Chapter 9 House of Thorns

The estate of Lady Seraphine D'Aragon stretched like a fortress of wealth across the rugged hills of Valemire. Her name rang through the slave markets and trading ports with weight-both feared and revered. Seraphine was not just a wealthy widow; she was a woman who had turned cruelty into enterprise. She was well known for dealing in slaves of various kinds and for various purposes. Some she kept as maids, some she used to run a famous brothel, and others she forced to bear children who were sold later to barren elites who couldn't produce their own.

The silk she wore shimmered like the skins of her maids - owned, broken, and hauntingly beautiful.

In the courtyard, marble statues stood frozen in worship of her family's legacy, while real bodies, shackled and worn, swept, served, and suffered.

Her only son, Aran, known to most by his pet name "Lucas," had the face of a carved angel. Hair soft like dawn silk, skin pale with a hint of dusk's gold, lashes long enough to trap sunlight, and a voice laced with syrup and shadow. He was every maid's danger as he was fondly known for amusing himself by bedding every thing in skirt. Every visitor's confusion.

And true to habit, as everyone in the estate went ahead with their plans for the day, Lucas currently had one of the new kitchen girls pressed against the garden wall, his hand tracing the fabric of her sleeve up to her neckline, whispering words soaked in laughter and temptation.

"Tell me," he murmured, "are you always this... easily flustered? Or is it just the effect of my devastating smile?"

Before the girl who already seemed to be shaking and scared could answer, a firm voice interrupted. "Lucas!"

Lady Seraphine approached with her consort, Aldric, beside her, a thin man draped in crimson robes. With one swift motion, she reached out and yanked her son's ear like he was ten again.

"Are you cursed to disgrace me in every corner of this estate?" she hissed, dragging him by the ear across the path.

"Must you try to bed every servant before breakfast?"

Behind them, the butler - Sir Oliver, a bald, ever-frowning man who'd served the house for three decades - walked stiffly, holding a scroll of newly auctioned slaves and a heavy coin purse.

Inside the house, Lucien sat hunched in the grand library, a cathedral of books that rose like mountains around him. His dark hair fell in waves across his face, lips soft, his jawline carved with gentle arrogance. He was elegance and mystery wrapped in scholarly gloom.

Though they shared the same estate, Lucien and Lucas were extremely different like fire and starlight.

Lucien was the late Duke Vael's son - and nephew to Seraphine - a boy who had lost his mother at birth and was raised among books and silence. He found no pleasure in chasing skirts or whispering sweet nothings. He preferred parchment, ink, and secrets.

A loud laugh and a familiar voice pulled him from the page.

"He's done it again," he murmured with a small, reluctant smirk, closing his book and making his way down the spiral staircase.

At the bottom, he found Lucas being scolded, and as expected, tried to walk past without involvement.

Seraphine turned to him sharply. "And you? I hope you weren't up there writing love poems to some poor maid."

Lucien gave a soft bow. "Only if they rhyme with 'discipline' and 'education,' Aunt."

Lucas snorted. "He's been buried in books again. Nerd."

Seraphine slapped Lucas's ear again. "At least Lucien isn't wrapped around every hem in this estate."

Before the banter could continue, her consort, Aldric whispered into her ear.

Her smile vanished.

"The third one?" she asked. He nodded. "Dead again?"

The chill returned to her face.

"Excuse me, boys. I must check on a disappointing investment."

---

The Room of Breeding

The chamber lay at the farthest end of the estate-past the gardens, beyond the orchard-where the air turned foul and even the walls seemed to stop breathing.

There, behind thick iron doors, lived a dozen women - kept not just as ordinary slaves, but as breeding tools. It was one of the most profitable parts of her business.

These women were to be used, timed, measured, and punished if they didn't meet up with demand or disagree to comply.

Lady Seraphine stepped into the room where the slave woman, who had once been called Liri but was now simply "Number Three". She had earned the name because she had given birth three times since her arrival-each child dying before they could be fully delivered. She lay there unconscious on the straw-laced ground. Her belly had just spilled another lifeless child for the third time.

Seraphine's boots echoed on the stone. She stood over the woman, then, without hesitation, slapped her so hard her body shifted on the floor.

"You're wasting my investments on you and wasting my time as well," she snarled. "You were bought to deliver. Not to eat my food and eventually die without giving me the value I bought you for."

She snapped her fingers.

Two guards dragged the limp girl by the arms into the next room.

Behind the thin wall, the other women flinched as the screams began. Whips cracked. Flesh tore. Moans turned into shrill wails till she fell unconscious. One girl covered her ears. Another simply cried.

Then Lady Seraphine's voice pierced through:

"Make sure each of you has a go at her. I won't waste this much coin on a barren shell. She will bear me children. This is why I always demand virgins-fresh, untouched. But instead, they send me used goods like this."

The guards emerged after each taking turns on her, faces dark, tunics untucked, eyes cold and indifferent.

Much later, when the girl didn't stir again, Seraphine returned, meeting her still unconscious and dipped her hand into a cauldron of boiling water, thrusting the girl's limp hand into it as she felt Liri was being too comfortable for a useless commodity.

The scream that followed was sharp enough to silence birds as it echoed through some parts of the estate.

---

Back at the estate, Lucien sipped tea by the window still buried deep into a political book he had been on for days while Lucas tuned his lute lazily on the stairwell. The screams, like old music, were background noise now.

Neither flinched.

Neither reacted.

"Who do you think offended her this time" Lucas grinned jokingly

"Probably Number three" Lucien replied shortly not lifting his head from his books

"I guess so. I heard her second pregnancy was unyielding and she had gotten pregnant for the third time again" Lucas agreed

"Whoever it is, it doesn't change anything, she continues her business and we should not interfere" Lucien said coldly.

It had always been this way since they were kids and they had learnt to ignore it.