Honor Bound (The House of Bellvue Book 1) Read online

  Honor Bound

  The House of Bellvue, Book 1

  L. C. Williams

  Copyright © 2022 by L. C. Williams

  All Rights Reserved

  Published in the United States by Liminal Corvid Press

  Cover Design by Starla Huchton

  www.designedbystarla.com

  Used by Permission

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and locations are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events, living or dead, are entirely coincidental. This book constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into an information retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electrical, mechanical, photographic, audio recording, or otherwise) for any reason (excepting the uses permitted to the reader by copyright law under terms of fair use) without the specific written permission of the author.

  Metamor City is based on the Metamor Keep story universe, created by Kevin Deenihan and held in joint Copyright 1998-2022 by the members of the Metamor Keep writers’ community. For more information, visit www.metamorkeep.com.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Content Advisory

  A Note on Languages

  Pronunciation Guide

  1. Mother’s Gift

  2. Cravats and Cosmetics

  3. Strange and Unexpected

  4. Bad Memories

  5. Making Friends

  6. Lady Honor

  7. Of Pendants and Petticoats

  8. Thief

  9. Trapped

  10. Not Today

  11. Callers

  12. Negotiations

  13. Pain and Pleasure

  14. Dinner Guests

  15. Appeal

  16. Flirtations

  17. A Private Matter

  18. Companion

  The story continues…

  About L.C. Williams

  About the Editor

  Content Advisory

  This story is a F/F fantasy romance with explicit sexual and D/s elements. The world inhabited by the characters contains many of the same prejudices and cultural flaws present in our world, and some that are unique to the society in which they live.

  Because the narration is written from the viewpoints of the protagonists, it will often include observations, values and beliefs that reflect the flaws and biases of their culture. Such statements do not reflect the views of the author or Liminal Corvid Press. The reader is encouraged to engage critically with the text, and to treat the characters as unreliable narrators with regard to the truth of their own world.

  The author wishes to advise the reader of the following elements that are present in this work: Explicit depictions of sex between women

  Explicit depictions of D/s relationships, including light bondage, spanking, impact play, and role-playing

  Polyamory and open relationships

  Abusive and toxic family dynamics, including discussions of marital infidelity, abandonment, and spousal neglect

  Allusions to rape, sexual coercion, and suicide (NOT explicitly depicted)

  Violence, including descriptions of trench warfare and combat injuries

  Mind control and psychic coercion

  Negative cultural attitudes and stereotypes, including sexism, misogyny, homophobia, transphobia, acephobia, ableism, kink-shaming, and patriarchy—both external and internalized by the affected characters

  This book is intended for a mature, adult audience. Reader discretion is advised.

  —Chris Lester

  Editor-in-Chief

  Liminal Corvid Press

  A Note on Languages

  The people of the world of Metamor speak a wide range of languages, and Dr. Williams has reflected this diversity in her story. In translating this work for an English-speaking audience, choices had to be made about how to represent this linguistic variety in the text.

  The bulk of the story uses Imperial Common, the lingua franca of the Empire of Metamor. All words that were written in Common in the original text have been rendered into English. This has not always been as straightforward as one might hope. While the culture of 1890s Metamor is broadly similar to the late Victorian period in England, there are some ideas and concepts, known to Metamorians of that era, for which English did not develop vocabulary until much later—or, if there was a word for these ideas, it has been lost to history. As a result, I have had to resort to some English words that may feel “anachronistic” for the general setting in which the story takes place. Many terms related to gender, sexuality and D/s relationships fall into this category. When the Victorian word for an idea is known, I have used it wherever possible, though some of these words may come across as archaic or even offensive to modern readers. I have avoided the use of words that are now seen as outright slurs, even if their use would have been technically correct for the time period.

  For characters who speak in a dialect that signifies a particular social class or national origin, I have written their speech in the closest English equivalent. Dialogue that was originally written in Vyseian, Tournish, and Lantonois has been rendered as Russian, Spanish and French, respectively, matching each of these languages and cultures to its closest approximation in our world. When characters from these backgrounds speak Common, they tend to use the grammatical constructions of their native languages; I have reflected this in the translation by having these characters follow the grammar of the “equivalent” language I have chosen for them. This should not be seen as the characters speaking “broken” English, and it does not imply a lack of education or intelligence: the grammar they are using is correct within their native language, but it follows a different set of rules from those used by native English speakers. Any errors that may have occurred in this process are the fault of the editor, rather than the author.

  Natasha’s internal monologue presented a special challenge for translation. As a native Vyseian speaker, all of her unspoken thoughts “should” have been rendered in Russian. However, this would have rendered her thoughts inaccessible to an English-speaking audience. Additionally, Natasha’s thoughts would not have the same mismatch between grammar and vocabulary that occurs when she speaks Common; however, translating them into perfectly-rendered Common would have created a very different “voice” for the character’s internal thoughts vs. her outward speech. Dr. Williams addressed this problem in the original text by rendering Natasha’s thoughts in Common, but keeping the same Vyseian grammatical structure that she used when speaking. I have followed her example by putting Natasha’s thoughts in English, but keeping a Russian-influenced sentence structure.

