“Not having magic isn’t so bad! Everyone always talks about me like I shouldn’t be here but I kinda like life, you know? Maybe I just don’t get it, but life is pretty! I love the fields and I love the cows and sheep, and I love the flowers and trees and, uhm… some of the people… I, uhm… well, I love some of the people too, you know? And sometimes I think… maybe if it means I got to meet the people I love, I’d choose not to have magic all over again!”

  -‘Memories of a Girl Who Smiled’, author unknown

  “Enter.”

  The sharp baritone snapped from within the Baron’s office but Dahlia didn’t respond, instead only letting her eyes drop to the floor as she let herself in and flinching as the large oak door slammed shut behind her.

  “F-father.” She cursed herself for the stutter but knew there was little she could do to stop it, instead choosing to simply keep her mouth shut.

  “You certainly took your time. Go on then.”

  The Baron waved a hand, not bothering to look up from the few papers littering his desk as Dahlia obeyed the unspoken command. She stepped to the side of his desk and took her spot, her posture remaining rigid all the while. Only the occasional scratch of a fountain pen echoed in the otherwise silent room, and that silence let the girl’s attention wander. She was trembling, slick with sweat and, now with the door closed behind her, feeling more trapped than she ever cared to be. Even the late-afternoon light filtering in through the room’s window did little to ease how claustrophobic she felt. Rather, the spring weather was almost tauntingly idyllic — it made her want to scream.

  She couldn’t stop her eyes from flicking to a cabinet door either: it was closed, a lock in place, and it was enough to draw out an almost inaudible sigh of relief. At the very least, that was a good sign that her father’s more violent tendencies would remain in check. That realisation did little to dampen the growing pit of anxiety Dahlia felt however.

  Each minor adjustment, every scratch of the pen, had the girl ready to jump out of her skin, and the longer she remained in the room, the worse her mentality got. There were just so many memories. Of gasping, of crying, of begging it all stop. Of pleading forgiveness for sins that were never hers, and suffering for failings she never committed. This room was hell, and simply being in it would leave her shaken and sick for hours to come. Even now, she could feel the throb of old scars that usually remained only a dull ache, and she knew this was just the start.

  Dahlia did her best not to flinch at the sudden sound as the Baron began rhythmically tapping his finger on his desk, nor did she let herself focus on his smirk as he took joy in tormenting her by just sharing the same room. All she could do was silently curse him, fuming in hatred and rage that she would never be able to express out loud. Far more than even her mother, Vincent embraced the abuse of his daughter as though it were a given. Where Sabrina seemed to make a game out of it, constantly limiting herself to self-imposed restrictions and preferring a more psychological leaning to the torment she inflicted, the Baron knew no such limitations. The only restraint the man had ever shown was avoiding scaring anywhere Dahlia would need to expose to the public, but frankly? The girl was shocked that, after all this time, she had somehow managed to survive. Had she not been walking on her own two feet, she would have struggled to believe the contrary.

  Vincent was a monster, irredeemable and cruel beyond measure and yet, despite her loathing, a deep seated part of Dahlia still yearned to make her father proud and accept her, and she hated herself all the more for it. She felt weak, and powerless, and just so fucking worthless and—

  She caught herself, the spiral almost fully overwhelming her before she realised just how horrific her mentality had become, and she forced herself to shift focus. Waiting for her father was pointless considering how the man would delay as long as he liked. The bastard rarely did his own paperwork — what he was doing now was nothing more than theatre. And so Dahlia refused to play his game; she refused to let herself succumb to the horrid atmosphere like she almost had, and instead let herself be distracted.

  The room’s candle burned, the notches on it showing it still had over two hours left until it would need to be replaced and Dahlia could feel herself settle in. In the worst case, it was possible that her father might refuse to acknowledge her to the last grain, only finally taking note once the candle fully ran its course. She would hope not, but considering how the man had done it before… Again, she looked elsewhere, this time to the wall opposite of her: the painting was new. Oh, there were dozens of minutiae in the office to focus on, from an excessively plush rug to the Unity War’s weapon replicas hanging with unearned pride. But the painting was new, and new was good. New was distracting.

