Seduced in the Dungeon (Dark Kingdom Book 1)

by Claire Conrad

  “Oh, Ella.” When he said my name like that, I melted.

  “Dorian.”

  “How did you learn of this? Who told you?”

  “No one.”

  His hand abandoned me, my pussy clenching around nothing. Nothing. And I ached. So much. “Dorian. Please.”

  Smack!

  Smack!

  Smack!

  Smack!

  The blows landed on my bare bottom like a whip, sharp and fast, the flick of his palm striking hard and wild, dancing between the cheeks of my bottom. Left. Right. Over and over until my entire body raged, the heat of his hand spreading through me like flames racing across spilled oil.

  “Tell me, Ella.”

  “I can’t.”

  Smack!

  Smack!

  Smack!

  Smack!

  “Ella?”

  “No.” Tears streaked my cheeks, not from the pain of the spanking, but because I disappointed my prince, unable to give him what he wanted. I’d failed. I needed him happy, pleased, sated. I yearned to serve him in every way, to surrender my soul into his keeping. Yet I must deny him.

  “Damn you, woman. You’ve driven me mad.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No.” Dorian knelt behind me, positioned the blunt head of his cock at the entrance to my core and thrust into me, filling me. When he buried his shaft to the balls, he fisted my hair and turned me to face him. “No, Ella. Never apologize. Not for this.”

  He held me still as he fucked me, our gazes locked in a tangle of need so intimate my soul lay bare for him. He saw me, all of me, all the love I carried in my heart. And I gave him that gift because I had nothing else to offer a prince.

  He thrust, one hand in my hair, the other beneath me, stroking my clit as he moved in and out, faster and faster.

  “Come now, Ella, but don’t close your eyes. I want to see what you feel when you come all over my cock.”

  His words were carnal, demanding. His hips thrust so hard he lifted me from my knees. He pinched my clit, pulling and tugging, creating a new sensation so overwhelming that my first orgasm rushed over me without warning.

  I looked back over my shoulder, his hand in my hair so tight, so desperate, that the pain shot through me in a hazy mix of pleasure. I held his gaze as I came because he told me to as my pussy clamped on his hard length with so much strength I nearly shoved him from my body.

  He groaned and pushed deeper, into the pulsating walls of my core, his gaze locked on mine, and the look I saw in those dark depths was feral. Wild. Raw.

  He shifted, his cock stroking the sensitive place inside me over and over until I came again, crying out his name.

  Dorian lowered his frame over my back, covering me with delicious heat, with a primitive claim over my body. I wished he’d lie there forever. Hand still in my hair, he held me in place, my head turned to look at him over my shoulder. His thrusts slowed as he kissed me. As if he had all the time in the world instead of just this one night under the moonlight in the garden.

  Our last night.

  I kissed him back with everything, my whole heart and soul in the kiss as I tightened my inner muscles around him.

  He groaned and his rhythm became wild as he held his lips to mine, unwilling to give up my mouth even as his seed spilled deep inside me.

  Though he had finished, he covered me for long minutes with his cock still buried deep. He kissed me, stroked my legs and ass, as though he saw me as the most beautiful woman in the world.

  When he pulled free of my body at last, I fought back tears at the loss. He settled my skirts around me, tucked his cock back into his royal trousers, and lay on the spongy moss to gaze at the bright stars shining through the glass ceiling. “Lie with me.”

  Dorian held out his arm and I joined him. I settled there, my head over his heart as we watched the stars shift across the night sky. Outside the garden doors, the sounds of the ball, the music and voices, faded until nothing but the soft singing of frogs and crickets remained in this magical garden.

  The silence acted as both balm and warning. My stepmother would return home soon. My window of opportunity to escape narrowed with every second I spent in Dorian’s embrace.

  And then I heard the one sound I’d dreaded.

  Bong.

  Bong.

  Bong.

  The bells in the castle tower rang the hour. I didn’t need to count.

  Midnight. This day, this last precious day with my prince, had ended.

