by Casey Odell
“Since the attacks began, Lendon has nearly doubled in size.”
“You—” Claire tried jerking away again, but his grip remained tight. “What about the people? What did you do to the people?”
“They are safe, Miss Claire. No harm has come to them. We have set up camps, feed them, and treat their wounds.”
“You keep them there!” she said, her voice nearly a growl. That was the reason she had found no survivors in Lendon, and why no one had heard about the attacks in the first place. The refugees had become prisoners.
“Only until they swear fealty to His Royal Highness, King Philip, and Lendon. Then they are free to go home and resume their lives, rebuild.”
“You monster!”
“I’d say more of an opportunist.” He frowned. “It is the way of war, Miss Claire. Only this time, it is not I who must dirty a sword with blood.”
She didn’t care who did the killing. He was taking advantage of innocent people at their greatest time of need. It was despicable. “His father is dead then? King Harold?”
“A pity, really.” Bren frowned. “The old man really was a good ruler.”
“But it was not him that you really served, was it?” She suddenly recalled Farron’s suspicions all that time ago. “Did he have any idea what you were really up to?”
A smirk slowly replaced the frown. “I am helping Philip usher in a new era. One of glory and prosperity. You can’t build an empire without a few casualties, Miss Claire. Something Harold was too feeble to understand.”
She really didn’t know what to say to that. The old king was dead, and now the new one wanted to flaunt his arrogance and see if he could conquer the world. It was a cycle, it seemed. One that neither human nor elf was immune to: power and egotism.
“I seem to recall that you were looking for your mother the last time we… met,” he said, changing the subject. “Have you ever found her?”
“Why would I tell you?”
He studied her for a moment. “Hmm, that’s a shame. Perhaps, it may be possible, that she is in my possession?”
She could feel the blood drain from her face once again. She hadn’t even thought of that. It was possible. Mother had gone with the rest of the townspeople that night. She swallowed, trying to keep the worried look off her face, knowing she was failing.
“How much would you give to have her back?” he asked.
“Stop it.”
“How much?” His voice lowered.
She could feel her throat tighten. “Anything,” she squeezed out.
He smiled at her. “Perhaps, then, we could come to… an arrangement, if she were found.”
“You don’t have her!” She refused to believe otherwise. Mother was too smart to be caught by this man and his vulture army. Her grip tightened on his jacket, her nails digging in. “And you will not find her.”
“Miss Claire, I don’t know why you hate me so.”
“You tried to kill me!” she exclaimed. “More than once, if I remember correctly.”
“I only did what I thought was necessary. Maybe someday you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”
“Never.” Her stomach rolled in disgust.
“I could just bargain for you,” he said. “Your king is in quite a bind, it would seem. Desperate, really.”
“He is not my king. And I am not some object to be traded either. You’d have to take me dead because that is the only way you will ever have me.”
Bren chuckled. “Miss Claire, I do miss your spirit.”
The music wound down and another piece started. One even slower than the previous. Bren kept his hold on her, slowing his steps to match the couples around them.
“I’m no monster, you know. Not truly,” he said. He leaned into her, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. “I have been thinking since I have arrived here and saw that woman with the mark much like your own.” He glanced at her right hand in his. “And heard rumors of yet another— how strange it all seems. So coincidental, really, that while I have never even known that whatever-you-are existed, that I find three in the same place. In a kingdom desperate enough to seek Lendon’s help, so far away. Then, I remembered just how your mark came to life, and the fact that it seemed the centaurs never really were looking for treasure. At least not in the traditional sense. It was not gold or silver they were after. Or slaves.”
They’d stopped dancing. Claire remained still as she took all this in, too paralyzed to move.
“It made me wonder, just what were they after?” He ran a thumb back and forth over the back of her right hand. His mouth close to her ear. “What could be more valuable than gold? Then the pieces seemed to just fall into place.”
She must have forgotten how to breathe at that moment. Slowly, the dots connected in her head. Of the king showing her the map in the underground room. The Council and their gifts. They were both desperate to find her kind.
“I’m not the monster you think I am, Claire. But it seems that you have unknowingly surrounded yourself with them.”
A fine tremble wracked her body. No, it couldn’t be true.
“You’re lying,” she managed to squeeze out. “How could you possibly know this?”
“I think you refuse to see what’s truly there.”
She glared up at him. “Not everyone is as evil as you.”
Bren chuckled. “You would be surprised what people are capable of when they are desperate, or scared. Like your king, like this Council.” He looked back at her hand in his. “Even you should know that, Claire.”
She was quiet.
“Go ahead, ask your king, ask your Councilmen just how exactly they planned on finding your kind. Ask how they made a deal with those beasts. How they destroyed your home. Your life, the lives of many. You’ll see then just who the monsters really are here.”
“Stop it!” she gasped.
“And when you do find out, I will be waiting for you.”
She tried to jerk out of his grip once again, more violently this time. “Let go of me. I’ll never—”
“You will be mine again, Claire.” He pulled her close again, his hands tightening. “Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow. We’ll see how desperate either you or your king gets. I make what I want mine. It’s only a matter of time.”
