Harmonia Calendar 715, Thal 24 - Ashspire Estate, Elandor
Late Afternoon - Pillar
The stone was cool at my back, a steady anchor as I leaned against the pillar.
A cup rested in my hand, the wine swirling slowly.
Around me, young nobles buzzed like flies, their laughter too eager, their words too polished.
I gave them what they wanted, a polite half-smile, a nod at the right moment.
Enough to keep them circling. But my eyes weren't on them.
They were on the floor.
Adonis.
He moved stiffly at first, his steps uncertain.
Yet she steadied him.
Selene's hand rested on his arm, her smile softening each awkward step until it almost looked graceful.
My chest tightened.
The wine turned sour in my mouth.
'Control it. Smile.'
I forced myself.
My lips curved again, the practiced smile sliding back into place.
The mask was back.
But my gaze kept drifting upward to the high table.
Father sat there beneath the banner.
His red eyes found mine across the hall.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. Then he gave the smallest nod.
My hand loosened around the cup. I set it on a tray as a servant passed and left.
My steps carried me toward the doors.
Each footfall deliberate, measured.
'I will show you your place.'
***
Late Afternoon - Service Room
The service room was dim, lightstones burned weakly, it smelled of old tea and damp cloth.
Empty benches filled the room.
I stood pressed to the wall, my back felt cold against the stone.
Favian blocked the way out.
Shoulders relaxed, lips curved, his red eyes never leaving me.
His voice came smooth as silk.
"You remember. We practiced."
My lips parted, but the words kept stuck in my throat.
I knew the name now—the one he wanted me to say.
'Adonis.'
The boy who had smiled at me when others never looked.
The boy who said my name when no one else bothered.
He treated me like a person, not a servant.
My first love.
My prince in the story I had spun for myself, where I was the damsel.
I whispered.
"I can't…not him."
Favian's smile didn't falter, but his eyes twitched.
He stepped closer, his shadow looming over me.
"Too late to change the play. You will help your family. He will answer for his sins. Everyone gets what they need."
'Family.'
The word struck.
Father's illness.
My brother's stomach growling through the night.
The debt that chained us.
I stammered, my voice trembling.
"I'll pay...We'll pay the debt."
The curve of his lips shifted. Still a smile, but with no warmth in it.
His patience snapped.
Smack.
My cheek burned, the taste of iron flooding my mouth.
Smack.
The second blow pushed me back, my body slammed against the wall before I slid down to the floor.
Favian bent, his hand held down my shoulder, pinning me while his other hand tore my dress.
Panic rose.
I tried to push him away, but his grip was too strong.
Then—
His hand halted, voice gentle.
"You need to look like a victim."
Smack.
Another slap snapped my head to the side, and tears flowed.
He leaned down, voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me.
"Say it. You were alone in the corridor. He pulled you. He said you belong to him now."
My lips trembled, opening and closing before sound finally came through.
"I…I can't."
He reached for my neck, fingers tightening until white blurred my vision.
His words sank deeper, forced into me until I could hear them even when his lips stopped moving.
I gasped for breath as he finally stopped.
His words came cruelly steady as he straightened.
"Remember your family. Remember the debt."
His red eyes studied me a last time, head tilted, breath steadying.
"Not enough… a bit more."
His palm covered my mouth before I could shout.
Blows followed.
My ribs.
My stomach.
My legs.
Pain rippled through me, breaking into sobs, I had tried to hold back.
Then his hand stilled for a moment.
He looked at me the way men look at food.
Lust.
His hand went higher and tore my dress a little farther.
His gaze fixed on my bosom.
I tried to cover myself with my arm.
But—
Bam.
His kick stopped me.
I folded, breath snapping out of me.
His hand reached for my breasts.
I panicked, twisting with the last bits of strength in me.
Then—
His hand halted.
Step.
He took a step back.
His breath steadied as he looked down at me again.
The hunger in his eyes vanished, replaced with something else.
Disgust.
Bam.
Another kick folded me, hard against my ribs.
I curled, gasping, tears ran down my cheeks.
I hated that they helped his story.
He straightened again, brushing his hands against his tunic as though dusting them clean.
His voice softened again, back to that practiced kindness.
"You are ready."
I clutched my torn dress to my chest.
He extended a hand, polite, like a gentleman offering me through a door.
I didn't move.
I couldn't move.
The strength in my legs had left me, and I could just watch his outstretched hand.
He didn't wait any longer, fingers seized my elbow, lifting me to my feet.
His grip was firm.
He murmured as he pulled me forward.
"It's time."
I stumbled beside him, one arm clutched across my chest, lips pressed shut, the lines sat like stones in my throat.
'Princess stories are for girls who do not hunger.'