Dark One's Mistress (Dark One Trilogy Book 1)

by Alien, Aldrea

  The magic twists their minds. And people suffered because of the apparent destruction letting go would cause. But what had Thad said? Something about a Great Lord dying. "How are you here if one of the Great Lords died without an heir?"

  "Hmm?"

  Clara spun to face him, the memory returning in full. "The third Great Lord," she pressed, "Thad said he died nearly heirless. How is it possible?" The more she thought on it, the less sane it sounded. There had to be a living lord for there to be an heir.

  "Oh, that." He grimaced and shrugged. "He suffered a heart attack, nothing unusual about it."

  "And the nearly heirless part?" A man died with or without an heir. There could be no nearly.

  Lucias gave her a wolfish grin. "He was in his marriage bed at the time." The smile faded into a frown. "I'm surprised the story hasn't lasted. It had to be one of the kingdom's worst days. The soulless portion of the army went crazy. I know for a fact they destroyed half of Everdark before stopping."

  She could recall old tales of some dark day in the village's long history. When Everdark had been subjected to what the storytellers grimly referred to as the three r's: raid, ravish and ruin. The village would've been smaller back then and yet, for them to decimate half of it in a day... She'd thought such destruction had come before the first Great Lord took command, not after. "So why did they stop?"

  His frown deepened, his lips twisting sourly. Clearly this was not a topic he wished to talk about. "His wife had conceived."

  "And it was all back to normal? Just like that?" Hundreds of lives tipped upside-down and the army, like some parasite bent on destroying its host from the inside, just... stopped.

  "Of course. There was, technically, a Great Lord again."

  A mere spark of life, still vulnerable and easily destroyed, yet it had enough power to halt hundreds of murderers. Small wonder Lucias, even with his time shortened considerably, still persisted in convincing her to bear his child.

  If she had but known the certainty. Could she have let him? "You told me the servants breaking free after your death was only a possibility." She'd been demanding her freedom when the whole kingdom was destined to drown in its own blood.

  Giving a weary sigh, Lucias brushed a tendril of her hair to one side. The back of his finger slid across her cheek, leaving a warm, tingling trail. "I didn't want your decision to be swayed by past events."

  He'd lied, knowing the risk, knowing she was more likely to refuse than comply, just so he could give her a choice? "But they will break loose."

  "Yes, and the kingdom will fall with me."

  Clara stared at him as if they'd never met, looking into his eyes in search of the truth. Lurking in their depths, peeking out from behind the mask of false gaiety, sat the cold certainty of approaching death. Of there being naught else left to do but wait until it came. This feast was more than a celebration of the impending wedding, this was also his wake.

  And, in some small way, Lucias was already dead.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Clara danced across the floor. The music and her partner had changed several times over the hours. She currently followed Thad in the slow steps, her neck craned to watch as Lucias danced with Brenna.

  The woman's methods of dancing had not altered with the men and he appeared to be enjoying her attentions far too much. "He should not lead her on so." Did Brenna not think of how she dishonoured herself with this display of wantonness?

  Over her shoulder, she caught Thad's whispered chuckle.

  "What is so amusing?"

  "You." He gave a smug grin as she glared at him. "Anyone would think you're jealous. Small wonder he continues to pursue you."

  She gave a derisive snort. Her? Jealous of what Brenna did with Lucias? "I've never heard of anything more absurd." If he was willing to let the woman debase herself in such a fashion, then Brenna was welcome to him. "I'm surprised you let her get away dancing as she did." She eyed him, thinking back to Lucias' mention of the foreign lord's use of herbs. "Or is it because your darling wife isn't here to monitor you?"

  Thad smirked and her cheeks warm ever so slightly. "Do you think Brenna is the first young woman to try seducing me?"

  Clara shook her head. She couldn't believe a man like him had gone through life and only caught the eye of one woman.

  "My dear Thalia, like most of those not born under Endlight's jurisdiction, has adapted well to our city's less conventional ways." His full lips twisted wryly. "Although it took her many years to accept that a man can admire a woman without further interest."