  The artpiece itself was already too large for the wall it took up, overcompensating for what Dahlia knew was her father’s horrifically fragile ego. It was too expensive regardless, likely bought from a recent auction in hopes of demonstrating prestige and hiding the Barony’s crumbling finances, yet it only stood out all the more as a result. It wasn’t designed for the space, hell, it depicted the war against the Dwergaz Republic, as if that was anywhere near the Barony or as if any of the Liontárious had ever even stepped foot on the northern front. It was just worthless posturing, pretending to still be a powerful noble family even as they continued their death-spiral towards bankruptcy.

  It was a nice painting though, and while buying it was a horrendously impulsive decision, Dahlia thanked that idiocy for giving her something to focus on. Both history and art had always been two of the girl’s worst subjects —she couldn’t place whether it was depicting an important battle, nor if the artistic techniques were any good— but she enjoyed it all the same. Analysing minutiae was fun, even if it was dampened by the presence of her father, and Dahlia let herself completely lose track of time as she took in the painting. Refusing to watch the candle as it burned down, only the dull ache in her legs and the growing pain in her swollen ankle marked just how long it had been since she entered. She imagined she could have gone even longer, perhaps even until her legs fell asleep or collapsed altogether had she dissociated well enough, but the sudden screeching of Vincent’s chair snapped her back to the present and made her stiffen like a board.

  “Your mother told me how you couldn’t perform the beryozka properly today. Do you think that’s acceptable?”

  The man stood and levelled a glare at his daughter, looking far too nonchalant as Dahlia squirmed in discomfort. Vincent Liontáriou was, all things considered, a moderately handsome man. Well maintained sandy hair fell to his neck, a finely tailored suit accented musculature and tanned skin, and even his black claw-like nails were well manicured. The man wore his vainglory openly, his pride practically oozing from his pores. It would have been the most notable thing about him were his eyes not affected by his bloodline. Irises that glowed and crackled like smoldering embers were impossible to ignore and, at their centre, slit pupils focussed on Dahlia, taking in each and every twitch the girl. After staring her down for a moment longer, he continued to speak.

  “Really, you should know better by now. I expect the exemplary from you and, although you continuously disappoint, that hardly gives me reason to lower the bar. This should have been easy for you. I don’t care if you were injured. I don’t care whether or not your mother whipped you. All I care about is that you’ve failed despite my countless warnings.” He paused then, his tone heavy with derision even as Dahlia could see a mocking glint in his eyes. “I’m starting to think that even sending you to the debutante would be a waste. As things stand, I can’t imagine you’ll be anything other than a disgrace once we release you to the public, don’t you think? What should we do with you, hmm?”

  As the Baron continued, both his eyes and tone spoke volumes. Dahlia watched, silent and focussed on each of his gestures, his mannerisms, and his intonations, and every part of it screamed his intent. He was having fun with this, toying with her and delighting in the power he gained from making his daughter squirm. He reveled in her fear — relished how pathetic she was before him. It was something Dahlia had noticed all the more in recent years. Before? Oh, before he would have truly cared. He would have ranted and raved and beat her for failing to meet his impossible expectations. Now though, he had lost nearly all investment in the girl.

  He used her as a prop, just some thing to lord over and, with Dahlia’s debut fast approaching, he could see the light at the end of the tunnel as well. He just couldn’t bring himself to care in the way he once had, and so instead he toyed with her like a cat and its prey. Yet, even still, it was all performed with the undercurrent that if Dahlia stepped too far out of line —made a mistake just a bit too large— that would be all the excuse he needed and he would break her.

  “Well girl? Speak when I ask you a question!”

  “Y-yes father, I um, was just p-practising after injuring my leg and I… I thought it was best to learn to dance even while being hampered. I only wish to represent the Barony as best as possible and pushed myself beyond my limits. I apologise for not being able to maintain my form after such a simple injury.”

  Vincent watched as Dahlia fidgetted and struggled to get her words out, pointedly looking at her ankle which she stood on with the slightest limp, and grunted.

  “Good enough, though I’ll speak with Sabrina to ensure you receive extra training to make up for this failing. However, fix your posture; I don’t care how much it hurts, if you let yourself be seen with a limp I’ll have no reason to hold back anymore, no?”

  Immediately the girl straightened, even as her ankle screamed, and her father merely nodded.

