Page 31 of Honeythorn
There could be much more to dying than death.
Milan refused to end up like that.
He lay in bed the following morning as he seemed to do these days, searching for a way to fight.
His first scheme was to tell somebody, but who could he go to? Not the staff—they were loyal to Lord Raphael. And besides, they would see it happening—if they cared, they would do something about it.
He couldn’t tell the police—it wasn’t actually illegal to commit an Omega to such a slow death—of course an Alpha would never do such a thing, so why put laws in place to prevent it? He might have been able to accuse him of abuse, but who on earth would believe his word against that of a lord?
Nor could he tell Katarina, for what could she do? Lord Raphael would deny it, and it would discredit her, embroiling her in a scandal that would damage her prospects forever.
He could not tell his family—they were too far away. By the time the letter got to them, and they to him, it would be too late. Why worry them needlessly?
Milan could try and use physical force, but where would that get him? Not only could Lord Raphael overpower him physically, but the thought of forcing himself on someone was abhorrent.
Manipulation was doomed to fail, for Milan had nothing that Lord Raphael wanted, nothing to use as subtle force.
What was left? Begging? Or maybe simply waiting and hoping that what everybody said—that Lord Raphael was a good man—was true.
Surely a good man would not kill his own husband. Surely, there had to be a way out. Someone who would believe an Omega over a Lord Alpha who had such a sterling reputation.
Milan simply couldn’t see who, or how.
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Any hope Milan had that Lord Raphael had simply been bluffing or firing a warning shot were dashed when he wore the gloves the next night, and the next, and the one after that.
Despite the fear that was ever-growing in Milan, and his complete lack of solutions, he tried to maintain a schedule that would keep his head above water.
He would become immersed in reading about mechanics, especially the advent of the crawler—how there had been many prototypes that had failed before the final form. It made Milan hopeful that things might seem hopeless, but they would turn out all right.
One of the things he enjoyed doing the most was riding into town and speaking with the people there. His favourite day to do so was on Saturdays, on which he would enjoy walking through the market, admiring the fresh produce the lands produced.
It was there that he found out about the ball—hosted by a countess, no less. When he asked Lord Raphael, it was confirmed they had to attend. Milan tried to keep calm, but all he could think about was the possibility that Lord Raphael would take his gloves off for the occasion.
It turned out not to be the case.
Milan was starting to hate the sound of the leather creaking slightly when Lord Raphael made a fist. As much as he wanted to deny it, Milan was starting to feel the effects of the neglected bond, and the sound of the gloves nauseated him further, a mockery of his declining state, especially when Lord Raphael held out a hand to help him into the crawler.
Milan ignored it, getting into the machine himself.
The ride, of course, was silent, but Milan was soon entertained by the arrival of other guests, both in hackneys and crawlers. Milan jumped out of the vehicle eagerly when they reached their destination.
The manor was splendid. The great hall, where the ball was being held, was enormous—even bigger than at Ledford Manor. Great, coral-coloured marble pillars seemed to hold the towering ceiling up, no less than four chandeliers hanging from above. There was a raised platform at the end of the room where a band played merrily, and in between them and Milan were more people than he could have expected, all dressed in lavish clothes. Milan was glad he glad thought to don his best suit—a stylish, moss green with a lightly patterned, cream-coloured silk shirt that went perfectly with his skin tone.
Foolishly, Milan turned to seek his husband, but shouldn’t have been surprised when he saw Lord Raphael disappear into the crowd. He felt a moment of panic at being left alone, but Katarina swooped in as if she had been waiting for him.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” Katarina said. “I was deathly bored.”
Milan laughed, knowing she was jesting, but it felt good to be appreciated anyway.
“And where is your husband?” she asked.
Milan shrugged. “I don’t keep him on a leash.”
Katarina raised an eyebrow but said nothing further on the matter.
Despite how much Milan loved Katarina’s company, he found he was not so fond of the rest of the high-born crowd. Unlike his friend, the rest seemed to speak in carefully constructed sentences that alluded more than told. It was quite tedious, especially for the amount of time they spent making the rounds.