With tears threatening to escape, she hit him in the stomach. He doubled over slightly and she finally twisted out of his grip, drew her hand back and slapped him with as much force as she could muster. Couples stopped around them to stare. Gasps arose from a few. Slowly, the music died down and all eyes were on her.
“Thanks to you, I will be dead long before that ever happens. In fact, I wish it.” Quickly, she gathered her skirts and stormed off through the silent crowd, out of the ballroom, and into the dark hallway. Once there, she stopped to catch her breath, leaning against a cold stone wall in the shadows. A few tears ran down her cheeks. She tried to wipe them away with a trembling hand, but they were soon replaced by others.
Her mind was a mess. The things he had said, were they true? About Stockton, and her mother, and worst of all, the centaurs? Could the Council really be that monstrous? From everything she’d heard, they could be. Surely the king wouldn’t have allowed it. But he was just as eager to find her kind as the Council was. Maybe she had figured him all wrong from the start. Foolish men sometimes hid cunning minds.
“How dare you!” came Lianna’s voice. She marched in from the ballroom, a scowl on her beautiful face. She grabbed Claire by the arm and yanked it around so she would face her. “Do you know who that man was?”
“Of course I do.” Her voice lost its edge. “That is the man who has killed me.”
Lianna’s face softened a bit. “Oh,” was all she said and released Claire’s arm.
“He is the man I want dead more than anyone else in the world.” More tears came at that than anger. And here she thought she’d grown out of that.
“We need him,” Lianna said quietly. “We need his c
ountry, his alliance, and most of all, his crops. I would not ask this of you otherwise, to not take your vengeance on him.” She paused for a moment and looked at Claire, her face full of pity. “I will not make you apologize, though. That would just be too cruel.”
“Thank you.” That was some consolation, at least.
“I cannot promise that you will not see him again, but I shall try my best to keep him away from you. I promise.” She touched her arm in a reassuring gesture. “Why don’t you go and rest? You look pale. I will make an excuse for His Highness.”
“Yes, thank you,” she said again.
Lianna touched her cheek and gave her a hopeful smile before turning back to the ballroom. Claire let out a deep breath. She was beginning to owe the woman quite a lot lately, it seemed.
She took a different way back, wanting to avoid running into any more guests in the throne room. A long walk was what she needed. The halls were dark, lit sparsely by candlelight and the moon where there were windows. The tears had stopped, but the pain remained, settling in the pit of her stomach. She was destined to never leave a ball happy.
She wouldn’t know if anything that dreadful man had told her was true until she asked someone about the centaurs. It could all have just been a ploy by Bren to get her to join his side, and his king’s. But who would know? Asking the Council was out of the question. She might as well be sent to the dungeons now for even thinking about it. Lianna? Razi? He was far away. Perhaps she could ask the king himself, though that may not be the easiest of tasks. And he may not even admit to it.
Halfway down a small staircase, she stopped and closed her eyes. Silvery light streamed in from a wall of glass, filled with tiny diamond panes. The music had resumed in the ballroom, sounding so soft and far away now. Her hand gripped onto the rail tight, while the other balled into her skirt.
“It seems my lady has trouble with stairs no matter where she is.”
Claire froze, her skin flushing at his voice. It couldn’t be. Surely she was going mad. Delusional from stress.
Footsteps clicked down the dark hall towards her, echoing softly along the stone. Then the dark silhouette stepped out from the shadows into a pool of light.
Her breath caught in her throat for a moment. He looked striking, much better than she’d remembered. Or was that because she knew she couldn’t have him anymore?
Dressed head-to-toe in black, as usual, Farron looked sharp, the suit tailored meticulously to his lithe frame. Knee high boots glimmered in the low light. The jacket hung open over a simple dark gray shirt. The only color was a bright red rose pinned to one of his lapels.
“It’s a good thing that I’m here then,” he teased as he mounted the stairs. Slowly, he climbed until he reached her, stopping on the step below. “You look very beautiful tonight, Claire.” He took her hand and lifted it up between them, lacing his fingers with hers before pressing his lips to the black silk of the glove.
It took a moment for her to find her voice again. “What are…?”
“I figured I’d surprise you.”
Surprise her he certainly had. Her night was full of them, and not all of them had been good. She wanted to believe his arrival was, however. Elation and grief battled inside of her, fogging her mind. She didn’t know whether she wanted to smile or cry.
She reached out and touched his cheek, relief finally winning out above all the other emotions. “You’re all right.”
In fact, he looked better than all right, in the same shape as when he’d left her almost a month ago. Moved with the same grace as he always had. The Council had failed to kill him, this time at least. And it was up to her to keep it that way.
“I’ve missed you.” He leaned in and kissed her, as soft as the one on her hand, chaste and lingering.