  “Good. Now then, let’s not play this game any longer. Were it a different day then perhaps I could take my time with this. Unfortunately, my schedule is rather tight so we’ll have to get on with more pressing matters.”

  Despite her immense discomfort, Dahlia almost rolled her eyes at the overt lie. Her father was hardly rushed, and both of them knew it. Even if he was nobility, the man was only a baron, and the Liontáriou Barony was not particularly large to begin with. Frankly, Dahlia suspected that other than a few miscellaneous projects he performed for the optics of it all, almost all of the Barony’s paperwork was given to some secretary to handle while her father rested on his forebearer’s laurels.

  Nevertheless, while she still doubted her father could truly have anything too pressing, the man did seem more businesslike than usual and she was more than happy to take that in stride if it would end things faster. She watched in silence as he walked over to a filing cabinet, —not the locked one, thankfully— and retrieved a set of folders before returning to the desk. He casually tossed them down and cracked a grin that showed far too many teeth.

  “I think it’s about time you came to terms with the situation and began studying in earnest, don’t you think? I know you’ve been putting off your homework and I refuse to let you ignore your responsibilities any longer.”

  Dahlia balled her fists as she saw the files and refused to meet her father’s eyes. She had seen them before, though she was sure the contents had been updated since the last time. Nails dug into her palms as she suppressed her shaking and attempted to keep a level tone.

  “Father, I understand that you want me to find a suitor, but isn’t this…”

  ‘Too much’ was what she wanted to say —‘too soon’ was a close alternative— but she cut herself off before the words left her mouth. Vincent’s eyes had already taken on a dangerous glint and she knew all too well how a slip-up could cause their meeting to fall apart. Just one look from him: that was all it took for her chest to tighten and her breathing to grow shallow, taking all her effort just to restrain herself from breaking down entirely.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  It’s not like this was a surprise; of course it wasn’t. For over half of Dahlia’s life, she’d been told she would fail to inherit. That she would be traded in a political marriage and forcibly pawned off and become the trophy of some man. It had been rammed into her skull with as much subtlety as a sledgehammer, and each time it left her wanting to spit in vitriol. Each time she wanted to rage and kick and scream as her parents defaced her future before it ever had the chance to begin. Just the thought —the mere idea— of how they were so eager to toss her to the wolves and celebrate while she lost everything was enough to bring her to the brink of hyperventilating. It was only due to years of practice that the girl didn’t lose herself as her thoughts twisted and collapsed.

  Seeing her freeze up, the Baron simply raised a brow, his irritation plain to see, and then sighed as he sat back down into his plush chair.

  “What I think you meant to say is ‘yes father, of course.’ At this point I expect so little of you, so the least you could do is show how thankful you are to be given this opportunity. Look at it this way: once your debutante is over, you’ll finally be of use to the Barony for once in your life. I’m shocked you haven’t jumped at the chance — clearly, you disappoint me even still.

  “Now!” He slapped the desk, causing the girl to flinch, “You more or less know the basics but I’ll be walking you through things regardless. What you have here are three files, each containing a portfolio dedicated to a different prospective suitor. It’s worth noting that this isn’t the same as what we’ve done previously: what I have lined up here are the best options I could possibly find and I have spared no effort —nor cut any corners— in obtaining this information. Consequently, I expect you to not only match, but surpass the effort that has already been invested. As you have practiced in the past, you will read and memorise each portfolio and then create your own report with a comprehensive profile of each target. You are to detail what attracts them, turns them away, what they need, what leverage can be used, etcetera etcetera. I want a full essay explaining how you expect to seduce each of these men, do you understand?”

  The question was rhetorical and his smile said as much. After all, for all his derision, Vincent was more than aware of his daughter’s actual intellect and he had no intention to waste it. More specifically, other than Dahlia’s specialty in magic theory, the girl excelled in her analysis of people. It wasn’t that she was skilled in actual social interactions —not in the slightest— but for one reason or another, she was incredible at reading people and, more importantly for his purposes, profiling them.

  Unfortunately for Vincent, Dahlia could hardly even focus on the matter at hand. Nausea had always accompanied these conversations, but what she was dealing with now was so much worse. There was something far more tangible to it all, now that things were more serious, more time-sensitive, and more actionable. There had always been a degree of separation to these assignments before, a level of dissociation that let her soothe her nerves.

