36. Brynn
I f I thought being taken to Oblivion was bad then this place, this is so much worse.
I can’t stop shaking as the car makes its way up the long drive.
Conrad had me dressed in a long, silver satin dress that scoops low enough to show most of my cleavage. No bra, though thankfully I’m allowed to wear a thong, so I guess I should feel grateful for that. My hair hangs down, my makeup is perfect, and I’m all beautifully made up by the maids.
I feel dressed up. Dolled up. Too pretty by far.
The house is just as imposing as Conrad’s own. But to know this place is his brother’s, that that is where we are headed? It puts the fear of God into me.
“You will behave today.” Conrad says under his breath, though I catch every word.
I nod. Quickly.
I don’t want to anger him, I don’t want to push him. Something already tells me that he’ll be so much worse around his brother, that he’ll play up to him, that he’ll make a point of showing off his ownership over me.
“Whatever I say, whatever I command, you will do it. Understood?”
Those words don’t help at all. But then what would help?
It sounds like he’s got something planned, something already agreed upon with Magnus.
Will they hurt me? Torture me the way they did Magnus’ now wife? I gulp, nodding again, praying that this evening goes quickly. Praying that I’m just overthinking this, that we’ll have a nice meal. Conrad will do all the talking, and then we’ll go home.
I dig my nails into my palms, reminding myself that Conrad’s house is not my home. I’ve never had a home, at least not since my mother died. No, that place is a prison. A gilded one, granted, but a prison nonetheless.
When we pull up there’s a servant there, opening the door, offering his hand for me to take. I do it quickly, mainly to appease my husband. Only, he looks absolutely furious as he gets out and stalks around.
“Do not touch my wife.” He snarls, grabbing my hand back, shoving the servant out of the way. “Nobody touches my wife but me.”
If I had the balls, I’d roll my eyes. He acts so protective, so damn possessive, and yet he is the greatest threat to my life.
At the grand entrance, I can see him, Magnus, standing watching us both. What does he think of his brother’s display? Does he act the same around Liliana?
His arms are crossed, and he looks just as pissed as my dear husband is.
Conrad tightens his grip, practically pulling me up the steps to where he is waiting.
“Conrad,” Magnus says in a tone that sends a chill through me. He’s clearly not impressed at all, but is it me or his brother that’s got him so annoyed?
I don’t know what to do, what to say. Should I curtsy? This Lord is so far above me in the pecking order that I’m afraid one stupid mistake could cost me.
“My wife.” Conrad says, shoving me forward so that his brother can properly look at me.
I bite my tongue, trying to keep my face neutral.
“How old are you?” Magnus asks after what feels like an awfully long time of him just staring at me.
“Twen, twenty-one,” I stammer, my voice sounding just as small as I feel in this moment.
His eyebrows rise, he glances over my shoulder at Conrad, and I swear there’s a silent exchange between them. Some unspoken message I can’t fully grasp.
“Aren’t you going to let us inside?” Conrad says pointedly.
Magnus tilts his head like he’s considering slamming the door shut in our faces and then he steps back, holding his hand in what would ordinarily be a gesture of welcome but right now, it feels like another sign of my doom.
As we walk in, it feels like the grandeur of the space swallows me whole. Yes, Conrad’s home is magnificent, but this is on a far bigger scale. Each and every step I take seems to amplify my fear.
Conrad holds my hand firmly, as if he expects me to turn tail and run at any moment.
I dare look at him and his face is unreadable, but the tension between him and Magnus seems to crackle like a thunderbolt.
We make it past the colossal entrance hall and into what must be a long gallery. There’s a massive, ornate chandelier hung, casting fragile light that seems to dance around the room.
Underneath it, waiting as if made of stone, is Liliana. His wife.
Her red hair is styled short, in a pixie cut. She’s tall, serene almost, but she’s not lithe. Her body is curvy, womanly. And in the dress she’s wearing, you can see absolutely every inch of her.
I blink back, registering how sheer the material is. She’s not wearing a bra or any form of underwear. Her breasts hang a little, but her nipples are big and round and they’re all acting like this is perfectly normal, like her wearing this is normal. I don’t look down, I don’t dare to. I don’t know how I’d react to seeing her bare pussy.
But my gaze lands on her chest, on where there’s a brand. The Blake family crest, burnt into her very flesh. I gulp when I see it, and it takes everything I have not to stumble, not to say anything.
“Brynn,” Liliana says with a warm smile, holding her hands out to welcome me.
Of course, Conrad refuses to relinquish his grip and there’s an awkward moment where we just stand there.
Magnus makes a noise that shows he’s less than impressed and Liliana looks at him pointedly before she turns back to us with a perfect mask on her face.
“Dinner is ready,” she says.
Magnus all but rips my arm from his brother’s grasp, pulling me through to the dining room, leaving Conrad to lead his wife in.
“Look at you.” Conrad’s drawl rings out loud enough for us to hear. “Playing the perfect little wife now.”
It sounds like a taunt, one I don’t fully understand. Liliana clearly knows better than to react.
Magnus pulls out a seat for me and I take it quickly, clasping my hands together, trying to shore up the last of my nerves.
The lighting in here is softer, the great chandeliers over our heads don’t glint as brightly. The table is laid for a full silver service and as the entrees are put in front of us, I whisper my thanks and wonder how on earth I am going to even hold my cutlery without shaking.
Around the perimeter of the room, a dozen servants stand in perfectly done up uniforms of navy blue. They keep their gazes ahead, staring off as if they aren’t allowed to even look at us.
It feels like a stark contrast between them and the furious looks Conrad and Magnus kept shooting at one another.