Her legs weakened beneath her. She had almost forgotten how sweet his kisses felt, how they were able to melt away all of her worries. He wore a musky scent, sweet and rich with a hint of spice. A shudder ran through her body. His warmth, his body, his strength, his lips, they were so familiar, so easy to get lost in, what she’d been craving since he’d left. Unable to help herself, she slid her arms around his neck, pulling him in closer, the kiss deepening. She knew she shouldn’t. It would only make what she had to do harder. For both of them.
But she couldn’t stop. Her need was too great. A need for a distraction, for a good night’s sleep free from nightmares, and for him. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him until that very moment.
“You…” she whispered, drawing back slightly. “Why did you have to come back?” If he didn’t, if he would have just run away, she wouldn’t have to go through with it. Wouldn’t have to break the heart she’d just discovered he had.
He grinned. “Because I had someone waiting so eagerly for my return.”
She was about to protest the ‘eager’ part when he cut her off with another kiss. He pressed her back against the railing, a hand wrapping in her hair, the other around her waist. His mouth left hers to trail to her ear then down to her neck, sending a shiver through her body.
“Upstairs...” The word came out more breathy than she’d meant.
Without hesitation, he whisked her off her feet. It seemed like hours had passed before he finally set her down just inside her room. He shut the door quietly behind him.
She moved to the middle of the room, expecting him to follow, but when he didn’t she turned to look at him still by the door. He just looked at her, his eyes wandering up and down her body.
“My country’s fashions truly become you, my lady.”
Claire began to say something but stopped. She didn’t want to talk. Not now. She wanted him more than ever, so why was he still standing so far away?
She gave him a teasing look and said, “Yes, they are quite lovely, but they are even harder to get out of. Perhaps you could assist me?” She turned away from him and swept her hair over one shoulder so he’d get the hint. In all honesty, she really wasn’t sure she could untie the large bow on her back by herself.
His lips were suddenly on her shoulder. She jumped slightly, not hearing him cross the room. How did he do that? His mouth found its way to the side of her neck, his breath hot on her skin as his hands found her waist. A small noise escaped her. She was almost at her limit.
The sash around her middle loosened and then fell to the floor. His fingers tugged at the lacings at the back of her dress while he brushed her neck and shoulders with kisses. After a few long moments, he made an exasperated sound, then straightened to lead her over to the bed and set her down on the edge, her back to him. He leaned over her, a knee on one side of her.
Claire glanced over her shoulder just in time to see the glint of metal before he swiftly cut the strings of the bodice.
“Fare, wait!” she gasped, but it was too late. Monnesito would not be happy about that.
A loud clang of metal on stone filled the room as he threw the knife to the floor.
“Are you always armed?” She really wasn’t sure where he kept hiding those things.
“The palace is a dangerous place, my lady.” His famous grin slid into place. “And so is this dress of yours.” He slipped the straps down her shoulders, his hands lingering on her skin.
Claire stood to wiggle out of the dress. Farron collapsed on the edge of the bed to watch, leaning back on his arms. The smile was gone from his face, replaced with something darker, hungrier, wanting. She tried her best to make the movement graceful, somewhat seductive, until finally, it lay in a pool of lace at her feet. A tiny black slip, gloves, and necklace were all that remained. She felt terribly exposed, embarrassed by the way he watched her.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her down onto the covers next to him. His mouth found hers in an urgent press of the lips, growing deeper and more passionate with each passing moment, like he used to, like he wanted to devour her, encompass her entire being. Afraid that he’d never be able to enter her heart. She knew how much her reluctance bothered him, b
ut she’d been terrified herself, of letting him in. Her breath became heavy along with his. The worries that had plagued her mind slowly faded into the background behind a wall of bliss. His fingers found the edge of the glove on her left arm and slowly started to roll it down. He kissed his way down to her neck and shoulder again, then started on the right one, slowly rolling the silk down, inch by agonizing inch, to reveal her skin to the cool night air.
He hesitated when he finally exposed her arm, pulling back slightly.
Claire tensed, and the wall that blocked out reality came crashing down. She knew why he’d stopped without even asking. The mark. It had grown past her elbow, wild and unrestrained. It wasn’t hard to know something was amiss. But she didn’t want to explain it to him. Not here. Not now. Not ever. It would be better if he didn’t know.
She touched his cheek, drawing his attention back to her. “What’s wrong?” she asked, feigning innocence.
Worry flickered across his face as he looked at her.
“Don’t you want me anymore?” she whispered before he could voice his concern. She slipped his jacket off his shoulders and kissed him again, soft and inviting, willing him to forget what he’d just seen.
It was unfair, she knew that. But it wouldn’t matter soon anyway. She pushed him back on the bed. It was her turn to make him forget. This may be her last night with him and she wanted to enjoy it as much as she could without digging up something so painful.
Claire stirred, her senses slowly awakening. Sleep had come peaceful and undisturbed, and she felt more rested than she had in weeks. Calm, relaxed, warm. The world was still dark, the air still cool with the night chill, and her head still rested on his shoulder, the steady beat of his heart sounded in her ear. His fingers ran up and down her arm that was thrown across him, softly tracing the mark and scar.
She pulled her arm away, trying her best to disguise the movement in a stretch. The less time he had to ponder it, the better.