Chapter 14
Elora
Thorn seemed to revel in the celebration’s atmosphere, his presence casting a dreariness over the courtyard that everyone perceived, yet nobody dared to acknowledge.
He navigated the courtyard with the casual ownership of one who has never questioned his right to dominate, his immaculate suit a second skin, his smile a weapon honed to perfect sharpness as he exchanged hollow pleasantries with professors and offered empty congratulations to departing students.
Yet beneath this performance of civility, his awareness remained tethered to Elora.
A predator’s unwavering focus on wounded prey.
He called her over with a snap of his fingers, like a dog to heel, and she had no choice but to obey.
Each glass of wine she delivered became a test she was designed to fail, his critical gaze dissecting her every movement.
The tremor in her hands, the solitary drop spilled, her insufficient immediate response, all catalogued as evidence of her inadequacy.
“Smile, Elora,” he said, loud enough for those nearby to hear. “You should be happy to serve your betters.”
She produced a smile, a brittle, broken thing that hurt her cheeks. Stinging laughter followed, and she was uncertain whether it was aimed at her or Thorn’s cruel humor. Perhaps both.
“Don’t just stand there,” Thorn added sharply. “There are more guests to serve. Make yourself useful.”
Elora nodded quickly, turning on her heel to escape into the crowd. He pulled her sharply back, his breath ghosting close enough to stir the hair at her temple. “Stay close.”
“Yes, Master Thorn.” The words tasted like ash in her mouth.
His dismissal came with the satisfied smile of one who has successfully reinforced his dominance, shooing her away with the casual disregard of an annoying insect.
And so, the night went on, with Thorn calling her back again and again, each time louder, more commanding.
He orchestrated her shame with the precision of a conductor, ensuring all eyes witnessed her reduction to servitude.
He made her refill his drink, fetch food from the trays, even wipe a drop of wine from his coat when he ‘accidentally’ spilled it.
Elora moved through it all in a haze, her hands trembling as she obeyed each command.
Every time she tried to step away, Thorn would snap his fingers again, pulling her back into his orbit.
And every time, she would catch the eyes of her classmates: Rowan’s concerned frown, Lily’s pitying gaze, Symond’s satisfied smirk.
At one point, he made her kneel beside him, holding the tray of drinks like she was nothing more than a servant.
Because that’s exactly what she was now.
He continued his conversation with the other professors, ignoring her entirely, but every so often, he would glance down at her with that same predatory smile, a reminder that she was exactly where he wanted her: on display, humiliated, and broken.
Several times throughout the night, Elora caught glimpses of Tehvan trying to get closer, weaving his way through the throng with the ease of a practiced mingler. She thought at first that he would pull her from Thorn’s grasp, or at least make him treat her with some respect. But no.
He spoke with Thorn often, both exchanging words like old friends.
She watched the way Tehvan’s eyes kept flickering to her, observant, protective, and filled with a scarcely controlled anxiety.
Every time Thorn made her pour him another drink, or kneel beside his chair, or whenever his hand slid possessively over her shoulder, she saw Tehvan tense, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the stem of his glass. Even so, he did nothing.
Thorn noticed it, too. She perceived it in the way Tehvan went stiff as a board whenever Thorn reached for her, or those sharp clicks of his fingers summoned her like she was a puppet on a string.
And Thorn was loving it. He kept calling Tehvan over, engaging him in conversation, leaning in close like they were the closest of confidants.
“Tehvan,” Thorn drawled, his voice carrying across the courtyard, “join me for a drink.” He motioned to Elora, making her refill their glasses, his fingers just barely touching hers while she poured—like it was some kind of game.
He didn’t miss an opportunity to humiliate her when Tehvan was nearby.
Elora was like a pawn, a piece in a game she didn’t fully understand.
She wasn’t aware of the rules, couldn’t see the board, but she could feel the moves being made around her.
Thorn’s hand guiding her every action, Tehvan’s strained attempts at maintaining his composure.
It felt like some dark, sick play, and there she was, caught in this spotlight—an unwilling star, just trying to breathe through the chaos.
Elora bit the inside of her cheek, tasting that sharp pinch of copper in her mouth, and forced herself to hold her head high.
She refused to give either of them the reaction they wanted.
Not Thorn’s triumphant smirk, not Tehvan’s pleading gaze.