  She glanced over her shoulder at the dancers. Brenna had moved on to another nobleman, pressing herself tightly against the unknown lord as they swayed to the movement. All around them, it seemed men and women were doing more of the things that were best done in private.

  Truly, only a handful danced as sedately as she did with Thad. No interest? And what of when the woman was being persistent?

  The gruff rasp of someone clearing their throat brought her back to the more immediate people around them and Clara belatedly realised they had drifted towards the long dining table. Lucias stood nearby, polite enquiry plastered upon his face.

  Thad relinquished his hold of her hand and waist. "If you will be so kind as to excuse me." Bowing to the both of them, he returned to the far end of the table and his sleeping father's side.

  Lucias collapsed into a chair, pulling her onto his lap.

  She wriggled, struggling to get free of his arms. "You apparently enjoyed your little frolic with the bride-to-be." If she could just get him to loosen his grip for a moment, then she stood a chance of... well, standing.

  "It was refreshing at first," he admitted, giving her an excessively toothy grin. "But it begins to bore after a time." His arms tightened around her. One corner of his mouth twitched upwards as she fidgeted on his lap. "I wouldn't persist if I were you."

  Clara frowned down at him. She shouldn't keep trying to win free, should she? Certainly not from his point of view. She squirmed a little more, noting how Lucias' breath hitched at each movement. He leant back a ways, tipping his hips slightly upwards.

  She went rigid. Realisation put a soft warmth in her cheeks, which was steadily stoked into an inferno by his throaty laughter.

  "I did suggest you should stop." He lifted a leg, tipping her against his chest. His breath, lightly touched with the smell of fermented fruit, brushed her lips. "Why do you fight me so much?"

  Why? Why wouldn't she? He'd kept her prisoner. Was it not reason enough?

  Ignoring Lucias and his question as best as she could, Clara tracked the path of a servant bearing a tray of glasses. The man walked by the chair. She snatched a full glass and drank deeply of the dark liquid within.

  Lucias watched her, his dark brows lowered in a heavy frown. "How many of those have you had?"

  She shrugged. This had to be her third, or possibly fourth, glass. Surely not enough to affect her mind. Why her thoughts had never been clearer than they were now.

  Lucias prised the empty glass from her fingers. "I think you shouldn't have any more."

  "You are not my keeper." This close, he was quite handsome. A little rough around the edges from a lesser courtly life than the refined Thad, but she could soon fix that. Leaning forward, Clara closed her eyes and puckered her lips.

  His fingertips brushed the base of her neck. The hand slid up and into her hair. Then, much to her surprise, he gently coaxed her backwards. "Go to bed." Unseen bonds wrapped about her waist, hauling her to her feet. "Sleep and sober up."

  Suddenly released from the magical grip, she staggered backwards, her passage halted by the table. She hadn't noticed it whilst dancing, but the room seemed to spin. Sober up? She wasn't drunk. I tried to kiss him. Groaning, she cradled her head. What was wrong with her? Perhaps seeking her bed would be a good idea.

  Sticking to weaving along the tableside and groping across the walls, Clara made her way towards the heavy doors. Her stomach didn't feel ri
ght. A touch on the leaden side and a whole lot on the bubbly. She clutched the door handle with one hand, the other firmly hugging her middle. Blasted wine. No one told her it had this sort of effect. Was she going to be sick? Please, not here.

  "My lady," a deep, unfamiliar voice spoke, "do you require assistance?" The man's hand clamped onto her shoulder.

  She flinched under the man's touch, more forceful than she expected. Letting the unknown hand steady her, she tipped her head up to stare blankly at his face. Her gaze dropped to take in his clothes. Simple servant garb in dark greens and golds. Endlight colours. One of the guards who'd come with the carriage.

  The man opened the door, letting her stumble through the gap. "Come, my lady." The guard took her by the elbow and began to lead the way down the hall. "I'll escort you to my—" He gave her a glassy smile. "—I mean, your quarters."

  Clara paused, for a second, since the guard was still moving and took her with him. Something about the man felt off. Even the hall didn't look right. If only she could focus long enough to figure out what was wrong.

