Seduced in the Dungeon (Dark Kingdom Book 1)

by Claire Conrad

  “I’ve told you before, Ella, I’ve got a cousin down south…” A bell ringing near the back door cut Gregory’s plea short.

  “Oh, no,” I sighed. I glanced at Gregory. “I have to go.”

  He did not try to hide his grim expression. “You watch yourself, girl. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  “So do I,” I said. I picked up the hem of my skirt and hurried toward the house.

  When I reached the kitchen, both our cook and the butler huddled around the fire, whispering. Their conversation ended as I approached and the cook, normally very warm, forced a smile onto her stiffened face. Her eyes darted to mine, then away, as if seeing me made her uncomfortable.

  “Your mother is asking for you, miss,” the butler informed me. I glanced at the cook once more, hoping to find a glimmer of hope or happiness on her face. Cold dread gripped my heart like an icy fist when I discovered she had turned away completely.

  “Cook?” Her real name was Beatrice, but she preferred no one speak it. I had never learned why, but suspected her story confirmed what I already knew… life wasn’t fair or friendly, and instead consisted of trials and disappointment.

  Most common people were kind enough. But something about noble blood turned human beings into power-hungry schemers and thieves.

  “Go, Ella. You know how she gets.” The cook spoke with her attention on the fire dancing in the hearth and I swallowed the lump in my throat before speaking.

  “Thank you.” Nerves about to snap, I exited the kitchen and left behind the yeasty aroma of rising bread and freshly brewed tea. My stepmother’s voice carried down the narrow hallway as I made my way to the front of the house. Her sharp, ringing tone echoed off the hardwood floors. Interspersed with her tart tone, the deep rumble of her visitor’s voice countered in short, clipped words, too muffled to discern.

  The door to the study was closed and their voices faded to a whisper of sound. I paused outside the door and pressed my ear to the heavy oak, desperate to hear any detail. But luck was not on my side. Either they had stopped speaking, or the wood muffled the sound.

  With a resigned sigh, I lifted my knuckles and rapped at the door.

  “Come in!” My stepmother’s commanding voice made me cringe. The sound reminded me of an angry goose honking and screeching as it raced about the yard.

  I opened the door and peeked around the edge, hoping against hope I needn’t enter. Even at this distance, the stench of fish and seawater assaulted me. I cleared my throat. “You called for me, Mother?”

  She insisted I call her Mother in front of guests, though we both recognized the fallacy.

  “Do come in, daughter. And please close the door behind you. We have very important matters to discuss.”

  Her counterfeit politeness stirred my blood and I knew my face would flush with my anger. Perhaps she would not notice, or assume my high color was a result of nerves, or fear.

  “Of course, Mother.” I walked into the room and nodded at Mr. Netterton. He sat in a high-backed chair covered in dark blue satin, the white roses embroidered into the material offered a stark contrast to his dingy brown suit. His greasy, gray hair sat back on his head, slicked as if wet, and his smile, as he rose to greet me, exposed a gap in his mouth caused by at least three missing teeth. The remaining teeth stood crooked and stained by chewing tobacco.

  “Mr. Netterton.” I paused before him and curtsied as custom dictated. He was foul and I had no wish to endure his touch, but he did not appear to be a cruel or hateful man. Just a lonely one who wanted a young wife he would cover and rut into with his wrinkled old cock.

  “Miss Ella.” He reached for my hand and I hid my repulsion behind a polite smile as he raised it to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “You look beautiful today.”

  “How very kind.” I yanked my hand free and turned to face my stepmother. “You called for me?”

  “Yes, I did.” Her smile showed all her teeth but did not reach her pale blue eyes, which looked as cold as an icicle hanging from the roof in winter. She walked around my father’s desk and swirled her dark orange day dress with a flourish before sitting in my father’s chair, her spine stiff as a board and her face without a hint of emotion. “Mr. Netterton has asked for your hand in marriage.”

