Chapter 46
The restaurant was a cathedral of wealth, all polished marble and crystal chandeliers, the kind of place where money whispered rather than shouted.
I'd chosen it carefully, neutral territory, public enough that my father might restrain his worst impulses, elegant enough to satisfy his expectations.
As I guided Cadence through the maze of white-clothed tables, I could feel the tension radiating from her body, matching my own dread that pulsed with every heartbeat.
My father was already seated, of course. Nicholas Bale never arrived after anyone; it was a power play he'd perfected over decades. He stood as we approached, his smile not quite reaching his eyes as he assessed Cadence with the cold calculation of a man appraising property.
"So this is the famous Consort I've heard so much about," he said, extending his hand to Cadence. "Nicholas Bale. A pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Turner." Cadence took his hand, her face a careful mask.
"So, Miss Turner," my father began once the waiter had retreated, swirling his wine with practised precision. "Logan tells me you're studying English Literature. Not the most practical degree, is it?" And so it began.
"I find it fulfilling," Cadence replied, her voice steady despite the obvious provocation.
"Hmm." My father took a sip of wine, his eyes never leaving her face. "And what do your parents think of your choice?" I tensed, knowing he'd been thoroughly briefed on Cadence's background. This was deliberate, a jab at a wound he knew existed.
"My grandparents have always supported my decisions," Cadence said, her fingers tightening around her water glass. "They raised me after my mother left."
"Ah, yes. The absent mother." My father nodded, as if confirming something to himself.
"And what did your grandparents do before they retired?
I understand they're not well-connected.
" The contempt in his voice was subtle but unmistakable.
I saw Cadence's jaw tighten, a muscle jumping beneath her skin.
"My grandfather worked in construction. My grandmother worked in retail." Her voice was clipped, defensive.
"Construction," my father repeated, as if tasting something sour.
"Manual labour. Honest work, I suppose." The way he said 'honest' made it sound like a character flaw. I narrowed my eyes. Since the legitimate side of my father’s business was very much construction it seemed strange that he was so critical. I cleared my throat.
"Cadence is at Regents on a full scholarship. She's incredibly talented." My father ignored me, his gaze fixed on Cadence like a predator assessing prey.
"And you believe you're qualified to be a Consort? It's traditionally a position for women of... certain backgrounds. Training. Breeding." I watched Cadence's face flush, whether from anger or humiliation, I couldn't tell. Probably both.
"It wasn’t exactly my plan when coming to Regents," she said, each word precise and controlled. My father's smile was cold.
"Yes, you’ve had quite the fortunate turn. Tell me, has it been difficult, adjusting to a world so far above your station?"
"Father," I interjected, my voice sharper than I intended. "That's enough." What the fuck was he going on about, above her station. My father grew up in the gutters, yet he spoke with the confidence of royalty. He turned to me, one eyebrow raised in mock surprise.
"I'm simply getting to know the young woman. Isn't that why we're here?"
The waiter returned with our starters, providing a momentary reprieve.
I watched Cadence pick at her food, barely eating.
My own appetite had vanished the moment we'd sat down, replaced by a knot of anxiety that tightened with each passing minute.
My father, however, ate with relish, all while continuing his interrogation.
"Your academic performance has been inconsistent, I understand. Particularly in mathematics." Cadence's fork paused halfway to her mouth.
"I've always struggled with maths."
"A significant weakness," my father observed. "A proper Consort should excel in all areas. Support her Regents in every aspect of their lives." I saw Cadence's hand tremble slightly before she set down her fork.
"I excel in other areas." My father's smile was predatory.
"I'm sure you do, dear. Though I wonder if those... talents... are enough to justify your position." The double meaning was unmistakable. I felt a surge of anger, hot and sharp in my chest.
"Cadence is an exceptional Consort," I said, fighting to keep my voice even. "The Trivium has recognised her as such."
"The Trivium," my father scoffed, "has become soft in recent years. Standards have slipped." He turned his attention back to Cadence.
"Tell me, Miss Turner, do you believe you've earned your place?