  His arm wrapped around her shoulders. A finger slipped under the edge of her gown, casually tugging at the low neck line of her gown over her shoulder. "Not far now, my lady." He steered her towards a door, opened it and urged her through with a soft push.

  Clara took a few numb steps into the room beyond. Shouldn't there have been stairs? She halted to blurrily stare at the red curtains framing the far window. This wasn't her room. She spun to make her way back out the door and walked straight into the guard. Flattening her hands against his chest, she pushed back and attempted to skirt around him.

  "Now, now, love." The man threaded his fingers through the corset laces, trapping her. "Don't be shy." He grabbed hold of her chin and tilted her head up. "How 'bout you give us a taste, eh?" He licked his lips with a long, shudder-inducing suck.

  Clara struck out, her hand connecting with his cheek. His fingers slipped from her face and she jerked back, held by his grip on her clothes. An inept kick of her leg in the direction of his groin had him releasing her before she could connect.

  Free, she staggered across the room, frantically searching for a means of escape.

  A half-burnt candlestick sat on the table. She dove for it, sliding across the tabletop. Her fingers curled around the candlestick's heavy base just as he made a grab for her. Rolling onto her back, she jabbed the makeshift weapon in the man's direction. The candle smacked into his chest, cracking near the base to dangle on the wick.

  The man lunged, and his fingers encircled her arm. He squeezed, his thumb pressing into the soft underside of her wrist. Her hand went numb and the candlestick fell from her limp grasp.

  Thumping her back against the table, he dragged the skirt up her legs, grumbling as his hands fell upon the bloomers she wore underneath. Each side of the cloth grew tight then loosened with an almighty rip. The cool air brushed her most intimate of places.

  His tongue snaked into her ear. She tossed her head, attempting to hit him. He leant more of his weight on her and sucked at her neck. When she fell still in a moment of shock, he buried his face into her cleavage.

  Lifting his head, he moved again, the brush of his chest on hers revealing he was creeping upwards. His breath, rank with smoke, huffed against her lips.

  She clawed wildly at a face she could no longer properly see through the tears. Her fingers scraped along flesh, her nails dug into every ridge they found.

  The man jerked back with a yell, clutching at his eye. Snarling, he swung. The back of his hand lashed her cheek.

  Clara fell to the floor with a yelp. The acidic mix of blood and bile filled her mouth. Blinded by her tears, she groped across the plush rugs. Searching for the way out. To open the door and call out. Someone was bound to hear her.

  "Where do you think you're going?" he growled.

  She screamed as he grabbed her hair. He threw her onto her back. His hands pawed at her, clawing frantically at the corset laces. Trapped under him, Clara fought back with everything she had left. She squirmed and writhed backwards along the floor, seeking for a way to slip free. Her fists thumped hard against his shoulders until her hands were sore. The man hunched over to worry at her clothes. Her teeth sank into his shoulder at the sound of shredding fabric.

  He slapped her again. "Be still!" The hem of her gown lifted, once again sliding up her legs. "You give it up for him, whore." A leg that wasn't hers brushed against her inner thigh. "You can give it up to me." Another leg followed the first, spreading her legs wide. "I said be still!" The hand came once more, leaving its stinging mark across her face.

  Whimpering, her tears rolling down her face in unstoppable waves, she turned her face from him and closed her eyes. Why had she come back here? Lucias. He'd said she would be safe. Had brought her here to keep her from harm.

  The man grunted. His weight shifted, his belly pushing against hers. Somewhere beyond the ringing in her ears, a faint click brought her eyes open a fraction. Light glistened through her lashes.

  Tilting her head to one side, she could just make out the door, its outline broken by what seemed to be the nearing form of another man. Two of them? Sweet Goddess, no. She wanted nothing to do with this one. Someone, please, help me!

  The shadowy form bore down on them, revealing itself to be Lucias, his face warped in rage. He grabbed the man, dragging him off her.

  Swearing at the interruption, the guard swung at the intruder.

  Lucias ducked. His fist slammed into the other man's stomach as the Endlight guard lurched forward.