  I pushed at his chest and rose. He reached for my wrist but I evaded his grasp and settled my skirts in place. Beneath the sparkling blue of my gown, his seed coated my thighs, and I wondered if I might never bathe again. I wanted him there, his scent on my skin, his seed inside me. Forever.

  I hadn’t drunk the witches’ brew this week. Perhaps I would carry his child, a precocious girl with dark curls and his wide, blue-gray eyes. Perhaps I would be lucky enough to carry a piece of him with me. Always.

  “Goodbye, Dorian.”

  “No. You can’t go.”

  I smiled without joy, only sadness. “I have to leave. Nothing has changed. My husband arrives tomorrow.”

  “No.”

  “Dorian…”

  “I’ll go to my father.”

  I shook my head and took a step back. “He paid the bride price, Dorian. Even your father cannot undo that.”

  “No, Ella. I’ll figure something out.”

  “You’ll get yourself killed.” I saw the truth flash in his eyes. The courts of Syrenne were brutal but fair. Our laws, absolute. With the magical creatures in the five kingdoms, they had to be. One show of weakness would lead to war between the races, humans fighting werewolves, witches hunting vampires, fairies casting curses, dragons raiding them all in an effort to hoard gold and jewels in their high mountain caves. Our courts were comprised of a mix of the races and tasked with keeping the peace. They could not afford mercy. They did not make exceptions. I risked their wrath, running from my new husband. But as long as I took no other man as my own, I would be safe. I would not be the first woman who chose not to live with a husband she did not love. “The courts would hang you, Dorian. No. I won’t allow it.”

  “Stay. Please.”

  “I can’t.” After blurting out the words, I ran like the wind.

  I burst through the glass doors and into the ballroom, where a few couples remained entwined on the dance floor. I skirted the edges of the room, dodging naked bodies writhing in the shadows. The king himself started as I flew by, and I caught sight of my stepmother on the dance floor out of the corner of my eye but I ignored all of them, running as far and as fast as my legs could carry me.

  “Ella! Wait!” Dorian’s voice carried over the music but I refused to stop. I lifted my skirts and dashed up the stairs. I stumbled as a slipper fell from my foot. Unwilling to leave my mother’s precious shoe behind, I turned to retrieve it, but Dorian approached. If I stopped, he would have me.

  Our gazes met as he yelled for me again. I lifted my skirts once more and redoubled my efforts to escape. My breathing ragged, my legs on fire from my race up the stairs, I rushed the last few steps to the top of the landing. The herald who had announced my arrival now slept against the wall. I startled him awake as I raced past, my skirts flowing over his legs.

  “Stop her!”

  Dorian’s cry came too late. The herald, still half asleep, reached for me but his hands, too old and slow, seized nothing but air.

  Exiting through the main entrance would lead me straight to Dorian’s guards. But Henry and the buggy Gregory had hitched to him waited for me beyond the edge of the wood.

  The main floor of the castle, a maze I knew well thanks to my father, included servants’ passages and secret escape routes. My father took great delight in showing them to me when I was seven years old, engaging in grand adventures with me or games of tag, rather than ensuring I trained in needlework or studied courtly lessons.

  I raced for the
great library, to the false wall of books. A twist of the right candlestick and it shifted aside.

  As I slipped inside the library, unseen, I closed the door behind me without a sound. At the far end of the large room sat two chairs facing one another in front of the fireplace. On a small table between them, a decanter of wine and fresh glasses waited for the next person eager to relax with a drink and a good book. The room smelled of aged paper, leather and dust, books lining every inch of the massive floor to ceiling shelves. How I longed to linger, to run my fingers over every spine, to explore the treasure trove of knowledge in this room.

  Instead, I made my way to the far corner bookshelf as a pounding chorus of booted feet thundered past in the corridor. One turn of the candlestick and the passageway opened.

  I grabbed a lit candle from the fireplace mantel and held it before me.