Or are you simply riding on my son's... indulgence?
" Cadence's face had gone pale, her lips pressed into a thin line.
I placed my hand on her knee under the table, trying to offer some comfort, some connection, but she shifted away from my touch.
"I've earned everything I have," she said, her voice tight. "And paid for it in ways you couldn't imagine." My father's eyes gleamed with cruel amusement.
"Ah, yes. I heard there was some unpleasantness recently. A punishment of some sort." He leant forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Tell me, how are those wounds healing? The brand, in particular. I understand it can be quite painful." I felt rather than saw Cadence go rigid beside me.
The restaurant seemed to fade away, the ambient noise drowned out by the rush of blood in my ears.
How did he know about the brand? Who had told him?
The only people who knew the details were those who had been present that night, and James Killingham, who wouldn't divulge such sensitive information.
"Father," I said, my voice a low warning. "That's enough." He ignored me, his gaze fixed on Cadence with predatory intensity.
"You see, Miss Turner, this is why bloodlines matter.
A woman of proper breeding would know her place.
Would accept correction with grace. Would understand the honour of being chosen, rather than fighting against it at every turn.
" Cadence's breathing had quickened, her chest rising and falling in short, sharp movements.
I could see the storm building, knew what was coming, and was powerless to stop it.
"You've been through so much these past weeks," my father continued, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "And yet, here you still are. One might almost admire your persistence. If it weren't so clearly a sign of your common origins."
Something snapped in Cadence then. I saw it happen, the moment when six weeks of pain and trauma and betrayal crystallised into pure, white-hot rage.
"Yes," she said, her voice suddenly clear and strong.
"I have been through hell these past six weeks.
I've been manipulated, violated, threatened, and betrayed by the men I trusted.
I've been whipped and branded like an animal based on a lie.
I've lost friends, my sense of safety, and pieces of myself I'll never get back.
" My father's expression didn't change, but I saw the slight widening of his eyes, the only indication that her outburst had surprised him.
"And despite wanting nothing in this world more than to walk away and never see your son or his friends again," Cadence continued, her voice rising, "I am still here. Still their Consort. Still doing what's expected of me, including sitting through this dinner with you."
The nearby tables had gone quiet, diners turning to watch the unfolding drama. My father's face had hardened, his eyes cold as he regarded Cadence.
"You should control your woman better, son," he said to me, his voice laden with contempt.
"This emotional display is hardly appropriate for a venue of this calibre.
" And that was it, the final push that sent Cadence over the edge.
She stood, her chair scraping loudly against the floor, and in one fluid motion, slapped my father across the face with enough force to snap his head to the side.
The sound cracked through the restaurant like a gunshot. Every conversation stopped.
Every head turned. My father's cheek bloomed red, his expression frozen in shock.
"Go to fucking hell," Cadence said, her voice shaking with fury, and then she was gone, weaving between tables toward the exit, leaving behind a restaurant full of stunned silence.
I sat paralyzed, torn between following her and damage control.
My father slowly turned back to face me, one hand rising to touch his reddened cheek.
I braced myself for the explosion, for the cold, murderous rage that I knew my father was capable of.
Men had died for less than what Cadence had just done.
"Father, I-" I began, desperate to defuse the situation.
He held up a hand, silencing me. His eyes were unreadable, his expression carefully controlled.
And then, to my utter astonishment, he began to laugh.
Not his usual calculated chuckle, designed to put others at ease while he plotted their downfall, but a genuine laugh that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him.
"You need to marry that woman," he said when he'd finally composed himself. "Whatever it takes." I stared at him, certain I'd misheard.
"What?"
"You heard me." He took a sip of wine, wincing slightly as the glass touched his injured cheek.
"That girl has more fire in her than I've seen in years.
Reminds me of your mother." The mention of my mother sent a jolt through me.
My father never spoke of her, not since the night she'd been murdered in front of me when I was just a child.
"I don't understand," I said, feeling off-balance, as if the ground beneath me had suddenly shifted.