In this world, there are mages who are typical magic weavers. Similar to wizards and witches.
There are also vessels. People who absorb magic, but are said to be unable to wield it.
They can give their magic to mages via sex.
Throughout this series we have seen various mage & vessel couples discovering that vessels are more powerful than people know.
We have also seen them fight a cult within the aristocracy called Revivalists.
Revivalists believe that all magic weavers are descendent from the fey. A magical race that last walked on Earth hundreds of years ago before their realm drifted too far away for portals to work.
Revivalists wish to reopen the portals and welcome the fey back to Earth.
Everyone else believes this is a terrible idea, as fey are ruthless and dangerous.
We briefly met Count Felford and his vessel-to-be in the previous book, The Butler’s Vessel, where they helped one main character break the other main character out of jail.
Now you’re all caught up!
Chapter one
Lucien
“You must obey your husband in all things.”
“Yes, Mama,” I reply dutifully.
“Never think you can deny him. It is your duty to keep him satisfied.”
“Yes, Mama.”
Her green eyes are earnest and bright. Even in the bright winter sunlight streaming through my drawing room windows, her skin is smooth, pale and perfect. Just like she is. The perfect, dutiful vessel. Everything she wants me to be too.
She picks some tiny imperfection off of the lapel of my dark suit. Probably only something she can see.
“In the bedroom…” she falters and trails off. A rosy blush spreads across her cheeks.
Oh, my goodness. Surely she realizes the things the trainer she hired has done to me? I really am only a virgin by the very narrowest of definitions. She truly has no need to get flustered when talking to me about sex. I’m hardly an innocent.
“Just…be sure to please your husband,” she says, clearly giving up.
“I will, Mama,” I reassure her. “Thank you for the advice.”
She gives me a dazzling smile. As if she is truly relieved. I have no idea why she has felt this sudden last-minute urge to try to impart wisdom. It is the morning of my wedding day. But I have been engaged for seven years. And she has known I was a vessel from the moment I was born. She has had twenty-one years to prepare me. Three more years than parents normally are granted.
The familiar flood of shame tries to rise up within me, but I shove it down sternly. My fiancé postponed our wedding for as long as he could. He sprouted nonsense about wanting me to have an education. But it is fine. Everyone knows it for the rejection that it is, but I’m still going to hold my head up high. It is the only thing I can do.
“Well, I will go check the car is ready,” my mother says.
She pats my arm awkwardly, sniffs softly, and leaves. I stare at the door long after it closes after her. In movies, parents hug their children. Even their adult ones. I guess that is just another thing movies make up for storytelling purposes.
I sigh heavily. It is going to be strange not living with my mother. I cannot tell if I am happy or sad about it.
Suddenly, the door to my drawing room opens again. I’m stepping backwards before my conscious mind has realized who it is. It’s my father. Looking formidable in his formal suit.
I hastily drop my gaze. “Good morning, my lord father.”
My heart is racing. I clench my hands together so he cannot see them trembling.
“Good morning,” he replies gruffly. “I trust you are ready to depart?”
“Yes, my lord father.”
The carriage clock on the mantelpiece ticks loudly. There is no other sound. I can’t even hear my father breathing, but I can see the tip of his perfectly polished black shoes, so I know he is still here.
“Finally your magic will be freed,” he says.
“Yes, my lord father.”
Is there something else I am supposed to say? I’m assuming it is a rhetorical statement, because it is a blatantly obvious one. The entire purpose of marriage between a mage and a vessel is for the releasing of the vessel’s magic. For the mage’s use.
I force down a swallow. I’m not thinking about that. Not now. Not ever. My wedding night is looming like an ominous storm on the horizon. Dark and threatening. But that’s tonight. There is a whole wedding day to get through before I need to face that horror.
“It is imperative that your marriage is stable and unremarkable.”
Another rhetorical statement. This time alluding to my other, secret duty.
“Understood, my lord father.”
