“Tie her down.” I’m no stranger to being restrained, but I am lost as to my fate here tonight, and that is a thousand times more terrifying than knowing what is coming. If I know, I can prepare. I can lock up my mind tight and force myself to not feel.
They make quick work of releasing my feet and wrists before wrenching them to the four corners of the table and looping the rope underneath, so I’m pinned open. Trapped. Exposed. My muscles scream at the stretch, but I press my lips together.We are to bear the actions of men in silence, my mother’s voice reminds me. George smirks at me, a cruel glint in his eye. He knows. Whatever is coming, he knows. Not only that, but he enjoysit. Everyone is aware of his penchant for pain. Sorry. I meancorrection. The horrors he causes are shared in hushed whispers in dark corners of the kitchen from women with dead stares and bruised skin. I catch my brother’s eyes, a silent plea for help passing between us. He folds his arms and flicks his gaze away from me. We’ve both learned to shut down and play the parts Jonathan demands of us. But I would kill for a kind word, a reassuring glance, anything… something that lets me know I will be okay. I suck in my cheeks and bite down to stop the words of betrayal from leaving my lips. How can he stand by and let this happen? Why didn’t he warn me? In my sixteen years on this Earth surrounded by my betrothed and brother, men meant to love me, I’ve never felt more alone.
Jonathan trails his fingers down my cheek, causing my gaze to lock on his. “Eleanor, by the grace of God, and me, your chosen, do you accept your position as my wife?”
I release the tender flesh of my cheeks and swallow the warm blood. “I do,” I croak. He frames it like a question. It’s not. Not when the alternative is death. We’ve heard whispers of what happens to those who dared say no.
He grabs a thick black glove and pulls it on. My heart thrums like a wild bird caught in the cage of my ribs. It pecks at my flesh, desperate to escape. He moves to my side in front of the fire and tugs my nightgown, revealing my bare stomach. He hums in the back of his throat as bile rises in mine.
“Gag her. I don’t want her screams waking the young ones.”
Screams? He’s expecting me to make noise despite our training? I’ve been whipped, drowned, and starved, and he expects whatever is coming to break this conditioning? The wild bird beats its wings against my ribs, trying to lift my soul straight out of my chest with it.
Derek, a man of a similar age to Jonathan but lacking the cold calculation of our Master, pulls a handkerchief from his pocket.
“Open,” he commands quietly.
I drag in a breath and part my lips, allowing him to stuff the cotton inside. It tastes of laundry detergent. Derek’s hands grip my wrists, ensuring I have zero room for wiggling. His thumb sweeps across my palm in a circular motion, a futile attempt to calm my increasing panic.
“George, hold her stomach down. I want it crisp and clear.”
Twin weights press on my stomach as Jonathan turns away. Metal scrapes against stone, loud enough to drown out my panicked breaths. My heart clatters against my ribs and reverberates down my spine.
No.
No, no, no.He wouldn’t.
Jonathan swings back around to me, the red glow of the long iron prod between us, casting his face in a demonic glow.
Fuck. Another word my mother recently explained, which has many meanings—some of them good, but most of them bad.
I jerk against my restraints. George clamps down tighter, driving the breath from my lungs.
“Stay still, Eleanor. I don’t want to do this twice.”
Why does it need to be done at all?The words of the Lord’s Prayer tumble through my mind, words I hadn’t meant in years suddenly my only hope. I’ve long since accepted He doesn’t listen to the pleas of a lost little girl. Only men pray to God; women pray to men. That is the way of the world. But since men only cause pain and suffering, I will risk the wrath of God by bargaining with him. Things cannot get any worse.
“Deep breath,” Jonathan mutters as a gleam of excitement lights up his gaze. He grips the metal rod and presses it against my hip. Fire sweeps along my spine and suffocates my mind. Pain like I’ve never experienced engulfs me as I scream through the gag in my mouth. My fingers curl around Derek’s wrists as I try to cling on to life. On to light. Finally, above the men, my prayer is heard, and the Lord grants me the only mercy He can—darkness.
Chapter Two
Eleanor
What is a life in the sun if you cannot fly?
James cradles me in his arms as he strides back through the village. My vision fades in and out as his jaw tics, the tense muscle pulsing in the moonlight. He doesn’t offer words of comfort or an explanation for the branding. Is this the norm?Do all the women in our community get branded by their betrothed? Or is it something specific to Jonathan?
James’s eyes drop to me. “Don’t cry,” he snarls. But the bite is lost as his eyes soften. He sighs and holds me a little closer. “Please, Eleanor, don’t cry. Not here.”
I blink, noticing the hot salty tears leaking down my cheeks. I didn’t realize I was crying, as it’s not something I do often. Apart from it angering the males of our small community, it shows a weakness they can and will use against you. Better to bury the emotion, the pain, and the betrayal of a blood bond where it can never be found and weaponized against me. My hand trembles as I cup his cheek. Men have more power, but they are still being controlled, hollowed out for Jonathan to pour his wisdom andwill inside. I miss the boy I grew up with. I mourn him, this shell of a man nothing like the boy I used to know.
He snuck me treats when I was sent to bed without food, brought numbing cream for my wounds when I was corrected, and whispered secrets on how to compartmentalize the pain. He helped strengthen me to survive this simple yet brutal life, and now he was the one doling out the pain.
Our mother opens the front door of the small house we occupy. It’s a carbon copy of the other homes in our village, a quaint two-story dwelling featuring a small sitting room, a simple combined kitchen and dining room, one bathroom, and three bedrooms. One for my mother, one for me, and one for my brother. A small enclosed garden sits at the rear where we grow herbs and vegetables, which are shared among the villagers, all of us exchanging what we produce. Together, we are self-sufficient, fully cut off from the world falling into sin.
Once in a while, that sin encroaches on our Eden, and we have to pick up our community and start again elsewhere. Sometimes the climate changes. The last place had year round heat and sunshine. This place is more changeable, with lush vegetation that supports our way of life.
“Take her straight to my bed,” our mother instructs.