Especially not his. Looking at him hurt worse.
You said you’d protect me. So, she kept her gaze fixed on nothing, fighting back tears ready to spill over.
All she wanted was to slip into the darkness and let it swallow her whole.
As the celebration wound down, Thorn rose from his seat, pushing back the heavy wooden chair with a sharp scrape that silenced the few lingering whispers.
He shot a quick, almost lazy gesture towards Elora, and without a second thought, she followed him.
They moved toward the heart of the courtyard, and the music fell silent, leaving behind a thick, buzzing anticipation.
Everyone’s head snapped around like they were all connected by an invisible string, forming a big, curious circle, all eyes fixed on Thorn, and by extension, on her.
She stood there next to him, but his words felt like echoes in a vast room, just barely there, but slipping away before she could catch them. He was addressing the departing students, congratulating them on their success and on the futures they’d earned through hard work and obedience.
She wasn’t paying attention. It was like she was floating, eyes lost in the crowd, tracing over her friends, Rian, Rowan, and Alfie. Pity and sadness heavily painted their faces.
Thorn’s grip clamped around the base of her skull, a heavy reminder that he thought he owned her.
He pressed his fingers into her skin as if they were meant to be there.
She knew he was talking about her now, just by the way his tone shifted, dripping with that infuriating satisfaction.
She tuned back in, just in time to catch the words failure and disobedience slipping from his lips.
“This one,” Thorn said, tightening his grip around her neck, like he wanted everyone to know she was the lesson.
“Is a reminder of what happens when you refuse to learn, when you defy the rules. Elora failed where others succeeded. She didn’t learn obedience.
And this,” — he yanked her a step closer, forcing her to face the crowd — “is the price.”
I’m not your lesson. I will not be your puppet.
The words remained trapped behind clenched teeth, burning her from the inside.
Elora’s cheeks burned, but she kept her gaze glued to the cobblestone, avoiding the stares from her classmates, the professors, even the other wards who looked at her like she was some kind of tragic painting.
Her body ached, a heavy tiredness creeping in, knees quaking from standing for what seemed like an eternity, but it didn’t matter anymore. She didn’t give a single thought to his words, didn’t even flinch at the humiliation. All she wanted was for the night to end, for this spectacle to be over.
Thorn’s speech concluded with a flourish, his voice echoing through the courtyard. The wards and professors erupted into cheers, clapping for the departing class, but Thorn barely acknowledged them. He snapped his fingers, calling Elora to follow him into whatever came next.
The wards were hustling behind them, like busy little bees, scrubbing away the last bits of the party, empty glasses and scraps. Elora cast a brief glance behind her, wishing for the chance to stick around and lend a hand, but Thorn’s fingers tightened around her, steering her forward.
The walk to the docks was short. She saw the ship, swaying like it was dancing, sails whispering secrets to the wind.
The Empire’s colors, red and gold, splashed boldly on its side like an art piece on the ocean.
She watched her friends board the ship. Every laugh, every whispered secret under the stars, every shared victory and moment of solace seemed to follow them up the gangplank, leaving her behind.
Those memories were the last pieces of light in her world, and as they ascended to their promising futures, they took the warmth with them.
Alfie turned and waved, his smile like a burst of sunlight, pure and almost innocent.
Rian followed, blowing her a kiss, a soft breeze of affection that hung in the air.
Then came Rowan, pausing at the top of the gangplank, as if he were stuck between two worlds.
He looked back at her, and the corners of his mouth dipped.
He whispered, “I’m sorry,” with his lips barely moving, before he turned and melted away into the deck, like he was just an echo now.
Seeing them all bursting with this crazy mix of hope and endless possibilities hit her right in the chest. It was an odd ache, a bittersweet feeling.
She was genuinely happy for them, even for the ones who had made her feel like she didn’t belong.
Even for Symond, who lingered near the edge of the group.
He looked different, lighter somehow, as if shedding the weight of the Institute had already begun to change him.
Despite everything he had done to her, she couldn’t bring herself to hate him.
He was getting the freedom he’d longed for, the freedom she would never have.
Thorn’s fingers dug into her shoulder, yanking her violently from her thoughts.
She didn’t need to look up at him to feel the possessiveness in his touch, the silent, oppressive promise that this was all she had now.
Him. His world. His control. The future was an abyss, and Thorn was already standing in it, pulling her in.