The cavernous interior of the Church was dim, the bright sunshine muted, and the sloped roof bowed from years of neglect. Branches clawed their verdant fingers through the once impressive arched windows, the glass long shattered from the decades of decay, and tendrils of ivy rising fast from the ground to twist the frames and mouldering brickwork in a sinuous, choking embrace. Our feet crunched over years of debris as we approached the altar, the pews taken by looters of old, and the wind whistled eerily through the many cracks.
Our fathers were arranged around the altar, a simple piece of woodwork with clawed feet which had surprisingly remained intact, their faces shrouded, as usual, in the thick cloaks they insisted on wearing. It was so cliché; they were the first generation to insist on cheap theatrics to grant The Club an aura of mystery. We knelt before them on the ground, heads bowed in subservience as was only right and proper since we had not come into our power or wealth yet. We were still mere prospects.
Their faces may be shrouded but their voices were clear identifiers. Damien’s father, Hector, began this sordid meeting, his syllables as clear as the bell that had long been melted down from this Church. “Blood prospects, rise.” We did as bade and faced our fathers. He paused, allowing the Fathers for a moment to survey their sons. I wondered if the brief exam brought forth pride or frustration that we were not the embodiment of the perfection they constantly strove for. What even defined perfection?
“Firstly, we would like to congratulate you on your success. Your ease at navigating our trite tasks has been exemplary and we would like to pause a moment to commend you for it. You have proven yourselves more than worthy of the final task, which brings us to the matter in hand. Free will is a continuing tenet of our success. We would not want to begrudge our heirs a burden that is too heavy and for our years of hard work to decay into mere ruins of the glory it once was. Rejection of the task and implicitly, The Club, will of course be regrettable, but if that is your choice then so be it.” Hector paused once more, the words twisting around us like plumes of ashy smoke, filled with toxins, choking our very core. “Would you like to proceed?”
The silence that ensued was loaded with tension. I could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on me. The elders knew that as the de facto leader of our generation I would be expected to shoulder the honourable weight of the final task. My father expected it of me so we could restore the honour to our family that he had foolishly squandered by his weakness and fallible follies. Who was I to be subservient to my father? What granted him the power? I was not one to bow to authority. I was Blaise motherfucking de Vere. The dissident devil from Paris urged me to turn my back and head out of the Church as quickly as could, stabbing my friends in the back and leaving them to bleed out at the feet of our fathers. What would happen then? Would Xanthe take me back after the cruel words I had volleyed at her as if they were bullets to rid her from my life? Would my assets be hidden well enough to provide a comfortable existence? The devil still wanted to keep her, cursing away in my head that I didn’t take her in Paris, but surely that was madness. I couldn’t be her white knight. It wasn’t how life worked, to throw everything away for a connection.
“We will proceed,” I announced. The union was not just with me but with all my brothers. It impacted all our lives.
“Very well then.” The smug voice of my father took centre stage. I stiffened involuntarily. Bastard was probably coming in his chinos at his slightly worrisome younger son finally stepping forward. Fucker. “You will now see your bride. Isadora, if you will.”
I tensed. The moment had come that I would see Xanthe’s replacement. I could hear the crunch of leaves behind me, so tacky. Of course she would approach us from behind as if she were already walking up the aisle. She passed us, her features shrouded in a white cloak similar in style to the ones that our fathers wore.
“If you would approach, Blaise,” my father said. I approached the altar, standing next to Isadora and accepting the velvet jeweller’s box he held out. I said not a word, fearing what treacherous words might fall from my lips should I dare speak. “Now, offer this to your future bride.”
I knelt on one knee and opened the box, revealing a gaudy ring with a diamond that was vulgar in size and lacking any meaning or personality. Just like this sordid union. The girl pushed her hood back to reveal auburn hair that flowed down her back, the only redeeming feature about her, sadly. Her face uncannily similar to that of a horse with small, mean blue eyes that were saturated with some sick, sated smugness. Fighting back the urge to throw up, I mustered up my calmest voice, “Will you, Isadora, do me the pleasure of becoming my wife?”
