younger brother. He’s a Blake. A fucking Blake.

I let out a whimper and Gunther reaches out, grabbing my hand.

“Now, now.” He murmurs. “You have nothing to fear from such a man as this.” He says almost reassuringly.

As if my fear is that he’s been summoned to take me away, to lock me away, to turn me into one of his slaves in that cursed prison his family have built and managed since before any of us were even born.

I blink back, staring again at the floor, trying to compose myself when I’m already so far beyond breaking point.

That monster is a Blake.

“You’re scaring my wife, Magnus.” Gunther says, like he gives a shit when I’m afraid or not. Like he hasn’t terrorised me more than any other person in this room.

Magnus inclines his head the tiniest of bits, the least he can get away with. “Apologies, Chapter Lord, Chapter Lady.”

I give a weak smile, but I swear my knees are shaking so much you can hear them rattling against one another.

Gunther waves his hand again, dismissively. “You are not here to make niceties.” He states. “Did you bring what I requested?”

Something flickers across Magnus’s face. Something I can’t read.

“I have.” He says, forcing his features into something that should be neutral, should be impassive, only, on him it looks even worse. He raises his hands, giving a quick clap and behind him, a rattling begins.

I can’t be the only one who gasps as a dozen shackled men and women are marched into the space.

Gunther places his pudgy hands on either side of his throne, and he raises himself up so that he’s half stood, half hunched over. His eyes snap to every single slave as they hang their heads and come to a stop before us.

“Twelv, twelve?” He says as if he’s only just learnt to count.

“You requested twelve.” Magnus replies.

“I did. I did. But I wanted more.” Gunther states. “I expected you to surprise me with more. I expected at least two dozen.”

“Two dozen?” Magnus repeats, with more than an edge to his voice. “Chapter Lord, we are all here to follow your instructions to the letter. I cannot be expected to guess the whims of a man as esteemed as you are when I, myself, am so lowly. If you wanted more, then should have clearly stated it.”

Gunther stares at him, clearly trying to work out if there was an insult in all that or not.

“I am as always, your humble servant.” Magnus says, giving a low bow before he turns and heads back to the open doorway.

As the brothers pass, I note the exchange, the glance, the silent unspoken words between them but whatever it is they’re communicating, I don’t get a chance to work it out.

“Slaves.” Gunther says, clapping his hands in glee, bringing my attention right back to him. “Now we can really indulge ourselves.”

I don’t know how it didn’t sink in before where these people came from. That they’re from Oblivion. I stare at them, knowing that at some point every single one of them was a sanctified member of the Brethren. They were righteous. Until they did something that got them banished.