  I struggled to force air into my lungs before answering her. Mr. Netterton grinned from ear to ear and settled back in his blue velvet chair, his over-bright eyes locked on my face. I twisted my hands in a bundle at my waist and ignored him. “I see. I am very flattered by the offer.”

  She arched her right eyebrow at me. “Is that all you have to say?”

  Oh, no. No. No. No. I swallowed and compelled myself to smile and nod my head at my would-be suitor. “You honor me with your offer, sir, but I have no desire to wed.” I rotated away from him and stared straight into my stepmother’s cold blue eyes. “I am very happy here, with you, Mother.” The last bit I threw in to soften her mood, but my gut told me the die was cast.

  My stepmother placed her chin atop her fist and considered me for long moments. Had there been a hint of warmth in her gaze, I might have hoped. Instead, I watched the familiar cold calculation behind her feigned concern and felt doom settle over my shoulders like a cold, damp cloak. “Mr. Netterton has offered a very generous bride price, Ella. And we have come to an agreement.”

  Oh, no. No. No.

  “Is it not considered proper to ask the bride before signing such an agreement?” I challenged.

  My stepmother smiled then, and the sight chilled what remained of the warmth from my blood. I shivered as she rose to stand behind the desk. “Of course, child. But with such a wise and generous suitor, how could you not weep with joy at his offer?”

  How indeed? With a sigh, I turned to face Mr. Netterton, who had not stopped smiling. Although his gaze was now focused completely on my ass. I blinked slowly and looked up at my smug stepmother, who stood with her brow raised, her arms crossed, and an amused smirk on her lips. “I see.”

  Arguing would be pointless. The deed was done. I’d been sold.

  “You are to be wed at the summer solstice, as tradition demands.”

  I tried to speak but the words did not come.

  Mr. Netterton grabbed my hand again, this time on his knee before me. “I vow I’ll take good care of you, girl. You can count on that.”

  I looked down at his face, half expecting an earnest expression, but love did not shine in his eyes. He lusted for my body—not even bothering to look at my face, he stared at my breasts instead.

  The reality of his touch, like cold, dead fish on my skin, made rage surge through my body. Shaking my head, I pulled free of Mr. Netterton’s grip. “No. I can’t marry you. I’m sorry.” I spun on my heels and strode from the room as my stepmother’s voice chased me down the hall.

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Netterton. I promise you, she’ll be ready by the time you remit the second half of your payment.”

  Tears streaked down my face as I ran for the stables. Gregory was waiting for me but I waved him off and saddled Henry.

  “What did she want?” Gregory asked as I climbed into the saddle.

  “I’ve been sold.”

  I spurred Henry to a fast gallop and raced away from the house. Sold, like a piece of property, like many daughters throughout history. And perhaps I might make peace with my fate if not for Mr. Netterton. The thought of allowing him to touch me as Dorian had made my stomach roil. I’d rather die than allow him to put his wrinkled old cock into my body, or touch my breasts, or taste my skin with his filthy mouth.

  Never.

  In tune with my mood, Henry’s powerful legs propelled us through the forest at a dangerous pace. Instead of pulling back on the reins, I reveled in the temporary feeling of freedom. I would not marry that man. I’d rather be dead. I had just six short weeks to come up with a plan.

  DORIAN, CASTLE LIBRARY, 2 WEEKS LATER…

  “It’s high time you take a wife, Augustus.” My father paced my study as i
f a puppy were nipping at his heels. I’d rarely seen him so displeased. Well past midnight, moonlight shone through the window, yet the faint light was not so bright as to reveal the king’s frown. But I did not need to see his face. I had often functioned as the source of his displeasure over the years. This was not the first time we’d had this conversation.

  “Call me Dorian.” Many times had I begged him to call me by my favored name.

  “That is not a name fit for a king.”

  “I’m not a king.”

  “No.” He turned, the full force of his ire staring straight into my soul. He closed the distance between us and took the chair opposite mine—where I’d been sitting, staring into the fire, and thinking about… her. “You are not a king, but you will be. Your mother gave you four names, son, but your name is Augustus. You come from a long line of kings of Syrenne.”