  One last note concerns the use of profanity. Both the Russian and Vyseian languages have raised swearing to the level of an art form, and their obscenities often carry rich layers of meaning and subtext that cannot be captured in a literal translation. I have translated Natasha’s more profane expressions into their closest Russian equivalents, even in her internal monologue. While I have tried to be as faithful to the original text as possible, there are likely to be instances where a native Russian speaker will find that I have misread some nuance in the words and phrases I have chosen. Again, any such errors in usage are the fault of the editor, and I beg the reader’s indulgence.

  —Chris Lester

  Editor-in-Chief

  Liminal Corvid Press

  Pronunciation Guide

  The “ǝ” symbol indicates the unstressed vowel schwa: the “a” in “balloon,” the “e” in “problem,” the “i” in “family,” the second “o” in “bottom,” or the “u” in “support”.

  Alix = AL-ǝks

  Androgyne = AN-drǝ-jine (last syllable rhymes with “fine”)

  Areli = EHR-ǝ-lai (first syllable rhymes with “fair,” last syllable rhymes with “sky”)

  Countrex = KOWNT-rǝks

  Daedra = DAY-druh

  Delphinia = dell-FIN-ee-ǝh

  Drauling = DROW-ling (first syllable rhymes with “plow”)

  Ereba = EHR-ǝ-buh

  Hassan = HASS-sǝn (this noble house uses the German-style pronunciation, not the Arabic “hǝ-SAHN”)

  Hevagne = hǝ-VANE (last syllable rhymes with “pain”)

  Irombi = eer-ROHM-bee

  Irombian = ǝr-ROHM-bee-yǝn

  Kyia = KAI-yǝh

  Majestrix = mǝ-JES-triks

  Ndiaye = ǝn-DYAI-yay (second syllable rhymes with “sky”)

  Scion = SAI-ǝn

  Sonngefilde = SAAN-gǝ-FILD (hard “g”)

  Sonngefilder = SAAN-gǝ-fill-dǝr

  Suielman = SWEEL-mǝn

  Suspira = sǝ-SPAI-ruh (second syllable rhymes with “sky”)

  Telvar = TELL-vahr

  Telvari = tell-VAHR-ee

  Theriomorph = THER-ee-ǝ-morf (first syllable uses the unvoiced “th,” as in “thick”)

  Townsend = TOWNS-ǝnd

  Tyrol = TEER-ǝl

  Valet = VAL-ǝt (the British pronunciation, as opposed to the American-style “val-LAY”)

  Viscount = VAI-kownt

  Viscountess = vai-KOWNT-ess

  Viscountrex = vai-KOWNT-rǝks

  Volkova = vohl-KOH-vah

  Vysehrad = VYESH-ǝ-rahd (say “vee-ESH,” but run the two sounds together into one syllable)

  Vyseian = VYESH-ǝn

  Waistcoat = WEST-cǝt

  For Isabela—

  Mi corazón es
tuyo para siempre

  1

  Mother’s Gift

  Sunday, April 1st, Year 1894, Cristos Reckoning. Metamor City: Capital, Imperial Union of Metamor and Allied Nations.

  Honor hin’Bellvue gripped the back of the chair with both hands, bracing herself as her lady’s maid planted a knee in the small of her back. Mabel’s strong, matronly hands pulled hard on the laces of the corset, drawing it snug around Honor’s waist and chest. It was her first time wearing one, and Honor had expected it to be terribly uncomfortable, as if one of those great serpents at the vivarium were trying to make a meal of her. Instead, it felt like someone was holding her in an embrace.

  “There—that’s done it,” Mabel said, her voice taut with exertion. “Hold still, milady, just another moment, now…”

  Mabel quickly pulled the laces into a bow, then knelt down and spent another minute fussing with the ends. Honor fidgeted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and tried to see what her maid was doing in the mirror, but the chair blocked most of it from view.

  “There we are,” Mabel said, rising to her feet again. “Let’s have a look at you.” She turned Honor around and examined her, sharp green eyes scanning her critically from head to toe. Idly, Honor noticed that she was now just a bit taller than her maid—and Honor was not taller than many people. She could remember a time when even Mabel had towered over her, her heavy bosom looming overhead like a hanging cliff face. But I’m all grown up now, Honor thought, with a dizzying mixture of elation and fear. That’s what tonight is all about.

  Mabel was frowning at Honor’s chest. “Needs a bit of adjustment there,” she said, mostly to herself. “Here, spin around again, milady.”

  Obediently, Honor did so—and was slightly alarmed when Mabel’s arms snaked around her torso, just under her breasts. She pulled Honor tight against her, gripping the underside of Honor’s left breast and heaving it up and in toward the center of her body. It was shockingly intimate, and Honor let out an “Oh!” of surprise. Quickly and efficiently, Mabel shifted her grip and did the same thing on Honor’s right side. Honor’s face heated with embarrassment, but her maid seemed not to notice.

