Ding.
The elevator chimed as they reached their floor, the doors behind them sliding open.
Damien stepped back, letting Helena catch her breath, then offered his arm to her. Like a good fiancé, he provided support to his partner so she would be able to walk in beside him.
"Darling. Our table is waiting." Damien stood there, waiting for Helena's arm.
Helena, still trembling, reached out and wound her arm around his. Her composure was already a mess, but she tried to put on a performance as they walked in.
"Mr. Blackwell, we've been expecting you. Right this way." The hostess standing behind the counter welcomed Damien and Helena and led them into the glass dome.
All around them, circular tables draped in white cloth were paired with high-backed black chairs.
More than half the tables were already taken by instructors, high-ranking students and the atmosphere was that of true high dining.
From the crystal light fixtures along the glass dome to the polished porcelain floors, everything had been designed for high nobles.
As they stepped toward their table, many of those already seated looked up, surprised by the sight in front of them.
Helena. The Rune and Glyph specialist whose knowledge even sixth-years respected. Dressed like a slut. Her whole body is on display for all to see.
People stared and looked her up and down, but the staring was different now. Out on the path, the students had only seen her body, the way each step put more of her on display. From the silk of her dress to the soft skin that was kissed by the wind. Their hunger had been simple and crude.
The ones in this room saw further. They moved in high society themselves, and they understood the fate that lay ahead of Helena.
A bird in a gilded cage, wings clipped, perched at Damien's side for the rest of her days. A shame, really, for such a bright mind and beautiful body to be used for such barbaric ends.
But that was the price she faced.
"Your table, sir." Cutting through her thoughts, the hostess gestured to their seats.
"Thank you." Damien released Helena's arm and took his chair.
"Thank you." Helena sank into her own seat and tried to smooth her skirt down, hoping it might cover at least a little more of her body.
She placed her hands in her lap and held them there, then lifted her eyes to Damien. He had been watching her settle the whole time, his gaze scanning slowly down the line of her body, the corner of his mouth tucked into the small, private smile he wore when he was savoring her plight.
"Sit up, darling. It's rude."
Helena straightened on instinct. The silk panels at her chest pulled tight with the motion, working overtime to keep her covered, and the tattered strips of her skirt fell open along her hips, baring another inch of pale thigh on either side. She felt the fabric shift in a dozen places at once and forced herself not to look down. Looking down would have made it worse.
'That bastard. He doesn't even give me a chance to fix myself.'
"Better, now you are becoming my woman."
A server approached their table with the silent precision of staff trained for nobility.
"Mr. Blackwell. Your usual for this evening?"
"I'd actually like to try something different tonight Aaron. I'll have the Vinholt Reserve, two glasses. And tell the kitchen we'll start with the duck."
"Of course, sir."
The server vanished without a word to Helena, leaving the two of them alone again at a table in a room of fifty people.
"You're rather quiet tonight, darling. Something on your mind?"
"Just enjoying the view, that's all." Helena looked out through the glass dome, watching the busy campus stretch for miles beneath them. "It's beautiful from up here."
"Yes." His gaze didn't move from her face. "Yes, it is."
Of course he didn't mean the campus.
"A shame, though. Beauty like yours, housed by something as common as a campus." Damien's mouth tilted. "It belongs behind the walls of my family's manor, where only I would have the privilege of seeing it. Soon enough." He let the words settle, then went on, lighter, almost an afterthought. "Which reminds me — we should talk about the wedding."
Helena's stomach dropped. The words that haunted her dreams at night, spoken so casually he might as well have been ordering another glass of wine.
"What is there to speak of?"
"Oh, nothing much. My father spoke to me this afternoon." Damien's fingers traced the rim of his empty glass. "He's been thinking about a date. Late spring, he believes. Before the Ascendancy Trials."
"...What?"
Helena's composure cracked for half a heartbeat before she caught it. She stared at him across the table, her face pale.
"Within eight months? I thought — I thought we were waiting until I graduated."
The news hit her harder than she'd let herself prepare for. A wedding a little over half a year away. Not the distant, abstract thing she'd been telling herself she still had time to escape — a date. A real date, close enough to count the weeks.
"My father thinks it's best we marry sooner rather than later." Damien's fingers traced the rim of his empty glass, unbothered. "He believes the coming years will be..." He tilted his head, as if searching for the word. "...interesting. I can't speak to why. Only that he's moving his plans up."
"I see."
Helena nodded, a small, careful motion. She had never had a say in the matter to begin with.
But now the timeline was a fuse burning in the back of her mind. A countdown to the day she stopped being a person and became whatever Damien wanted her to be.
"Your drink, sir."
The sommelier's voice cut cleanly through the moment. He had arrived with the bottle cradled in a white cloth, the label turned toward Damien for approval.
"Pour me a proper glass, would you."
"Of course, Mr. Blackwell." The sommelier uncorked the bottle and poured with practiced precision, filling Damien's glass to exactly the right measure. "And how much for the lady?"
"Fill hers three-quarters full. My fiancée is quite the drinker."
Helena smiled politely.
'One drink of wine and I'll be sloshed. Does he think he can have his way with me if I'm drunk?'
She watched as the server tilted the bottle toward her glass, the dark red climbing the crystal until it sat just where Damien had asked.
"That'll do. Thank you."
"You're welcome, sir. Your duck will be ready in a few minutes. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"That'll be all." Damien waved the sommelier off with a flick of his fingers.
The man bowed quickly and walked away, leaving them alone once more.
"As I was saying, darling." Damien's full attention returned to her, the corner of his mouth lifting. "We'll need to start looking at dresses. Something that shows off those curves of yours properly."
His tongue traced his lower lip as his eyes drifted down her body, slow and deliberate, savoring every inch the silk already failed to hide.
"Don't worry about the expense of the dress. My family will be covering it."
"Oh. That's wonderful."
Her voice was that of someone who wasn't excited at all. She just sat there, smiled, and tried to look pretty — a statue to match the decor, ignoring everything around her.
"Sir, your duck."
The server returned, stepping up to the table and setting down two plates with practiced care. The duck was plated beautifully, glazed and garnished, the kind of dish meant to be admired before it was eaten.
"Shall we dig in?" Damien lifted his knife.
Author Note: Patreon.com/Lord_Cuckles or Search TabooQuill on Patreon.com