  “I don’t need a history lesson.”

  “No, you need a thrashing. Every match I’ve made for you, you’ve refused. Beautiful, noble women who could warm your bed and carry your seed.”

  “My bed is warm enough. And I’ve plenty of time to think about children.”

  “Nonsense, boy.” The king pointed at me, shaking his finger as he spoke. “You need a wife. I watch you. You’re restless. Unhappy.”

  I rolled my eyes and wished, not for the first time, that my father would mind his own damn business and leave me to mine. “I’m fine. What do I have to be unhappy about? I’m rich. I’m a prince.”

  “You’re like a wolf locked in a cage.”

  “Must I gnaw off my foot to escape?”

  “Don’t try me, boy. You need a wife,” he said.

  “I’m not a child for you to fuss over.”

  “Then stop acting like one and choose a bride.”

  I took a sip of my dark red wine and mulled over my response. Any attempt at lying to my shrewd father was futile, he had served as king far too long to fall victim to juvenile trickery. “I don’t want a wife, Father.”

  “Too bad. You need one.” He leaned forward, lifted a full goblet of wine from the small table separating us and sipped from the cup as he stared into the fire. I hated to disappoint him, but I did not need a wife. Certainly not the power-hungry females my father paraded in front of me since I had come of age. His unceasing efforts, both admirable and merciless, had included throwing the most beautiful breasts and asses at my feet for more than a decade. When I refused to cooperate with his words, he continued to try to control me with my cock.

  “I’ll find my own bride, Father. Leave me be.”

  “No.” He took a large gulp of wine and slammed the rest on the table. A large slosh spilled onto the etched marble. “No. It’s time. I’ve been patient long enough. You’ll find a bride by the summer solstice, or I’ll have one waiting at the altar.”

  “Any bride?”

  “Of course.”

  My mind wandered to the servant girl who’d given herself to me so completely, with so much trust. “And what if I want to marry a commoner? A servant?”

  My father burst with amused laughter. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re a prince. You will marry a noble woman of noble blood.”

  As I’d suspected. The little excitement I held at the prospect of taking a wife of my own choosing died with his outburst.

  “And who would you have me marry?” I wrapped my hand around the stem of my goblet so tightly the jewels cut into my palm.

  “Princess Bellamira, of Mirecan.”

  I choked. “She’s a child.”

  “No, son. She was a child when last you saw her. She’s grown now. Nineteen this summer, and ripe to bear you a son.” He smiled, pleased with himself—smug, even—and the look made me nervous. “I summoned her two weeks ago. She is already on her way.”

  My father stood and resumed his pacing. He was a formidable man, despite his years. He trained with the guard, fought well with both sword and spear, stood tall and strong as a bear, though he was less patient. Since my mother’s death two winters past, any softness he once harbored had vanished like mist under sunlight. He sipped his wine and stared out the window at the quarter moon hanging suspended in the dark sky. “Although I fear she will not make it in time for the summer solstice masquerade. The mountain pass is not predictable, even with the heat of summer upon us.”

  He mumbled more to himself than to me, but my thoughts still hung with the realization that he’d chosen my bride and she was on her way. This time, there would be no reprieve.

  “No, Father.” My mind returned to the beauty in the golden mask, how her eyes had clouded with desire as she spoke my name. My name. I didn’t want a political match. I wanted… more.

  King Demetrius stormed from the window to tower over me, all traces of the loving father gone, replaced by the merciless eyes of a ruler. “Find a suitable bride, or you marry Bellamira.”

  “Father, please. The solstice is just a few weeks away. I can’t find a bride in that short time.”

  He patted me on the shoulder. “You’ve had twenty-three years, son. I won’t be swayed. Find a bride, or you will marry the Princess Bellamira at the solstice masquerade.”

  He walked away from me and I let him go. I’d known my entire life that, when his blue eyes turned steel gray, all arguments fell on deaf ears and mercy would not be forthcoming. I was doomed. There would be no bargaining, no second chances or relenting of my father’s will.

