You Are Mine (Mine, #1)(5)
Motioning at me, Father says, “Thomas, this is your new property.”
Thomas bends over my extended hand to kiss it. A tremor of dread starts where his lips touch my glove and travels through me. Not letting go, he straightens. His eyes roam over me. I force my smile to stay, though I'd prefer to glower. No man has ever leered at me in such a way. A chill fans through me. I want an extra wrap. Or three.
“Enchanted. I don't mind getting married, but I believe marriage to this one will make duty a pleasure.”
Even through the shield of my glove, his touch makes my insides balk. I yank my hand from his, as politely as I can, and mask my features. Father scowls. Apparently, not polite enough.
“Glad to hear it.” Father slaps him on the back. “Wouldn't want it any other way. The other is my second eldest. Turns seventeen in eleven months.”
Thomas's gaze leaves me in favor of my sister, for which I am grateful. As he grabs her extended hand and places a kiss on it, the bit of gratitude I felt flees. He shouldn't be touching my sister.
“She's also lovely. I know you mourn not having sons, but if these two are any indication of your other daughters, you have outstanding stock. You'll be rich from the sell of them. If her blood is as potent as her sister's, I hope they pass the multi-wives law before her birthday.”
Cynthia giggles prettily. The sound makes me feel as if my carriage sickness is returning in full force.
Father chuckles. “With your lineage and power, I'm sure you'd do the law justice. I'll be pulling for it myself. If it had passed years ago, I might have been able to get a son.”
“Then I hope it passes. There may still be.” He winks at me. Though it takes effort, I manage not to glare back. What I can't stop is the chill crawling through me.
His arm drapes around my waist and he pulls me toward massive front doors. He calls over his shoulder to Father. “You must be tired from your travels. I'll have servants attend you, Stephen. Dinner is at seven.”
As we ascend the steps, the space between us isn't enough. I suspect it won't be the entire time we're here, but hope it's not always this close. The whole week-long tournament. Ugh. And then the marriage in five months, what will I do? With a slight shortening of my gait, I try to ease from him and rejoin my sister. Thomas clings tighter.
The doors open and he calls out orders to his servants, his voice echoing through the entry. Behind us, Cynthia and Father follow. Several tables decorated with flowers line the walls adding a sharp, floral scent, making me more ill.
“Councilman Stephen, you'll be shown to my best guest room.”
“Thank you, Thomas. I'm sure it will be to my liking.”
A tarnished leads Father up the curving staircase. A second servant, not tarnished, steps forward. We only have the bald, inked-faced tarnished servants at home. The sight of someone serving who looks more like me is jarring. A reminder that anyone can become a servant. Though anyone can also be tarnished should their master deem them unworthy. The thought distracts me from the fact that I'm being left behind. The servant leads Cynthia down a hall to the right, and out of sight. I yearn to follow.
Once she's out of sight, Thomas puts his nose in my hair and breathes deeply making the ache to be away a physical pain in my chest. “It's unfortunate we can't hold the wedding at the end of the tournament. What a fine thing that would make. Ah, well, make yourself at home, wench. Soon enough, it will be.”
He wraps his fingers in my hair, loosening the pins. Maintaining proper distance is unnecessary with your Master. He sets what's proper. The words from the Woman's Canon were drilled into me so many times, they echo in my head as if my teacher is actually saying them. A woman must always submit to her Master's wishes. At school we learned the only exception is that she remain chaste before marriage. Otherwise the warlock lines might become tainted.
The law must be obeyed. I force myself not to let my fist fly like Father has done to me so many times. My arms tremble. “Please stop.”
“Ah, ah, ah. You must address me as Master.” He presses his lips to my cheek, his hands move from my hair going lower and lower down my back. My muscles tense and my body shakes. Suppressing a whimper, I squirm.
Laughing, he pushes me away. I stumble, but manage to catch myself on a small table. The vase of flowers on it rocks back and forth. I steady it before it can crash to the floor.
“I'm not an Envadi, wench. You'll come to realize my attention is not barbaric, but what you want.”
While he ascends the stairs, I hold myself as dignified as I can. At the top, he stares at me. I hold his gaze, unwilling to look away. It doesn't matter he owns me, after what just took place I can't degrade myself any further by lowering my head. A wry grin crosses his features, as if he's won something.
Finally he saunters down the hall. When he's out of sight, I let the air rush from me and rub my cheek, probably smudging my face paint. Though he didn't punish me for the disobedient act, I can't help but feel maybe he did win something.
“This way,” says a tarnished I hadn't noticed. She waits next to the hall Cynthia went down.
“Does the place you're taking me have somewhere I can wash?”
She nods.
“Good.” I stop rubbing my face and anxiously follow her.
The memory of his lips upon my skin distracts me from noticing much on the way in. She leads me to a sitting room I assume will be shared with my sister. It's twice the size of my bedroom. A small sofa and three chairs grace the middle of the room. Paintings of pregnant women hang on the walls. Cynthia enters from an adjoining room, eyes brighter than when we arrived.