My mouth is dry and my heart is thrumming so loudly I cannot hear anything else. He is my master, my mage. He has the right to order that I go, and there is not a thing I can do about it. In the more traditional circles of society, as is still written into our laws, consent is a privilege that vessels are not accorded. I should not have been surprised about Jem’s past. I stupidly forgot just how very progressive my parents and their close friends are. Most people do not think the same.
And It’s very clear that Harry does not share my parents’ views. I knew he was more traditional, but this traditional? I should have done more research on him. But what would that have achieved? After my little stunt, I had to marry him. There was no other option.
But surely, he is not going to make me do this? I just need to talk to him, I need to explain, argue my case. Say something. Anything.
“I… I…” I stammer weakly, hopelessly.
Harry’s eyes darken. “You belong to me Colby. I own you. Your body is mine, to do with as I please and it pleases me to give it to others.”
His words send shivers down my spine. I’m going to faint. For real this time. Desperately I hold on to the edge of the table and I swear it is the only thing that is keeping me upright. There is going to be no dissuading him. He is resolute. I can not talk my way out of this.
I’ve been such a naïve, trusting idiot. Hoping for the best, whilst blithely ignoring the dark side of being a vessel until it slaps me in the face. But what could I have done? There was no way I could have avoided this. I was born a vessel and from that moment in the maze, my fate was sealed.
There is no point in whining that Rakeswell would not have done this to me. I don’t know for sure. Suddenly, all my cousin Eban’s warnings about getting married and that it is not something to look forward to, are crashing around me. But I had no choice. My family was on the brink of ruin. There was no choice. All paths led to this moment.
“Wear a formal receiving gown,” Harry snaps.
And with that, he is gone. I blink blankly at the now empty spot where he was standing and somehow I manage to slide back into my chair. I feel as boneless as a noodle. And now cold, harsh reality is starting to sink in.
Oh my god. I’m going to an orgy.
Chapter thirteen
I’veneverwornaformal receiving gown before. Never thought I would have to. Calling them old-fashioned is like calling suits of armor last season.
I had one made as part of the wedding preparations because it is traditional. But I thought it would hang in my dressing room, forever. One of those things you have to have but never use. Like the best china.
It does look good though. It’s a fancier version of the gown I wore on my wedding night. The silky white material hangs to my ankles and the way it is cut around my hips makes me look very slender. The panel over my chest and stomach, makes everything there look perfectly flat and toned. The sleeves are all billowy and graceful. I look like a cute femboy cosplaying as a Chinese Wuxia Boy Love character.
Just typical. The first and only time in my life that I don’t want to look hot and I look the hottest I have ever looked. Why is life so unfair?
Despondently, I give a little turn as I watch myself in the mirror and the gown swishes softly around me. I grimace. The defining feature of a formal receiving gown is the slit at the back. Right from my ankles all the way up to the small of my back, ending a mere hairsbreadth above my butt crack. The result is that if I stand with perfect posture, the flowing material meets at the back, keeping me covered. But, if I bend over, even just slightly, the two panels separate, swish apart and leave my ass completely exposed.
Ready to receive my husband. Or whoever he chooses to give me to. The shudder that crashes through me is strong enough to rattle my teeth. Maybe I should put on boxer briefs in rebellion. Harry never said anything about what to wear underneath the receiving gown he ordered me to wear.
But, no. Antagonizing him is a terrible idea. I need to win him over, not push him away. And that is not me being soft. Harry has the power to make my life a living hell. This is just the tip of the iceberg of what he can do to me. The only power I have, the only tool at my disposal is my ability to charm him enough that I unleash his good side.
If he has a good side. And if I have the skill to reach it. I shudder again. I know Harry has a good side. I have seen it in his eyes. I felt it in his essence when every part of us entwined during sex.
Thinking of sex, makes me think about the orgy going on downstairs. I had been doing a very good job in pretending it wasn’t happening and that I could hide up here forever.
I swallow dryly. I love sex. I spent the last five years of my life whining that I wasn’t able to have any. Tonight I get to have all the sex I want. It’s going to be amazing.
Harry strides into my dressing room, startling me out of my thoughts. Our eyes meet briefly in the mirror before his gaze leaves to rove all over my body. His eyes darken and I want to preen. He likes what he sees. Maybe he will take me to bed and keep me to himself.
“You are late,” he says instead.
“Sorry,” I mumble as I try not to feel too crushed. “I’m ready now,” I add with a bright smile.
Something like a wince crosses over Harry’s ridiculously handsome face but it passes in a flash and he takes my arm and starts leading me down to the party. My feet obey him while my heart stutters and my head spins.
The walk passes in a daze and far too soon, Harry is opening the door to one of the reception rooms and pushing me inside. The party is in full swing and I don’t know where to look or how to stop all the noises reaching my ears. Harry abandons me in the middle of the room, walking away to leave me surrounded by a sea of writhing bodies.
I turn around to look pleadingly at him but Harry is already busy caressing the neck of a beautiful young man. My chest tightens and I snatch my gaze away. I don’t need to see that. It’s stupid to be jealous, but I can’t help it. The sight is awful for other reasons too. My last lingering thread of hope was that Harry would want to play with me and I could fulfill my obligations that way.
“Your Grace,” a low voice rumbles behind me.
That’s me now, I realize with a jolt. I am a duke consort. Just typical that the very first time I am addressed as such, is at a fucking orgy. I whirl to face the speaker, realizing far too late that such a sudden move in a receiving gown, is a sure way to flash the entire room. Oh well, I’m pretty sure everyone is pretty distracted right now.