  Cobwebs lined the dark, empty space. A deep well of darkness swallowed the meager light of my single candle just a few steps beyond the library. Dust, undisturbed for years, had settled along the floor. Each footfall left prints as I made my way to the castle’s secret exit on the far side of the dungeons.

  With only spiders and rats for company, I entered the thin, gloomy corridor and disappeared like a ghost. As the door closed behind me, the shelf lined with books sliding back into place, I turned and placed my palm flat against the wall.

  On the other side was my love, my one true love.

  “Goodbye, Dorian.”

  I lingered, not willing to let go, until the sounds of voices on the other side of the wall jolted me into action. Reaching down, I removed the remaining glass slipper and scurried, barefoot, through the tunnel to the dungeons below. Once there, I marched straight through the servant’s masquerade, ignoring masked revelers both gold and black. I exited the dungeons and headed for the forest, where Henry waited. I planned to drive home, change into my riding clothes, and run like the wind for the coast.

  Tears streamed down my face as my thoughts returned to Dorian. I came to save a prince but did better than that; I had saved the man I loved. His world would continue without me, forever, but I hoped his destiny included a long life filled with love, fatherhood, and a happy ending.

  That life just wouldn’t include me.

  CHAPTER 13

  DORIAN

  T he trap was set.

  Now, to catch a killer. A liar. A traitor.

  Markus’s snoring drifted into my bedchamber through the connecting door. We meant for the sound to lull our enemy, for neither of us slept. I had told Markus everything, and we made our plans. He’d done well, behaving no differently than he might any other night.

  I sat in the silence of my bedchamber. A fire crackled in the hearth, the soft glow growing faint as the flames consumed the remaining wood.

  In my hand I held a glass of wine, half empty, as if I’d drunk a fair amount. I made sure the glass stopper on top of the decanter rested on the table, the wine open. I raised the glass to my lips and pretended to drink, not sure if the room had eyes, but unwilling to risk the smallest mistake, or place a hint of doubt in my prey.

  After several long minutes, I set the glass on the small table beside me and allowed my head to fall forward. I closed my eyes and slumped in my chair before toppling to the floor, unmoving.

  I attempted to control my breathing. Though I’d fallen in a damn uncomfortable position, I did not move, even taking in a little air and holding it to hide any obvious movement.

  The bells chimed. Two in the morning. And, at last, my patience paid off.

  Someone entered through Markus’s room, as I knew they would. The guards at my door would allow no one to pass this late.

  I hid a scowl of disappointment as a small pair of feminine feet stepped in front of me. The Duke, too much of a coward to do his own dirty work, had sent a woman in his stead. And many a young lady had ventured in and out Markus’s bed over the years, the guards wouldn’t give her a second thought.

  The unfortunate accomplice, nothing more than a pawn, would not return to her master.

  Without bothering to glance in my direction, she walked straight to the wine. She replaced the wine with a fresh decanter, poured the rest of my glass back into the poisoned bottle, and stoppered the poisoned brew.

  Yet to see her face, I judged her by the smooth skin of her ankles and hands as young, very young. Perhaps only sixteen.

  Young, and vulnerable to a man as powerful as the Duke.

  When she turned away, poisoned bottle in hand, I allowed her to walk half the distance to Markus’s room before rising. “Where do you think you’re going with that?”

  She gasped and turned, her young face paled so fast I feared she might faint. “Your Highness? My apologies.” Her gaze darted from me to the bottle in her hands. “I was sent to freshen your wine.”

  “Sure you were, sweetheart.” Markus stepped into view behind her and blocked her exit. To escape, she would have to make it past one of us, and the chance of that happening was nil.

  Markus stepped behind her and lifted the bottle from her trembling hands. “Here you go, Dorian.”

  “Thank you.” I took the wine and carried it to my dresser. I settled the poison next to my crown and turned to inspect the quaking girl. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and I realized I’d been wrong. She was nowhere near sixteen. Perhaps thirteen. Too young to tell the Grand Duke no, and too young to run.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Constance.”

  “What’s in the bottle, Constance?”