  Suitors were for a Dahlia who had actually debuted. Suitors were for a Dahlia in the distant future. Suitors were for a Dahlia who failed. They were theoretical, distant and, most importantly, not truly her. But now? Now it was becoming far harder to believe that distinction truly mattered.

  Vincent’s demeanor didn’t help either. Never before had her father given her an assignment like this with so much gravity behind it. Besides, the way he phrased it… Dahlia could feel the bile in the back of her throat as she repeated the word over and over again in her head. ‘Seduce’. He had told her to make plans to seduce these men and the mere thought made her want to vomit. All her carefully crafted composure began to crumble as she just couldn’t get it out of her head how disgusting it made her feel. Her skin crawled at the idea of what it would mean —what it could lead to— and she just wanted to scratch and tear away at herself in hopes of feeling clean.

  She hadn’t even looked at the portfolios yet.

  “V-very well then. Is there anything I should know before taking the files away?”

  She asked the question hoping to placate her father more than anything else, though she certainly hoped returning to routine would help ground her. Even now she couldn’t stop shaking from it all, and she knew her complexion must have been awful. She couldn’t quite bring herself to care though.

  “No, just look.” The Baron smirked, gesturing to the files as he leaned back in his chair, all too happy with his daughter’s state. As Dahlia picked up the files and began to page through, focussing on the sketches and summaries while Vincent spoke up again. “I can see you already understand that these three are different from our past experiments. We’re not dealing with hypothetical knights or heirs of other baronies: from this point on we’ll be dealing with only the best prospective options and you will be expected to not only write a report, but to actually pursue these suitors to the best of your ability. With that in mind, try not to disappoint.”

  The girl nodded but it was as if Vincent’s voice was behind a wall of glass. It was all she could do to try and not listen —not think at all— and just go through the motions. Flipping through the pages in front of her, Dahlia took in the information with a detached level of analysis.

  All three suitors had distinctly different ages. One, perhaps the most appropriate in terms of an actual partner, was a young noble in his early twenties. Brown hair and tan skin; based on the sketches alone he looked to be a fairly plain-looking Kuyūthi man, though given his clothing he might have had connections to the church of Venustaluna? Dahlia couldn’t exactly bring herself to care and looked over the next sketch, this time an older man; corpulent, with grey hair, rough looking skin, and a sickly pallor that made him look closer to a bloated corpse than a living person. There were hints of a bloodline in his appearance but, other than his apparent love of jewellery, there was little else she could observe from just his picture. Again Dahlia moved on: she could always look at the details on her own time.

  Finally, there was a… boy. A kid who couldn’t have been older than fourteen was proposed as one of her suitors and she was expected to… what? Seduce a fucking child? Again she found herself shaking, and this time her disgust was matched by a rage she desperately wanted to let out. Instead she breathed, counting backwards until she managed to return to being under control. Looking again, it was still impossible to ignore just how young this kid was, but she forced herself to push past that. His skin was porcelain white, almost frighteningly pale in comparison to wide eyes like ripe apples and curly locks the colour of cherry wood. One day he may become a heartthrob, but now? The drastic appearance only told her one thing: this kid had a bloodline and its purity was high. That was all she needed to know to realise that things were only about to get worse, something that her father was more than happy to prove.

  “Listen closely. Of the three you have Viceroy Ahmad who is an up and coming foreign dignitary of the Sultanate. There’s potential for growth there but currently he possesses more political power than any actual wealth; for that reason I would like to set him as our lowest priority. Next you have Count Zmeul: he’s a good man who I’ve had the pleasure to speak with on numerous occasions. Perhaps more pressingly, he’s struck something of a fortune recently and should be considered as a very profitable potential suitor. Much to our luck, he had expressed interest in you all the way back when he last visited… what was it now? Nine years ago? Unfortunately for our dear count, I would still like you to set the third suitor as your highest priority: Lord Stavian Carphopoulos.”

  He gave Dahlia a meaningful look and immediately after hearing the name, the girl felt her heart drop even further..

