Page 87 of Degradation
It’s been three weeks since he stole my eyes.
Since he carved me up too.
Ada tries to help me get my bearings by having me count the steps from the bed to the bathroom, by having me feel my way around. It helps and it doesn’t. I know I’m a sitting duck here. Between my husband, his disgusting brother, and the guards, it’s all a matter of time before someone decides to do something.
Gunther is more paranoid than ever. I think the fact I’m blind now is the only thing that seems to sate him. Did he suspect meof being involved in whatever delusions are running around in his head?
He’s had the Palace searched every single day since the assassination attempt, had every drawer turned out, had every nook and cranny investigated. Half the servants have been replaced. The ones who are missing were apparently tortured to death. Some of the guards are removed too, though notably, Devin is not one of them.
Since his great saving moment, he’s been promoted. My dear husband took so much delight in telling me that Devin Blake is now Captain of the Guard, second only to Commander Malik.
I’m itching to tell Gunther what these scars mean, what Devin confessed, but a voice in my head tells me if I do that, it won’t just be Devin paying the consequences. That I’ll be punished too. Or worse, Gunther will outright call me a liar and then he’ll throw me to the guards, throw me back into the viper’s pit and let them completely and utterly destroy me.
Without my sight, I don’t stand a chance.
My husband began fucking me again the moment my wounds healed enough. What he doesn’t know is, I had another period, though mercifully we managed to hide it from him, and everyone else too.
I wasn’t hauled out, I wasn’t thrown into a shed, locked away like I’m diseased. I’m almost grateful to that monster for what he did, because it at least spared me a measly week of agony.
Tonight, we’re having another party. I know it’s long overdue. Gunther declared that there would be no more guests, no one could get near the Palace without his say so. But apparently, these little soirees don’t count.
Is it wrong to wish one of these so-called friends might just do us all a favour and gut him? I can just imagine it, some faceless person stepping forward, slashing out, the brightness ofthe blade, the rich redness of his blood as his gut is slashed right into two.
I shake my head slightly, telling myself that while understandable, such a thought is still a sin.
My hand is clinging to his chair, anchoring me to it. It was nearly impossible for me to get to this room unaided. I don’t know what I’m wearing exactly but the fabric is flimsy and barely covering. I guess that doesn’t matter though because I’ve been so mutilated, my husband actually takes pity on me. He declares me to be ‘off-limits’ and has Magnus Blake deliver a fresh batch of slaves for their amusement instead.
I don’t know what his friends think. If they believe my husband is responsible for all the barbarity I’ve suffered.
I, thankfully, am spared their awful looks, spared the leers, but I can hear the whispers all the same. That’s the one thing I have gained. My hearing, my smell, all my other senses seem to be heightened.
I can hear all the nasty things they murmur when they think my dear husband isn’t paying them attention. I can smell him too; Gunther now stinks worse than ever. Does he even wash? I’ve never seen him take a shower, never seen him bathe. But surely, he must wash. He’s not so unkempt as that.
I sense Gunther rise from his throne-like chair beside me. I listen intently as his footsteps recede, each step a drumbeat signalling his departure from my side.
And as soon as he’s gone, as soon as he’s far enough away, all those whispers begin. All those hushed words that they don’t want him to hear. I used to think all these people here were his friends, that they enjoyed the barbarity as much as he did, and though that might be the case, I’m certain now that none of them would care all that much for his downfall. At least, they wouldn’t care what became of Gunther. They would only care about how itaffected them, their interests, and their family’s good names and fortune.
“Soon.” Someone murmurs low enough that I’m certain he thinks no one can hear him. “Soon they will act.”
“He sent away my brother. He had his entire family sentenced to a year in Oblivion.” Another whispers, sounding more desperate, more panicked.
“I know, and I’m sorry…”
“Even Patty went there. Patty. The girl is twelve years of age…”
“I know.” The other replies. “He’s trying to force Blake’s hand, to force him to open the Ark.”
“Jesus Christ.” He hisses back.
“It will happen, Gunther will be sorted. Everything is in place. But we cannot make a mistake here. One fuck up and you know how this will end. Oblivion will seem like a dream compared to what Gunther will do if he realises we’re planning to oust him. You saw what he’s done to his wife…”
I feel their eyes on me, I feel the way they both stare at me, even though I can’t see it. It takes all I have to remain calm, to look like I’ve dozed off, like I can’t hear them. But the excitement I feel, the promise I hear in their words.
Someone is working to get rid of Gunther, someone is going to remove him. It’s so hard not to jump for joy. That bastard is finally getting what he deserves. Finally going to face some form of justice.
They may not have said the words but the only way a Chapter Lord can be removed is if they die. My heart leaps at the prospect that Gunther will die very painfully indeed.
The two men move away and seconds later my dear husband plonks himself down beside me.
