Page 15 of Legacy of Succession

CHAPTER NINE

VICTORIA

I’ve spent most of the day pacing my bedroom. I’ve searched again, four times to be precise, for an exit from this house. Everyone here’s completely insane. My father bought a girl for my brother — my mother was paid for, by him, and I was bred purposely to go through this fucking charade. My head is a mess, and I just want to sleep, but I know that it’ll never come. I’m in an endless nightmare, but not the sort where there are monsters under your bed. No, I’m in the type of horror where the monsters are real and controlling my future like I am a puppet on strings. Future — do I even have one? My stomach lurches. What happens if I’m not chosen? God, do I want to be selected? At least I know the devil I’ll be with. I think back to the Scottish oaf who was trying to buy the girls. The thought of being sold to him would kill me. Literally, I imagine, after he’s used my body in ways that no woman should have to suffer. I need to try and get my head together. I’m hungry. Nicholas banned me from having food today, and for the last hour, my stomach has protested his decision. I’m not going to let him beat me though. No fucking way. I’d rather die…I stop that line of thought again because, here, it’s too real a possibility. Maybe, I should just keep quiet tonight. Do whatever it is they have planned and come back to bed and sleep. Sleep will make my head clearer, and if I can explore the house tomorrow, I might find a way out or, at least, get my books back.

I dress in the white gown they’ve left out for me. This one is silky and not like the white dress that was provided for my arrival. A maid comes into the room and ties my hair back in what seems like the requisite French pleat. I ask her if she’s able to tell me what’s happening tonight, but she doesn’t reply. I guess they’re allowed to make us look pretty but not actually talk to us. How can they let us go through this? Clearly money speaks louder than kidnapping and rape.

At precisely eight in the evening, I’m led into a banqueting hall with the other two girls. Amelia looked awful this morning but seems much calmer now. Elizabeth looks her usual stuck-up bitch self. I don’t like her in the slightest. We’re brought to stand at the head of the table where the Duke sits. Nicholas sits to his left-hand side in a formal dinner suit. It looks good on him. I chastise myself for even thinking that.

“Welcome, ladies.” I look over the table. There must be at least forty men sitting around it. I recognize a lot of faces from functions my father has had in previous years. I look for him, but he isn’t here, thankfully. I’m not sure I’d be able to behave, as I promised myself, if I had to watch him continue to act like a man who deserves to have his balls chopped off with a machete. The men range from their early thirties to late eighties, in age. I guess they’re the men of title within each family. When one dies, another inherits and takes his place in this society of freaks. I memorize each face. One day, I’ll get my revenge on them.

“As you can see, we have a meal here tonight to celebrate my son’s birthday, and the start of his journey into his succession. You are joining us as his prospective brides. Our society needs a strong woman to stand at Nicholas’ side. He will become the greatest leader we’ve ever had — I’m sure of that. I’ve taught him everything he knows, after all.” The Duke laughs at his joke, and everyone joins in. Eventually, he holds his hand up to silence them. “Over the next few weeks, to help Nicholas choose between you, you'll be given tasks to complete. Tonight is the first of those.”

He gestures to where three marble plinths stand at the other end of the table. I hadn’t noticed them before, but they suddenly feel rather ominous and are the only things I can focus on. Our guard ushers us down to the marble stones. I’m naked under my dress, and I can foresee what’s going to happen. No fucking way am I going to stand here, while they eat, in just a dressing gown, or, as I suspect, without it!

“Ladies, remove your dressing gowns and stand on the plinths. We’re getting hungry for our dinner and can’t start until you are in place.”

Elizabeth eagerly removes her cloak and jumps up. She juts her hip out to emphasize the curves of her body. Amelia, like me, stands with the gown pulled closely to her chest.

“Nicholas!” The Duke’s voice booms from the other end of the room. The Earl stands and comes over to us.

“Ladies, remove your gowns, or I’ll do it for you?” His deep voice is commanding in an ‘I want to punch him in the head’ way.

Neither of us moves. He takes a step closer to Amelia, and she instantly panics and drops the gown. She’s up on the plinth, in a matter of seconds. She stands with an arm over her chest and a hand covering her lady parts.

“Hands at your side.”

She shakes her head

“Please,” she whispers.

“Sides,” he demands again. I want to tell him to leave her alone, but I have to behave. I don’t want to be naked, but I do want to be allowed out of the room, relatively unscathed. She reluctantly drops her arms.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of. You have pretty breasts, but I think I’ll send someone in to wax your pussy tomorrow. I prefer a little less hair on my women.”

I can’t help but look and see she has a bit of a bush thing going on down there.

“Sorry, my father wouldn’t let me cut it,” she stammers.

“Not a problem,” he responds and turns to me. “I’m not even going to ask you again to remove your gown because I know the answer will be ‘no’.” He steps forward, and before I know what’s happening, the material lays in tatters on the floor.

Any thought of behaving goes out of the window when I spit in his face. He wipes it away with a smirk.

“If you want to swap salvia, I have a much better way of doing it. Now, get up there and behave.” He looks me up and down with a lick of his lips. My skin heats in a good way. What the hell? I jump up on the plinth and put my hands at my side in the hope that he’ll go away.

“Good girl.”

I stick my tongue out at him when he walks away. It’s childish but the only retort I can give.

“I have better uses for your tongue as well,” he shouts over his shoulder. How did he know?

“Go to hell,” I shout after him.

He turns and faces me. The playfulness, which was on his features moments ago, is gone. His eyebrows gather in, and he closes his eyes,

“I’m already there. Haven’t you recognized it yet?”

His eyes flash open, and there’s pain written in the blue hues of his irises. I don’t respond — I’m too shocked. He returns to his seat, and to the congratulations of the men.

---