Her eyes flared with greed and she simpered as though it was a shock, as if I had popped the question out of the blue. “Of course, dearest Blaise.”
I pushed the ring onto her finger, feeling some sort of smug vindictiveness when I had to force it over her knuckle, causing her to wince in pain. Standing up, I pulled her into an embrace and placed a chaste kiss on her lips, denying her access because my whole being was choked up with the wrongness of this act. Why had I chosen wealth over Xanthe? Surely the material satisfaction of it paled in comparison to the fierce blazing contentment of being with someone that made you want to raze entire cities and civilisations in order to be worthy of such love and adoration?
She glared at me as everyone clapped politely but I said nothing. I had nothing to say. If she wanted to go at it like a pornstar in front of the Elders and my brothers then that truly showed what a cheap whore she was. Not wanting to start a spat, I took her arm and led her out of the Church, my brothers fanned out behind me. Vile satisfaction bloomed in my father’s face. Family honour was finally restored. He was too weak to achieve it but his son, made in his image, achieved it. Ergo, in all sense of the word, he had achieved it.
We made our way up to the house; a squat, sprawling Victorian monstrosity made of dark grey stone which stood in the middle of parkland, the lush green lawns melting into the forest that circled it. A wide, old-fashioned skirt for some dumpy lady. The day was grey and bleak, a slight drizzle permeating the air. I smirked. How fitting for the clandestine intrigue of The Club.
In true British endurance, the engagement had not been moved inside because of the threatening showers but had remained on the terrace that hugged the western side of the house, enclosed by a lichen covered balustrade. The women of The Club were fanned around the table set up with blessed champagne, murmuring softly. God forbid that The Club would be modern enough to include their wives, sisters, and daughters with our sordid business. It would not be seemly for a respectable woman.
On our approach up the steps, I turned to Isadora who was chatting with her friend on the other side. “Champagne?”
She turned to me and smiled hopefully. For what, I didn’t want to know; a decent husband? The prospect of love born from a forced arrangement? “That’d be lovely, Blaise. And I’m sure Jaz would love some too.”
The girl on the other side of her scowled at me and flicked her braids over her shoulder, just like a cat flicks its tail when angry. Message received loud and clear. At least one of Isadora’s friends had the sense to see how fucked up this situation actually was. I merely nodded my head and kissed Isadora on the cheek before making my way to the table.
“I hope you are getting one for your beloved fiancé as well,” A slimy voice slithered over my shoulder. Not wanting to appear startled, I turned smoothly around and smiled at the reptilian face of our current Prime Minister.
“Of course, sir.” I replied, feigning respect when all I wanted to do was criticise him, the reasons too many to list, but it was a fair enough comment to say that he was driving the country into the ground.
“And then how about we have a little chat?”
“Let me just get my fiancée and her friend some champagne and I’ll be right with you.” I bowed my head before moving away to Jaz and Isadora, standing by the balustrade at the edge of the terrace. “Ladies.” I handed them bo
th their glass. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to have a word with your father.”
Isadora’s face lit up at that. “Oh, you’ll love him, Blaise. He’s such a sweetheart.”
I merely smiled at that and headed towards Marcus, standing by the arched French doors. “Marcus,” I said in greeting, lighting up a much-needed cigarette.
“That stuff will kill you, you know. You better have given up by the wedding because I don’t want my daughter to be a young widow.”
I glared at him, taking a deep pull in defiance and blew it into his face. “21st century, sir. Some might say I am entitled to independent thought.”
The subtext resounded as clear as a bell. It showed on Marcus’ face, his features curdled into a scowl. “If I’m giving you advice, might I suggest that you adopt some decorum about this whole situation, and don’t act like a spoilt child? It is, of course, not my dream to sell my child off in marriage but an allegiance with your family is advantageous.” He paused, gazing out contemplatively. “Although some might say it’s more advantageous to your family than it is to mine.”