  “There we are,” Mabel said again, with more evident satisfaction. Those strong hands turned Honor round again, then guided her around the chair to stand before the mirror. “Have a look, milady.”

  Honor looked. A mottled red flush had spread from her cheeks down the line of her throat, and below that … oh, gods, she had cleavage. The corset had lifted her modest breasts and pushed them together in a way that was quite foreign to her. She wondered if this should be considered false advertising.

  “Oh my,” she murmured.

  Mabel let out a sharp little laugh. “Yeh, that’s the usual reaction,” she said. “Don’t you worry, miss. I’ll have yeh done up all good an’ shiny. Those young gents at the ball won’t be able to take their eyes off you.”

  For some reason, this prospect did not fill Honor with as much excitement as it was probably meant to. She was looking forward to the ball so she could meet her fellow debutantes, the young people from around the Empire who would become her peers—and, she hoped, her friends. The fact that the Duke’s Ball was something of a meat market for the noble class was entirely secondary, to her mind. Though probably not to Father’s.

  Mabel helped her put on the ball gown over her corset, a large, frilly white thing festooned with lace and pearls. It looked like a bridal gown, except that there was no train and no veil. After that there was some final fussing with her hair and makeup, and then Mabel turned her back toward the mirror again.

  Honor stared at the elegant young lady before her. Her long, wavy black hair was done up in a swirling, conical bun, with a few trailing ringlets that hung to either side of her head like ribbons. Her blue eyes were framed with eyeliner and mascara that lent them a shocking intensity; they gleamed like aquamarine, like deep pools of crystal-clear water. A touch of rouge had added warmth and color to her pale skin, and the lipstick made her lips look full and inviting. The gown exposed her neck and clavicles, the neckline plunging toward her now suddenly-noticeable bosom. She’d never worn anything so overtly sensual before. She imagined all the other debutantes in similar outfits, all of them presented before the Duke’s court as grown women for the first time. This is our time to shine. Her pulse quickened with excitement.

  Mabel stepped up beside Honor, gazing at the younger woman’s reflection with obvious pride. “You look lovely, milady. I wish your … oh, bless me, I nearly forgot!” The maid hurried back over to the dresser, where she began pulling open the countless little drawers and rummaging through them. “Now, where did I put that bleedin’ fing … brought it up out o’ storage weeks ago, I knew you’d be wanting it … oh, gods, if the Mistress were here, she’d … ah! Yes, ‘ere it is!” She returned with a clamshell box of polished walnut, with the letters ShC engraved on the lid and inlaid with gold. Honor’s stomach flip-flopped when she saw it. ShC. Sylvia hin’Chastain.

  “This was your mother’s,” Mabel said, somewhat redundantly. “She wanted you to have it, when you came of age.” She opened the box and presented it to Honor, arm outstretched. Inside, on a lining of black velvet, lay a beautiful amulet of gleaming, silvery-white metal. It was about two inches across and shaped like a butterfly, with intricate loops of metal weaving back and forth in the style of a Sathmoran knot. The wings and body were decorated with beautifully cut gemstones: emeralds, sapphires, and clear, brilliant crystals that Honor supposed were diamonds. The insect’s thorax was filled by a cabochon stone that she had never seen before: black, but shot through with swirling patterns of green and gold, red and blue. Honor held it up to the light, turning it this way and that, and every angle revealed new colors and intricate details. She had the sense of gazing into a clear night sky, watching the northern lights twist and shimmer overhead.

  “It’s amazing,” she whispered, running a finger reverently over the stone. A tingling energy ran down her arm, filling her whole body with warmth—though maybe that was just her imagination. “What is it? Is it … magic?” Honor knew that wizards could lay enchantments into things of stone and metal. Apart from the anti-Curse charm worn by most people in Metamor, though—Honor’s was in a little silver ring she wore on her right hand—it wasn’t something she had much experience with.

  “Bless me, miss, I don’t know,” Mabel said. “I just know Mistress meant for you to have it. Something for you to remember her by, I suppose.”

  I don’t remember her at all. The old, familiar ache stabbed through her again, and it made her feel embarrassed and childish. From everything Honor had heard over the years, the Lady Sylvia hin’Chastain had not been someone to admire. She had run off with a foreign lover when Honor had been barely three years old, abandoning her duties to House and husband. Lord Bellvue had been granted a divorce in her absence, and House Chastain had excoriated her, stripping her of her title, her dowry, and even her family name. The whole affair had been a massive scandal, and House Bellvue had barely survived the shame of it. Only Mabel still spoke fondly of her Mistress, and then only to Honor, and behind closed doors.

  Still … it was a very pretty amulet. The Lady Sylvia may have been a faithless harlot, but she had clearly had exquisite taste. And if she had made this one kind gesture toward the daughter she had abandoned, this one gift to make up for all the birthdays and Yuletides when she had been absent … well, at least that was something. A crumb of thoughtfulness toward the woman Honor had become.