Symond tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something smug, something testing. “Would you let me borrow her first?”
Elora’s head jerked up toward Thorn, her eyes wide, a storm of fear crackling in them. He could basically hear the silent screaming reflected in her face. It almost made him want to bark out laughing, knowing how terrified she was of him after only a fifteen minute glimpse into his world. How pathetic. She won’t stand a chance.
Thorn leaned down, whispering something in Elora’s ear. Whatever he said made her stiffen briefly, but then he let her go, giving her a dismissive swat. “Go,” he ordered.
She turned and hurried away, her steps quick and unsteady, her shoulders slumping in visible relief once she was out of their reach.Damn it.
Thorn watched her disappear, a smirk creeping onto his lips, before he turned his attention to Symond. He bridged the distance, a shadow playing across his expression, his voice softening to a chilling whisper. “If you’d prefer, you could always give up your apprenticeship and stay here as a ward. Then you would be able to torment her all you’d like. Of course, that would be between being used and abused like the rest of the scum. Then again, you’re already used to that.”
Symond’s blood ran cold. He shook his head quickly, his bravado slipping, the vision of himself in a gray uniform like Elora’s racing across his brain. The humiliation, the vulnerability, it was unbearable. He preferred enduring any master than to being degraded tothat.
“That’s what I thought,” Thorn said. “Forget her. She’s my property now, and I’ll ensure she understands that. You, on the other hand, should really concentrate on your duty to MAHO, to the Empire. It’s a privilege, Symond, one that you shouldn’t waste. If you’re smart, you’ll let this obsession die before it drags you back here in chains.”
Symond swallowed hard, the words lodged in his throat. He gave a stiff nod, unable to trust his voice. Thorn was right. He needed to forget about Elora, to leave her behind and focus on his future. He stood there, keeping his eyes on her as she sheltered under the archway along the east building. Something twisted in his gut—an inkling of loss, a chance at real revenge slipping away like sand through his fingers. It was maddening.
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.