“And some might say that alliances can be made in other ways than arranged marriages. But who are we to quibble over the fine print?”
“I came here to be civil and you are making it incredibly hard, young man. Many in my circles view your family as little more than mobsters, the term a common gang is often bandied about too. You will marry my daughter, marry our families closer together, and you will treat me with the respect that is owed to me as your father-in-law. I understand that you have more to lose from this arrangement than I do.”
“What? Some sad, grasping little man who has managed to con the British public into voting him as their grand leader? Some might say you should have stayed in middle management, you don’t have the guts to be a successful leader. You need us. We have the power to create or destroy, depending on our whims at that particular time of course,” I said evenly, my temper grasping at my throat, and my hand itching to withdraw my knife to hold it against his throat. To make him realise he was selling his daughter to a monster. A monster who did not bow down to stupid whims and conniving plots.
Recognition bloomed over his features and I wanted to crow in delight. Fucking finally. He would realise who called the shots around here. He didn’t appear cowed, however, but looked around before responding to me in a low, furious tone. “You will do as your Elders say because they are the ones who call the shots from what I hear. I read the terms of your engagement. You are denied your inheritance if you don’t marry my daughter and give me a grandchild. Not so powerful with all your wealth taken from you, are you?”
He had called my bluff and panic coursed through me. I truly was as impotent as he said. If I wanted to run away with Xanthe it would be impossible. The Elders would cut off my funds in a heartbeat, leaving us as easy pickings for them to deal with. My plan that not even my brothers knew about was not nearly ready to enable an escape plan. And that was designed for just one person. How could I run away with someone else?
Keeping a cool mask firmly pinned on my face, I murmured back. “You know what my father called me? His little killer. I don’t need money to pay people to do my dirty work.”
Disgust flared in Marcus’ expression. “Then you are little more than a thug. Blaise, you do know that a dead bride is not a good look for a wedding?”
“I do, sir. It wasn’t Isadora I was talking about.”
He ignored that, continuing furiously. “My darling daughter, who is far too good for someone like you, is delicate. She’s struggled with her mental health since she was small. This is not an ideal situation for me because I don’t want to jeopardise her health. Fortunately, she has taken a shine to you. The last boy who took her fancy started a relationship with another girl. Now between you and me, I think it was deliberate that she took this boy because she was always so mean to Isadora growing up. She was also not as charming or as beautiful as my daughter. I think this is what really hurt her. Anyway, I digress. Realising this at the tender age of fifteen, Isadora thought that she wasn’t good enough. That boys would never like her. That this girl would always sabotage her. It was disgusting really. At every party, she would flaunt her relationship with this boy… after a time, it took its toll. Isadora would eat less and less, it worried us no end. With the help of therapists, we managed to get her better. Unfortunately, she had invited this girl’s boyfriend to her eighteenth and, unsurprisingly, this girl was not invited. Anyway, this girl was enraged and ruined our older daughter’s engagement to slander Isadora. She declined into such a deep depression she had to re-sit her A-Levels and we are lucky she is here today.”
I raised my eyebrow, bored already. It sounded like she was a self-absorbed, high-maintenance princess. “And you’re telling me this why, sir?”
“To make you aware of how fragile she is. The hard hand that has been dealt to her in her short life. To remind you that I’ll stop at nothing to ensure that she is treated the way she deserves. I will make your life a living hell if you do anything to endanger her.”
“Loud and clear, sir.” I smiled coldly. “Now, how about a toast?”
“I think that would be appropriate,” he responded.
I tapped my glass, drawing everyone’s attention. “Thank you. I just wanted to raise a glass to my future fiancée and to the future we are going to build together. I can’t wait, Isadora.”
An ugly blush rose over mottled cheeks and she giggled with her friend who just kept on scowling. Everyone raised their glasses politely and then conversation resumed. I made my excuses to Marcus before weaving my way over to Isadora. I hovered as they finished up their conversation and considered whether to escape or to go inside for a much needed line.