Conrad places his arm over the back of my chair, making an obvious display of possession and then he leans in, whispering into my ear. “See how he dresses her? He likes everyone to see how beautiful his wife is, likes everyone to see how much control he has over her, too. Maybe I should do the same with you. Show you off, show everyone what I have, what they can’t touch.”
I gulp, shutting my eyes, unsure how to respond without pissing him off. But I know my face betrays me, I know it shows exactly what I’m thinking of that idea.
He lets out a chuckle, running a finger down my cheek, “No, your body is for my eyes only.” He says, as if I’m meant to feel honoured by such a declaration.
“Is the food not to your liking?” Magnus asks, cutting through the moment with a voice like ice.
Conrad looks around and tilts his head. “I hadn’t thought to try it yet.” He says. “Not when I have such a delicacy right here already.”
Magnus’s face morphs into something that puts the fear of God into me. He leans forward, staring at us both.
“You came for dinner, brother.” He says, pointing a polished silver knife right at him. “So you will eat the food so kindly prepared for you.”
Conrad sits back, the ghost of a grin at the corner of his mouth and he picks up the fork, stabs a chunk of salmon and makes a deliberate show of eating it.
God, are they always like this? What if they escalate? What if this turns into an actual fight?
As Magnus’s eyes turn to me, I literally cower in my seat. I can see why they want him as Chapter Lord. He’s a monster, more of a monster than the man I’m now chained to.
“Tell me, Brynn,” He says, with that icy tone, “How long have you two been married?”
I blanche, stammering a reply, “I, I, don, don’t know exactly.” I say with a voice that sounds so weak, so small, so utterly pathetic. “It must be a month now, may, maybe mooore.”
His eyebrows raise, and he looks pointedly at his brother before turning his attention right back on me.
“You don’t know.” He repeats. “Does this marriage mean so little that you haven’t even kept track of it?”
My stomach drops, bile twists somewhere deep inside me and I think I might just vomit. “It’s not, it’s…” I try to explain it, try to rationalise it but Conrad takes my hand, placing it in his on the table, and that silences me.
“Time has not been linear for my wife.” He says.
“What does that mean?” Magnus replies.
My heart slams into my chest. I swear you can see it, my pulse thumping away at my throat. What will Magnus do when he finds out I’ve not been an obedient wife, that I’ve not behaved the way the Brethren expect, the way I was groomed and brought up to be?
“She’s had some lessons to learn, haven’t you, Doll?” Conrad says as his hand squeezes mine harder and harder.
I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to give in, but I drop my gaze and nod, feigning the obedience that they expect of me because I’m petrified of what will happen if I don’t.
Magnus stares back, scrutinising me like he’s trying to find every fault with my person. But Liliana, Liliana stiffens. I see it, the way her shoulders freeze, the way her face shows for one brief second what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling. Then it’s like a mask comes down, like she folds up that part of herself and she becomes that picture perfect wife again.
“Lessons?” Magnus echoes, his voice sounding more and more cruel with every syllable. “And what lessons are these exactly?”
I shiver, shrinking even further into myself. How can I possibly admit to him of all people what I’ve done. How bad I’ve been? I’m a Brethren Lady, technically. I know my place, I know my duty.
If I admit to it, will he decide to override Conrad and send me to Oblivion anyway?
Or is this their plan? Him and Conrad, playing this little game together, deliberately manipulating the situation. Twisting the knife until I’m an absolute wreck, right here at the dinner table.
I can’t confess what I’ve done. I can’t.
When I look back at Magnus, his eyes hold such a fierce intensity that I feel even more exposed. He’s dissecting me, assessing the fractured pieces, and trying to work out if I’m worth the effort of continuing.
I’m nothing but a pawn in this little game they're playing.
My breath turns shallow, and the air seems to suffocate me. It takes all I have not to start clawing at my throat, and how I keep those tears in, I don’t know.
“Do you not trust her, then?” Magnus shoots back at Conrad.
“It’s not a question of trust.” Conrad says stiffly. “It’s a matter of conditioning. The girl is young, malleable. I’m just ensuring that she bends to fit my precise needs.”
God, the way he says that. I want to grab the knife, I want to impale it in his throat. I stare down, realising that I’m gripping it so tightly my knuckles are now white.
Conrad tilts his head and it’s clear he’s seen it too. His lips curl, he stares me dead in the eyes, practically challenging me to do it.
I don’t know if Magnus sees it, if Liliana sees it either. But Magnus sits back in his chair, his fingers lightly drumming against the tablecloth.
“I gave you specific instructions.” Magnus begins, “I told you what I needed, what this family needed…”
“And I did it.” Conrad says back almost nonchalantly despite his brother’s tone. “I got married, just as you requested.”
“To a child.” Magnus practically roars. “I ordered you to marry Giselle Monclere.”
“Brynn is twenty-one.” Conrad snaps back, releasing his hold of me and slamming his fist onto the table. “And she’s a Monclere too.”
“The wrong fucking one.”
“You want heirs?” Conrad says, “Brynn will give me far more children that that shrivelled up bitch could ever produce…”
“And yet Giselle was willing.” Magnus says, acting like he’s produced a trump card. “She wouldn’t have put up a fight, like this one…” He waves his hand almost dismissively at me.
Conrad jumps to his feet, the chair falling back behind him with a crash and I cry out in shock.
Magnus is up too. And it’s clear neither of them want to back down over this.
Suddenly, Liliana is by my side and she takes my hand, pulling me gently away.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Conrad snarls, yanking me back so aggressively that I slam into him, and my ribs protest so badly it brings tears to my eyes.
“Conrad,” Liliana says, “Let her have a moment, you and Magnus can talk. We’ll be right outside the door.”
Conrad narrows his eyes and Magnus tells us to go.
I don’t look back, I practically bolt for the door and as they close shut, I let out a long rattling breath.