The door to Damien's private quarters shut behind them. Its sound bounced along the walls from how hard he'd slammed it.
Helena stood near the entrance, her hands clasped in front of her, fingers pressing into each other hard enough to turn the knuckles white. She hadn't said a word since he'd dragged her out of Room 207.
Damien took off his jacket, throwing it into the corner. A servant came out of the woodwork, taking it off the ground and setting it along a coat hook. The two lackeys that had followed him into the club were both there as well, blocking the door making sure no one entered or left.
The room was larger than what most second-years were afforded. A private suite in the Virtues wing, furnished with dark wood and deep blue fabrics, the Blackwell crest embroidered into the curtains.
Damien poured himself a glass of liquor from the crystal decanter on his desk. Took a sip, letting it burn down his throat.
Then he turned to Helena.
"You could have stopped him."
Helena's gaze stayed on the floor. "What?"
"That little stunt the Webb kid pulled. The glyph that yanked you away from me." Damien's voice was calm, the kind of calm that carried silent rage beneath every syllable.
"You're trying to tell me you can't stop a weak little first-year rune when you're Peak Silver in your fourth year? Please don't humor me. I know you let it happen, so tell me then. Why?"
Helena didn't look up. Her fingers tightened against each other, knuckles pressing white.
"I just didn't want to get in your way." Her voice came out quiet but steady. "You told me last time when you're handling something, I should stay out of it. So I stayed out of it."
The silence that followed sat heavy in the room.
She was right. He had told her that. After the incident with the third-year who'd tried to sit next to her at dinner, Damien had berated her for interfering when he was "making a point." Told her to stand still, look pretty, and let him handle things.
She'd done exactly that.
Damien's jaw clenched. His eyes searched her face for something to use against her, a sign of defiance or guilt.
He found nothing.
"Fine." Moving on him turns.
"Date night is this weekend." He walked to the wardrobe and pulled open the top drawer, revealing multiple outfits of different colors and styles. Retrieving a folded garment, he held it up between two fingers without looking at her. "Wear this."
Helena's eyes went wide.
The dress was midnight blue silk, thin as water. It wrapped around the neck in a high halter, two panels falling down the front just wide enough to cover her breasts and nothing else. The back was completely open from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine, and the sides were cut away so deeply that the inner curves of her chest were exposed with every breath. The skirt was layered silk, split and tattered in deliberate patterns that clung to her thighs and parted with every step, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.
"I... I can't wear that." Her voice dropped. "It's too revealing. People would—"
"Don't care." He set it on the bed and smoothed it flat with one hand, admiring it like he'd already pictured her in it. "You're my woman, and I can dress you however I like." He finally glanced back at her, his expression settling into something that was supposed to look generous. "Just be glad I care about you enough to buy you clothes. Most men in my position wouldn't bother."
Helena stared at the outfit on the bed. Her mouth opened, then closed.
"...Yes, Damien."
"Good." He waved a hand toward the door. "Go back to your room. I'll send for you when I need you."
Kael shifted to the side, opening just enough space for Helena to pass. She didn't look at either of the lackeys as she slipped through the gap and into the corridor.
Walking as fast as she could without making it sound like running, Helena left.
The door clicked shut behind her.
The room went quiet.
Damien stared at the closed door for three seconds.
Then the glass left his hand.
CRASH.
It hit the far wall and exploded into a shower of crystal, liquor streaking down the stone like amber tears. One of the servants flinched so hard she nearly fell.
"A Webb."
"A fucking Webb!" Slamming his hand down, he smacked his desk, its wooden polished surface rumbling from the impact, but his Early Silver strength was nothing compared to the high-quality craftsmanship.
His hand swept across it instead. The ink pot, two leather-bound notebooks, a quill set all of it went to the floor. Ink pooled across the stone like black blood, bleeding into the cracks between tiles.
"A fucking Baron's son from a family of whores just made me look like a fool in front of a room full of insects!"
He kicked the chair, sending it sliding across the room before it slammed into the wall with a loud thud.
Seeing nothing break from his rage, his bloodline started to slip his control flooding the room uncontrollably.
The servants sagged against the wall, their legs buckling. One of them started crying without understanding why, tears rolling down her cheeks as Damien's rage forced itself into her nervous system. The other slid to the floor entirely, arms wrapping around her knees, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
His lackeys took a step back, their bodies pressing against the wall as if their minds were telling them to walk away. However, they were able to handle the full force, showing off their strength. One was even hopeful that Damien would compliment them on doing a good job of standing their ground.
But Damien didn't care.
He stood in the center of his ruined room, chest heaving, and let the pressure pour out of him until the air itself felt heavy.
And then, all of a sudden nothing. As if the pressure had never existed, it dialed back, leaving like the wind. Taking a deep breath, Damien sighed.
The wildness in his eyes had burned itself out, leaving only cold.
"Soren. Kael."
Both lackeys straightened.
"Let our boys in Watchers know they need to start getting active. I want intel on the Webb and all those that surround him. Get me everything he does on a day-to-day basis from when he wakes up to when he goes to bed. I want it all."
Damien walked to the wardrobe and pulled a fresh glass from the shelf, pouring himself another drink with a steady hand. The manchild that had destroyed his room was all but gone, leaving only a calm and collected individual.
"Timeline?" Soren asked.
"End of the week." Damien took a sip. "And tell them to be subtle. If Webb catches even a hint that he's being watched, this falls apart before it starts. The boy is sharper than he looks."
"Understood." Both Soren and Kael said, leaving the room to do their master's bidding.
The door shut.
Damien stood alone in the wreckage of his room from the glass broken on the floor to the mess he'd made when he threw everything off his desk.
He glanced down at the servants.
"Clean this up."
They scrambled without a word.
Damien turned to the window and looked out over the Virtues courtyard. Below, students walked in pairs beneath the lantern light, their laughter drifting up faintly through the glass.
'Enjoy the quiet, Webb.'
He finished the last drop from the bottle and set the empty glass on the windowsill.
'It won't last.'
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