“Blaise!” Her nasally voice summoned me hither, forcing me to go to her.
“Isadora.” I kissed her cheek. “What were you ladies just talking about now?” I sipped my champagne, wishing for something much stronger.
“The engagement party. We thought we could have it next week. It will be so much fun!” She gestured to her scowling friend. “And Jaz is a party planner so it will be so easy!”
“It’s just an engagement party. No need to go overboard now. Also, our friends will just want to get fucked up and we don’t need some stuck up affair like our parents would have.”
Tears welled up in her small eyes and I wanted to slap her. Fucking get a grip and deal with yourself. “But Blaise, it’s the happiest day of your life.”
“For you maybe, Isadora. I’ve always said you need someone who treats you like a queen.” Scowler glared at me. “And Blaise here couldn’t care less about the wedding. Now why would you want to marry him?”
“Because Daddy told me to and he said Blaise was lovely. Also, no one else will have me.”
Now I wonder why that was, I thought, keeping my expression impassive.
“A forced wedding is not your only option!”
Isadora looked up at me beseechingly. “Blaise will behave, I know he will. These things just take time, don’t they?”
So fucking desperate. I smiled down at her. “Yes, dear. It’s been a whirlwind of a day.”
Scowler rolled her eyes but it appeased my fake fiancée who gushed, probably in all senses of the word. “So exciting! I honestly can’t wait. We also were talking about Jaz marrying one of your friends. How cute would it be for our babies to grow up together?”
“Adorable,” I commented dryly. “Now, who would it be that Jaz likes?”
A blush rose over her dark skin and she murmured, “Bastien over there is so lovely, he’s been so friendly as well.”
I ignored the pointed jab. “And taken.”
Isadora scowled at that. “Blaise. It doesn’t matter does it? She’s my dearest friend and I bet they won’t stay together…”
“Why? Because we’re in our twenties?”
“Ugh! We’re different. This is serious. Whatever Bastien and this girl have is not.”
/> Jaz pouted, twirling a braid around her finger. “That’s fine then.”
“No, Jaz! I said you could have whoever because that would make everyone happy.”
“That wasn’t written in the contract.”
“And, so what? If she’s happy, I’m happy.”
“Happy wife, happy life,” I sighed.
“Fuck you, Blaise. I don’t care about him, I can have whoever I want because I don’t have a forced marriage. Just treat Isadora with some damn respect. Now I’m going to get some more to drink.” Her friend stormed off leaving me with my fiancée.
I smirked down at her but she hissed at me. “Fuck you, Blaise.” Now her friend wasn’t here, her true colours were showing. A malevolent, cunning glint shone in her eyes and she moved closer. “I will have you. You will treat me as a loving partner both in public and in private. If you don’t you can kiss your inheritance goodbye. I will stop at nothing to get what I want. What I deserve.”
“Fully understood, dear.” I kissed her cheek.
She giggled airily as if she hadn’t just fucking threatened me and said, “Going to find Jaz now! See you in a bit?”
I smiled and nodded, watching her retreat to where Jaz stood by the table. Fuck. It would be so much easier if I had a foolish, simpering fiancée who was too dim to see what I was actually doing. Instead I got a cunning, conniving bitch who clearly had manipulated everyone in her life to get where she was. It was clear this was a necessity. She wasn’t nearly as beautiful as other girls to use her looks to get where she wanted. Like Xanthe. A goddess incarnate who was blind to how everyone worshipped her like the deity she was.
The afternoon dragged by and I suffered through it with plenty of champagne and cigarettes, much to Marcus’ disgust. How horrified he would be if he learnt that all I wanted to do in that moment was a tiny bit of cocaine to make the afternoon go quicker. I restrained because that was far too risky in this dangerous game.
Little Doll: Queens of Chaos 1 Page 15