  “Of the three, he’s the one I expect you to try the hardest for. I don’t think I need to explain why, but suffice it to say that I’d be delighted to have a ducal prince as part of the family, wouldn’t you?”

  Dahlia couldn’t even bring herself to be surprised. Oh, the other two might have been ambitious targets, but in comparison to this? A ducal heir would make anyone look small in comparison. Throughout the Kallisto Empire, there were only three grand duchies and four lesser duchies; for this kid to be a ducal heir was effectively saying that he’d one day become one of the most influential nobles throughout the entire Empire. Unfortunately he also looked as though he still belonged in childcare.

  Dahlia’s sceptical thoughts must have been apparent and the Baron cleared his throat, grabbing her attention and making her jump from the sudden loud noise.

  “He may look young, but he’s wealthy and that’s all that really matters. The Carphopoulos boy alone has more power in his hands than every person in our barony combined and he could save or destroy our family at the smallest whim. That’s why I must clarify: he is a target for you to seduce and entice by any means necessary. We cannot afford to make a mistake and be on his bad side; I will not tolerate any excuses or even a modicum of failure.”

  After taking a sip of some cold tea on his desk, the man smirked.

  “Besides, you shouldn’t let his age concern you; he’s just as much of an adult as you are. Actually, he awakened before you just over a month ago, so in some ways he’s even more qualified than you are. Regardless, the other suitors will remain a lower priority. Stavian will be attending the debutante at the same time as you so, while I expect reports for everyone, you should be giving your all specifically towards seducing the boy by the time the debutante rolls around.

  “With that being said, I believe I had mentioned that I have work to do. Unless you want to give me a reason to take out some frustrations, I suggest you take your leave. I also expect to have what I’ve requested prior to your awakening ceremony, do I make myself clear?”

  The question wasn’t necessary, it was just posturing to make him seem tough, but the Baron reveled in the act and Dahlia was still so shaken that she hardly even registered what he said, merely following instinct with her response.

  “Yes, father. It will be done. Th-thankyou for giving me this opportunity.”

  Those words were rehearsed and reused as a tried and true response. They were one of the few things she knew she could say without receiving ridicule and had used them almost ritualistically to end her meetings with her father for years now, always in hopes that it would placate him and prevent any escalation before she took her leave. Considering just how much she was struggling in that moment, the girl couldn’t have been more thankful how naturally she was able to say the line.

  Before she even realised it was happening, Dahlia practically fell out of the office, quickly closing the heavy door behind her. The world was spinning and she could feel the cracks forming as she gradually began to fall out of her dissociation. Even moving was a struggle, her feet falling like lead as she made her way back to her room, and not even the screaming pain in her ankle was enough to force her to focus.

  It was slowly beginning to dawn on her.

  All her hopes. All her dreams. Each and every goal she set in hopes of being accepted again. Not a single one of them mattered because, now that it had finally come down to it, her fate was going to be forced onto her and her father didn’t care what she thought of that; no one did. She tried to ignore another wave of nausea at the thought of what it all implied, and limped her way back to her room. The trek from the second floor office to her bedroom was a long trip, far more than she would have preferred, but the delay was appreciated. The files in her hand felt heavy and she knew she wouldn’t be able to delay working on them forever. So just a little longer —just a few moments more— where she wouldn’t have to look her future in the eye, that was all she could ask for.

  At her pace, it wasn’t until the sun started to set that she finally stumbled into her room. She slammed the door behind her as fast as she could and threw the portfolios onto the nearest desk, only to slump to the floor soon after. She desperately wanted to believe that there was still hope. She wanted to believe that there was still purpose. But as the sobs began to wrack her body, she couldn't stop herself. It was as if a dam broke and, before she knew it, all the composure she had struggled to maintain until then shattered, and it came out one choking sob after another.

  “Fuck.” It was almost a whimper, her voice breaking half way through, and so she screamed it again instead. “Fuck! Fuck this! Just…” Another whimper forced its way out and this time Dahlia could only take a shaky breath to try and centre herself.

  The files were still there, mocking her just by existing, and it took added effort to not break down all over again. The next few days… they would be torture. They would be long and each and every day she knew she would be one step closer to falling apart. But, no matter what, she swore that she would make it better.

  No matter what, she refused to let her father have his way.

  here.

  here.