Page 18 of Her Tortured Beasts

From the side of my eye, Spawn huffs and gets onto its knees next to my chair with as much fuss as possible.

“It will learn,” Father says, eyeing it with interest.

“We should use the obsidian shackles for tonight’s event.”

He waves a dismissive, bejewelled hand, the afternoon light making the many gold rings flash. “Our guests will want to see what we can do. I want them to enjoy it.”

“There will be other entertainment,” I say carefully. “Surely we do not need to parade it about.”

He cuts me a sharp look, telling me I’ve overstepped. “That is entirely the point. They are all very interested. Particularly, Lord and Lady Hellfire from Melbourne.” He removes one of the pages from the folder, sliding it across the fine wood. “I want you to consider Miss Francesca carefully. She’s a good candidate.”

I take the page, glancing at the tiny headshot stapled to the top right corner. “I thought so too,” I murmur. She’s a very attractive young lady. Blonde, tall at six feet, with dark eyes and a straight, fine nose. Her lips are curved into a coy smile, as if she’s trying to seduce me through the camera lens. “And there was another candidate who caught my eye. Miss Nadine Chen.”

“That would be my next preference,” Father says, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. “Both of good breeding. Both fertile. Both sound of mind.”

“And well educated,” I say slowly, ignoring that last. “The Chens are well connected.”

“And her parents will return to Shanghai, convenient for us. There will be less…issues after the marriage.”

Issues. Like the ones we had with Sissy.

Father closes the folder. “Your new clothes have been delivered. Wear the family crest tonight.”

“Yes, Father.” It amazes me how quickly I’ve assumed the old rules and manners. Then again, they’d been drilled into me fiercely from the cradle.

Father folds his hands in his lap as he studies me. I meet him eye for eye, keeping my heart rate steady by controlling my breathing. I do not move except to blink at the normal rate. I do not swallow, clench my fists, nor scratch that itch on my temple. My back is rod straight. My protections are sound.

My father is a beast in his prime, though there are fine lines under his eyes now, and at the corners of his mouth. It had been, after all, his own age in mind when he offered me to return to the family Estate. Emmerson was a hatchling still and there was no one else to inherit. Worse still, there were fewer dragons being born than ever before.

Finally, he nods, ending the challenge between us. “I will see you in two hours hence.”

And with that, I am dismissed.

I tug on the chain, signalling Spawn to get off the carpet where it had no doubt been listening to every word. I incline my head to my father and head out the door, running through the stats of the ladies in the biodata folder. They’ll all be present tonight with their parents, some of them secretly wishing we make a mess of things. Many of them will be curious about who I’ve become. I’ve barely been in the public eye since I left the estate, and whatever they’ve heard of me is likely from gossip. These, and a million other things, run through my mind as I head back to my room.

When we get there, Olly and Heather are already bustling about, readying all my things for tonight. I unhook the gold chain from Spawn.

“Bathe it,” I order Heather. “Make sure it looks presentable for our guests. Don’t spray anything. They’ll want to scent her.”

Spawn makes a disgruntled noise before allowing Heather to tug her into the bathroom.

Chapter 11

Aurelia

Anest of dragons from around the country are waiting downstairs and I’m being prepared like a pork roast, ready for their consumption.

Heather prods me into the bathtub, filling it with a fragrant oil and bubble bath combo. The thought of her doing the same to Xander at some stage is the only thing that gets me through the next hour. She scrubs me until I’m pink, even getting a nail brush and scrubbing at my finger and toe nails. She then tries to brush my teeth for me, and I have half a mind to let her, but instead, I put on a haughty tone and snatch the brush out of her hand. “Heather, need I remind you that I’m notactuallya pet but a grown-ass woman?”

She looks affronted for a moment before muttering something under her breath and occupying herself with rubbing a scent-free moisturiser into my back and arms.

I shove on a new dress—a black wrap-around style satin that’s simple but surprisingly elegant—before I’m ushered out into the room where Xander stalks past me in only incredibly low-slung trousers. It takes everything in me not to look, because I know it’ll trigger the agony that lies at the edge of all things.

Instead, I have to sit in the corner and stay silent through the ordeal of Heather straightening my hair, smoothing my baby hairs and flyaways with a serum of some sort that Xander probably uses. The efficient manner in which she sets my hair into a long length down my back tells me she’s been instructed to style me in exactly this way.

There is something about this that I find extremely disturbing.

I still can’t believe Xander made me sit through that meeting with his father. Arranging a marriage like this is just embarrassing for all of us. Worse still is the fact that those young women are all going to be here tonight. Looking at him. Waiting for him to cast their eye on them.

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