What Lies Beyond the Veil (Of Flesh & Bone, #1)(16)
I attempted to yank it away. "I can walk myself," I snapped, glaring at him. He didn't bother to turn his attention toward me or release me, instead setting a steady pace as he practically dragged me toward the manor in the distance.
"Perhaps this will serve as the reminder you needed that I am in charge, Estrella. Whatever happens in Mistfell is because I allow it. Because I own this village and everyone in it," Lord Byron said, taking up pace behind Loris and I as he left the meaning of his words to hang between us. I turned to look at him over my shoulder, watching him straighten his cloak and brush the rich red velvet over his shoulder as he met my gaze. "Just as I own you."
The light stone of Mistfell Manor gleamed in the moonlight as Loris led me along the path until we approached the servants' entrance at the side. The same entrance I used every time Lord Byron requested my presence in his library and I had to sneak into the house without alerting one of the High Priest’s spies. The Ladies of the Night entered through the front door, their presence anything but hidden, while he snuck me in through the side as if I was the dirty secret no one could ever know about.
One of the manor guards hurried to open the door for us as Loris guided me inside, taking me through the halls quickly until he placed a hand on the gilded handle of one of the enormous library doors and shoved it open for us to enter.
As soon as we'd stepped over the threshold onto the polished stone, veined with gold, Loris released me and turned his face downward toward the floor as I stumbled to catch my footing. I lifted my hand to rub at my elbow, the skin blooming with a bruise. Loris watched from the corner of his eye, his face pinching as he witnessed the show of vulnerability for a moment.
The betrayal lingered between us, even knowing what he would choose if forced to decide between his affection for me and his duty to Mistfell. I’d only deceived myself when I tried to convince myself I didn’t care. The hurt made my throat tight, leaving me to swallow against it as I tore my eyes from his and looked around the room I was too familiar with.
"Leave us," Lord Byron barked as he stepped into the room, dismissing the Mist Guard from our presence for what came next. For the punishment that had to follow.
“What do you propose I should do with you for your continued disobedience, Miss Barlowe?” he asked the moment the doors to the library closed behind the retreating guards, sealing me into the room that I’d come to dread more than anything. I’d come to hate this place for the association it bore with my own pain and the depravity of Lord Byron’s actions within those four walls.
Books lined the ornate, wooden shelves. Stacked to the ceiling with generations worth of knowledge that required ladders to access. Knowledge that Lord Byron himself could very rarely be bothered to read; his focus on the present and growing his own power within the Kingdom demanded too much of his time.
His desk sat at the back edge of the room, parchment laid out on top next to his bottle of ink and quill. I’d spent far too many nights bent over the surface, my nails gripping the edge of the smooth, polished wood as I listened to the whistle of his switch cutting through the air, waited for the fire of his strike.
How many nights had I spent reading the texts he assigned to me, filling my head with the chastity of The Mother and the consequences for sin, while he wrote letters to the King in Ineburn City? I’d lost count long ago, and something like desolation made my chest throb.
He moved to the decanter on his desk, calmly pouring himself a glass of red wine. With his back to me, he reached up and unclasped his cloak, draping it over the chair beside his desk. “I would never assume myself worthy of determining my own punishment, my Lord,” I said, biting my tongue to keep from worsening whatever might be coming.
He poured another glass of wine, turning and holding it out to me. “Drink,” he instructed. I stepped forward, confusion furrowing my brow as I closed the distance between us. In all my nights spent in the library with him, he’d never offered me wine. “It will help you relax, and for tonight, I think that is needed.”
It would dull my senses too much, according to him, and vertigo made the room spin as I closed the distance between us and accepted the glass from his hand. What kind of torment did he have planned where this was necessary in his mind?
“I’m sure you must have questions,” he said, leaning back until he rested against his desk with his arms crossed over his chest. I took my first sip of wine, the bitter notes making my face pinch.
I nodded, not lending voice to any of them. I knew better than to assume this was an invitation to question his motives, as if I had any understanding of the games he played.
“Always so curious. Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair directly in front of him. I obeyed, lowering myself into it as he refilled his glass and took out yet another one to fill. “You get one question, Estrella. That is the extent of my kindness after your behavior today.”
I swallowed, taking another sip of my wine as I met his harsh stare. “Why did you not send me to be trained with the Ladies of the Night? Why didn’t the physician report me as impure?” I asked, catching myself before I could continue on. The urgent thoughts running through my head demanded attention, and perhaps the smartest question to ask would have been about the High Priest’s plans for me in the name of The Father.
But I couldn’t think about that, about the possibility of dying in the same way my father had years ago. Not if I wanted to keep breathing, to keep functioning until the moment of my death arrived.