Page 8 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Pailtyn

I can feel their eyes on me. It’s like a physical touch, cold and unwanted, as I twirl under the colossal chandelier of the great hall.

The semi-sheer fabric of my dress, a supposed symbol of my purity, billows around me, revealing more than it conceals.

I try to focus on the music, the sweet melody played by the finest musicians our Chapter has to offer, but it can’t drown out the reality of this grotesque spectacle.

Mother and Pearce are up there, in the gallery, their silhouettes casting long, disapproving shadows.

I can almost hear my mother’s heels grinding against the floor as she shifts, her lips pursed in that way she does when she’s displeased.

I just can’t tell if it’s me that’s pissing her off, or something else.

Pearce stands rigid beside her, his hands clenched behind his back. I know he’s watching my every move, his eyes as critical as the scores being tallied at the end of the hall.

Gunther struts between us, his grin a lecherous slash across his face. He reaches out, his fat fingers grasping at waists, brushing against cheeks, lingering too long on the small of a back.

I want to recoil, to scream, to claw at his face, but I bite my tongue and dance away, narrowly avoiding his touch as he moves closer. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me squirm, not after the other day.

The other girls are radiant, smiling, their cheeks flushed with excitement or fear, I can’t tell.

They spin and dip, their dresses like gossamer wings, as they vie for our dear Chapter Lord’s attention.

I try to mimic their grace, their eagerness, but my heart isn’t in it because I can’t forget why we’re here, what we’re dancing for.

Let them have him. Let one of them win this contest. Better I fail now than succeed and spend the rest of my life regretting this.

I wince, chastising myself for those sinful thoughts.

I’d woken up this morning determined to be good, to be obedient.

Only, all that went out the window the moment I laid eyes on him.

I think I’d forgotten how grotesque he was.

I think I’d somehow fooled myself that the person in my head wasn’t that bad.

But the reality can’t be denied.

Being married Gunther would be a living nightmare.

At the end of the hall, the evaluators sit, their quills scratching against parchment, tallying our worth like we’re livestock at a market.

They scrutinize our every move, our every smile, reducing us to numbers on a scoreboard.

I don’t even understand how they are marking us, what things we have to do and not do to get a good score. I just hope the other girls are better.

I wait for my moment, for the perfect opportunity to seal my fate. The music crescendos, and I spin, faster and faster, the room…blurring into a whirl of colours and sounds.

I see Gunther approaching from the corner of my eye, his hand outstretched, ready to ‘sample the merchandise’ as I’ve heard him joke already to his guards. Revulsion surges through me, and I know it’s now or never.

I falter mid-spin, my foot catching on itself.

It’s a clumsy, graceless move that makes me tumble to the ground.

My limbs flail, the sheer fabric of my skirt tears slightly as I make impact with the floor.

I hear gasps from the other girls, a sharp intake of breath from the evaluators, and the music practically stutters to a halt in such a dramatic fashion.

I stay where I’ve fallen, acting my part, acting like I’m just as surprised as everyone else. That I’m ashamed too, embarrassed. A voice in my head whispers with glee that this is it, this is enough. No one would want a bride who’s a clutz, will they?

Only, before my triumph can truly set in, a pudgy hand reaches down, fingers wrap around my body, and I’m scooped up.

I stare back in disbelief at the man holding me and for a second it feels like the entire world stops.

In books, they describe these moments, when you stare into the eyes of another human being, and you know your life has irrevocably changed. That the stars have aligned, that you’ve met your soulmate. But the person staring back at me, he’s not my soulmate.

He’s my destiny, yes, my future, but I can already taste the ashes in my mouth.

I can feel the pain.

The destruction, every horrific moment of what is coming. What this man will do.

My heart slams into my chest, my body trembles, complete and utter fear reverberates through me, and I can’t control it, I can’t stop it.

“Poor thing.” Gunther murmurs. “Do all these people make you nervous? Or is it fear of not being chosen that’s put too much pressure on you?”

I gulp back and my voice refuses to work.

I thought he was a leech last time I encountered him, but now, now I’m certain he’s so much worse than that.

He hooks a finger under my chin, lifting my face higher. “Such a pretty thing.” He mutters. “A pretty, pretty thing.”

I want to scream back that I’m not a thing. That none of us are. That we’re human beings, people, not merely objects for him to enjoy. But my defiance falters as I realise everyone is watching us now.

He sets me on my feet, no longer staring at my face but now down, at my body, at the parts of me that are exposed solely for his pleasure.

And then he nods like he’s made his mind up before he turns and walks away.

I don’t want to look up, I don’t want to see the anger on my uncle’s face, but I don’t know what else to do.

I look stupid, I look like a fool, stood here, right in the centre of the room.

The musicians begin to play, the other girls exchange glances with one another and then they start dancing again as if they can erase these last few moments from everyone’s memory.

I swallow my pride and begin to move once more, trying to shut up the voice in my head. Trying to shut up the steadily growing scream that’s getting louder and louder and louder.