  The man spun about, his arm raised for another blow. He froze, hanging in the air as if coming up against a clear pane of glass. Clara watched as, his grey eyes widening, the struggling man's head drew level with his lord's.

  Lucias' eyes glowed with the same silver-blue sheen it had in the dungeon. "How dare you," he snarled. He pulled the man closer and spoke further. The words drifted lazily into her ears, not quite loud enough to make out, yet they pulled at something deep within her.

  The man ceased his thrashing. Now it was his eyes that took on the unearthly hue.

  Lucias set the man back on the floor. "You will go to the highest window you can find." Ice ruled his voice. "There, you shall throw yourself from it."

  "As you command, my lord." The man marched out the room, his movements akin to that of a wooden clockwork soldier. The door slammed shut behind him, rattling a nearby vase.

  Shivering, Clara hugged her knees to her chest. She huddled where the guard had left her on the floor and watched the vase rock back and forth. Fresh tears welled. She joined in its tiny motion. Back and forth. He'd been so close. She could still feel his breath on her neck. The heat of his thighs on her now cold legs.

  What if he'd succeeded? Would Lucias have let her go, tossing her aside like some soiled rag? Or would he have seen it as an opportunity to storm through gates that had already fallen? Clara hugged her legs a little tighter. She'd been beginning to think she had been wrong about him, but now, anything seemed possible.

  Movement to her right. Quick and shadowlike. Something behind her ripped, then something else, heavy and metallic, hit the ground with a dreadful clang. She dashed the tears from her eyes and uncurled from the ball she'd scrunched into. What new horror awaited her?

  A hand brushed her shoulder. Clara screamed and shrank from the touch. She lashed out, the heel of her hand meeting the other's chin before she realised who she'd struck.

  Lucias groaned and rubbed at his jaw. Those dark eyes glittered with repressed anger, silvery-blue specks dancing in their depths. "Easy, Clara," he breathed. The dark red cloth of a curtain lay at his feet. "He can't hurt you now." He threw the curtain over her shoulders and she realised her corset lay open, the shift beneath torn, leaving her breasts bare for all to see.

  Clara trembled beneath the coarse fabric. Her stomach clenched. She swallowed. The bitter tang of bile coated her tongue. A horrid rasp filled her throat, sharp fire f
ollowing quick on its heels.

  Unable to stop, she bent over and emptied her body of the night's feasting. The rug she'd almost been raped on fast became stained with the contents of her stomach.

  It was when she was breathless, retching with only saliva dribbling out at each heave, her throat hot and raw, that she was capable of sitting up. "Sorry," she rasped, wiping her mouth on the curtain's edge. She sniffed and spat out the last wayward chunks.

  Lucias stared at her, his lips compressed into a thin line and brows merged in concern. "Feel better?"

  Talking hurt and swallowing felt like she'd a thistle wedged in her neck. But the gentle nod she gave him wasn't much better. Clara shrank deeper into the curtain as he left her side. She couldn't stop shaking.

  A fire flared to life within the cold hearth, eliciting a harsh squeak from her tortured throat. The firm clasp of magic embraced her, lifting her off the floor. Unresisting, she floated towards where Lucias stood next to the fireplace.

  Settling her on a nearby stool, he strode over to the bedside table laden with another candlestick and water pitcher. He picked up the pitcher and poured its crystal clear liquid into the cup. "Drink this. It should help."

  Clara gulped down the chill water. She felt it slide into her stomach, its passage soothing her burning throat. She hunched over the cup, softly rocking.

  Lucias crouched before the stool, mutely watching her. He raised a hand to her cheek, his fingertips cool against her skin. She flinched and he drew his hand back.

  A new fire burned in his eyes. This one of slow, murderous hatred, of witnessing the exact thing he despised above all else. Was Thad right? Perhaps Lucias had never had any intention of raping her. What, then, would the alternative be if she did not come to him?

  "Do you think you can walk?" he asked.

  She nodded.

  "Let's get you to your room, then." Straightening, he gently aided her to her feet. "You'll be safer there."