  No sooner had the door closed behind him than it opened once more. This time, Markus joined me. In front of others, he behaved like the dutiful servant. But here, now, we were alone and he took on his true role, that of my closest friend and ally.

  Markus took the seat abandoned by my father and lifted the half empty cup of wine to his lips. “You’re doomed.”

  Laughter escaped before I censored it, he echoed my own thoughts so exactly, but the sound held no amusement. “So it would seem.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Markus leaned forward, his forearms across his knees, the goblet of wine dangling in his long fingers. “Have you seen this princess? Bellamira? It might be no hardship to bed her.”

  I thought back to the last time I’d seen the young lady in question. She’d been thirteen or so, long dark hair and dark eyes. Already a beauty. “She wasn’t much more than a child when I saw her last, but she was already beautiful.”

  “So? What’s the problem? Marry her and be done with it.”

  I rose from my chair, wine in hand, and walked to the window. Two weeks ago, I might have considered his advised course of action. My father had never mentioned Bellamira as a possible bride before this night. Already a princess, I need not fear she was marrying me for my crown. I stared at the partial moon outside the window and allowed the silence, the heavy weight of knowledge contained in the books, to soothe me. And every moment that passed my thoughts turned to her, to obsession.

  “I don’t think I can.”

  Markus lifted the wine decanter and poured himself another cup. “Why not? If she’s beautiful and royal, what’s the problem?”

  “And young.”

  Markus snorted. “Most likely innocent. She’d be yours completely, Dorian. No other will have touched her.”

  The moon reflected on the surface of my dark wine and the image of another woman clouded my mind, one with long, blonde hair and blue eyes, one who’d surrendered to me, Dorian the servant. Standing in the moonlight, I closed my eyes and inhaled her scent. Devoured her kiss. Heeded her sweet cries as she found pleasure in my arms.

  A commoner. A servant my father would never approve of. And the only woman who had ever looked at me as if I’d hung the moon and the stars. “I don’t want an innocent.”

  “Don’t lie to me. You want a submissive woman to bend over your knee.”

  I shook my head. “No. I want a strong woman willing to place herself in my care. There is a difference.”

  The silence stretched as I thought of
the mysterious woman at the masquerade, wondered what her name was, where she lived. I needed to see her again. “There is another masquerade in two weeks.”

  “I know.”

  “You will, once again, take my place in the main ballroom.”

  “Damn it, Dorian. No.”

  “And you won’t return to your rooms until morning. You’ll sleep in my bedchamber, alone, with the door bolted.”

  “And where will you be?” Markus asked.

  “Next door, in your bed, fucking a gorgeous woman.”

  “No. Please. I can’t take being a royal again. It’s unbearable.”

  That made me laugh in earnest as anticipation filled me for the next masquerade. “How many women did you fuck at the masquerade?”

  Markus sighed. “Four. My cock was sore for two days. I don’t know how you stand it. They practically lie down before you and spread their legs.”

  “I tried to warn you.”

  “They all want you, friend.”

  “No. They all want a crown.” I finished my wine and returned to my seat by the fire. Though nearly summer, bitter cold in the north returned each night as the last remnants of winter air sneaked between the stones to ripple across my skin like icy fingers.

  Markus’s dark but unreadable gaze fell upon me. “And what do you want?”

  I stared at the shadows that danced and weaved around the orange and yellow flames and thought of the mysterious woman who had somehow sneaked her way into my heart. “Something I can’t have.”

  CHAPTER 5

  DORIAN, 2 WEEKS LATER, THE DUNGEON MASQUERADE…

  I waited like a spider in its web, unmoving and silent as the dominants wearing black and the golden-masked submissives floated about the underground dungeon, pairing off and playing, spanking, fucking.

  She would appear. She had to. I needed to see her, taste her, fuck her.

  “Come, love, you’ve been standing still as a statue for two hours.” The woman who spoke wore a dark blue dress, her ample breasts spilling from the top of her corset. A golden mask surrounded dark eyes staring at me with clear invitation. “Whoever you’re waiting for, she’s not coming.”