  She bit her lip and shook her head. “He didna say, but—”

  Constance did not finish the thought, but she did not need to. Markus finished her sentence for her. “But you suspect.”

  She nodded. “I’m so sorry. I didna know what to do. He just told me to come get the wine.”

  I nodded, understanding. And I believed her. At a nod of my chin, Markus took her to the far end of my chamber and settled her in a chair. “Don’t move.”

  “I won’t. I’m sorry. I swear it.” She trembled and her voice cracked, her words nearly incomprehensible. “Please don’t kill me.”

  If I turned her over to the courts, she would face the executioner. I didn’t have it in me to see an innocent pawn suffer for a crooked noble, not with my heart still aching from the loss of my love. “I won’t, Constance. I won’t tell the courts. I won’t tell anyone. All you have to do is stay out of sight and promise you won’t make a sound.”

  Quick as she might, her head bobbed in agreement and she lifted her hands to cover her mouth and nose, stifling her sobs. Markus settled her inside my bathing chamber. With only one way in and one way out, I knew she would be safe. Moments later, silent as a statue, her huge, innocent eyes watched as Markus sealed her inside.

  “Now we wait,” Markus said.

  “Now we wait.” I resumed my prone position on the floor and Markus returned to his bed, the sound of his false snores making me smile. Every few minutes, his enthusiasm got the better of him and he threw in a too loud snort, but I doubted the Duke would recognize the difference.

  We waited. And waited. The bells chimed three in the morning. Then four. My neck muscles burned with the awkward angle at which I held my head. My shoulder, stuck beneath me on the hard, stone floor, ached.

  I was prepared to give up when, at long last, a pair of boots whispered over the rug just behind me. So quiet. He deserved credit for his stealth. For I hadn’t heard him enter Markus’s chamber. And now I wondered if a dagger hovered over my heart.

  ELLA

  The uneventful ride home passed in a muted blur. An eerie silence mixed with creaking wooden wheels and an occasional, emphatic exhalation from Henry as we made the trip home for the second time.

  “I know how you feel, my dear friend.” The energy in my body was fading fast, we’d had quite a day.

  We pulled into the drive and Gregory greeted us at the front door as if awaiting a grand lady or a princess, and not just another servan
t.

  “Everything all right?”

  I responded with a silent nod of my head and he understood, anything more and my emotions might erupt.

  “Good, now go on, girl. Get changed. I’ll get Henry ready.”

  “Thank you, Gregory. I can never repay you. Ever.” I grabbed his hand and squeezed with all my might, fighting back tears. I did not want to leave him behind. He was like a father to me, and I loved him as dearly as I loved my home. One more burden for my heart to bear.

  He shushed me and raised my hand to his wrinkled lips for a kiss. “Hush, girl. You’re like my own flesh and blood. I promised your parents I’d look after you, and I have. You warned the prince. Now you need to get out of here while you still can.”

  “I know.”

  I nodded as Gregory helped me from the carriage, the lone slipper in my other hand.

  “Give me the slipper, Ella. I’ll pack it in Henry’s saddlebag.”

  “Thank you.” My hand trembled as I placed the treasure in Gregory’s rough but gentle hands.

  He took it without saying a word and left me, barefoot, in the arched entrance of my home. My former home. As he and Henry disappeared around the side of the house, I shuddered—alone, now and maybe forever. My shoulders sagged from the weight of the day and the journey still ahead.

  I thought of Dorian. The prince. Any hope I held, in the deepest part of my heart, of reuniting one day, crumbled in my chest like old dried paper thrown on a blaze.

  Two servants might find each other. A valet, grown weary of serving at the castle, might come for his first love. I imagined writing Dorian letters. Upon reading them, unable to deny his passion any longer, he’d ride to my uncle’s door, catch sight of me and scoop me into his arms. And never let me go.

  But that could never happen, not now. The prince of Syrenne could never marry a maid, certainly not one whose father had disgraced his family and died a traitor to the kingdom.