Chapter 33 On My Property

"Don't just stand there, my lovely wife, you—" Killorn paused. He was blown away by her beauty. He had randomly ordered whichever gown for her, choosing the most expensive thing he could get his hands on. But seeing her in one of his personally-picked dresses, the rug was yanked from his feet.

Killorn was too busy admiring her startling beauty in the green material that matched the forest. He didn't even process that her skin was paling by the second, or that she was scrunching the front of her attire in anxiety.

"You didn't have to put on a dress, she wouldn't have minded," Killorn murmured, whilst reaching for her.

Ophelia weakly let him pull her in his direction, in the fear of losing his favor. She couldn't imagine how horrid her appearance was in comparison to this lively Maribelle. She opened her mouth to speak, but he was suddenly turning her around, his fingers quick to undress her.

"W-what are you…" Ophelia's protest died in her throat. What if she denied him as a wife and he went to the mistress. With that thought in mind, she bit down any thoughts of questioning him.

Men didn't like to be second-guessed. Ophelia assumed her husband was the same, so she swallowed all complaints and stood still for him.

With quivering fingertips, Ophelia reached for the ribbon holding her dress in place. Her wrists rattled like a skeleton, for she was still raw down there.

"Let me." Killorn gently pushed her probing hands away.

Killorn began to unweave the ribbon tied by the helper from the inn. He narrowed his eyes at the neverending loops he had to go through.

What the hell was this? Was the ribbons intending on keeping her celibate? These must be what the nuns used to tie themselves. Killorn struggled against the fragile silk. He scowled at how difficult it was.

Ophelia timidly glanced over her shoulders, wondering what was so long. She let out a shaky breath and made a startling revelation.

Killorn didn't know how to untie ribbons.

In fact, Killorn was making more knots. His brows were knitted in concentration, a tiny tongue darted out without him realizing. His large fingers worked clumsily, even though they were so well at undoing her. He grumbled profanities under his breath. Her ears bled from the sinful words he always spat out.

​ "L-let me."

"No."

Killorn's voice came out as a sulking mumble. He lightly flicked her hand away, refusing to let her help him. A minute passed, a single droplet of sweat slid down his forehead. He let out a huff, his chest growing heated at how irritating it is.

"You're t-tightening the r-ribbons."

"Fuck this shit."

Killorn grabbed it with his bare fingers, then yanked it. She gasped, hearing a loud year. He had torn it into two. She flinched when he grabbed her gown's neckline.

"W-wait—"

With two hands, he tore the dress in two. The material piled at Ophelia's feet. She didn't realize her legs were shaking until he palmed it. She was amazed by his large hand that grabbed her thigh with ease. His tan skin was a sharp contrast against her milky ones that never saw the light of day.

"You should wear these lace stockings more often." Killorn groaned when he ran his hand down her smooth legs. He loved the little ribbons holding her socks up. In fact, it drove him insane, the idea of tugging at the ropes—almost as if her thighs were a present for him to unravel, and her entrance begging to be dug into.

"M-my…" Ophelia cut herself off. She jumped when he calmly rubbed his hands on her behind. She trembled, for it was the same action that the Matriarch once did before she raised her beating stick down on Ophelia.

"D-don't!" Ophelia spun around, startling him. She was wide-eyed and clutched onto his shirt for mercy. Violently, she shook her head.

"Ophelia—"

"P-please.. I—I don't… don't…"

Ophelia's knees gave out. She sank to the ground, her entire body trembling as a leaf. Then, a thudding silence followed and she froze—realizing Killorn had just seen another traumatized part of her.

"Ophelia…" Killorn's voice grew firm.

Ophelia squeezed her eyes shut, remembering the way Niles used to grope her in that spot whenever he'd visit House Eves for "business" related discussions. Each time he saw her lingering in the hallways, he'd be sure to touch her in a place where people wouldn't see from afar—it included her behind.

Ophelia's heart thundered in her chest and ears. Badump. Badump. It was all she could hear. She shakily hugged her shoulders and bowed her head in obedience.

"Ophelia, my sweetness, what are you doing?" Killorn murmured, lowering himself to her level. He grabbed her body, but she shook her head.

"Let me see," Killorn urged, grabbing her. He was certain her behind was unmarked. She reacted as if there was a bruise there.

Ophelia was so panicked that she didn't even realize she had interrupted her husband for the first time in her life. Usually, that earned a slap in the face. She hated how often she failed him. The virtue of a wife was to obey and birth. So far, Ophelia was doing neither of that.

"Did the carriage ride injure you?" Killorn asked, reaching for her waists. She was bone and skin. It ached him whenever he felt her hip bones jut out. Her stomach was unnaturally clinging to her body, and he longed for it to grow round with health—not just from his child.

"Let me massage your bottom, it'll hurt less." Killorn cradled her into his embrace. He was startled by how much she was trembling.

Killorn didn't understand what went through his wife's mind. She was weak as a lamb for slaughter. Her breathing came out in quiet pants and her face in a grimace.

"Come here, my loveliness." Killorn carried her, careful to not put too much pressure on her bottom. She immediately buried her face into the crook of his neck. He paused—only for a split second. She hugged his shoulders and he rose to his full height.

"I-it doesn't h-hurt." Her voice was as sweet as honey, but soft as cotton. Her hair tickled him, her lips brushing on his skin.

Killorn could barely feel his sanity hanging on. She smelled delightful, her skin flushed against his. She was in nothing, but her chemise, knee-high socks, and her ribbon-tied underwear. He was this close to sliding inside of her, but not now. Gods, never now.

"Then what's wrong?"

Ophelia's heart clenched at his tenderness. His voice was velvety and smooth, like the finest silk. He spoke with great patience that only made her want to cry with shame. He had good intentions, she was just broken.

"N-nothing," Ophelia weakly told him.

"Surely not, if your voice is trembling like this, and you can barely stand."

Ophelia swallowed.

"Tell me."

Ophelia dared to shake her head. Her protest earned a soft growl. She froze at the rumble of his chest, powerful as thunder shaking the skies. She let out a gasp when the atmosphere around them thickened and turned cold.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Ophelia weakly nodded.

"Someone else hurt you."

Ophelia froze. She nearly stopped breathing altogether. He knew. Oh god, he discovered the truth. He was an intelligent man. All brains and brawns. There was nothing that could get past Killorn Mavez.

"Tell me," Killorn insisted. "Was the auction house? Was it the person you mentioned before about people not being kind to you?"

Ophelia squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't dare to look at him, for this was a command she could not deny. He knew she was loyal to the virtues of a wife. He understood how traditional and conservative her teachings were. She had already said so much today, and couldn't find it in herself to open up more than prepared for.

Ophelia wasn't ready to face the truth.

Killorn used it to his advantage—rightfully so. He was her husband. According to the rules they've been taught since birth, Ophelia Eves Mavez was his property, so long as she carried his name.

"Tell me, which death-seeking son of a bitch dared to lay their hands on my property, my lovely wife?"