DESIRE AND DUTY
Book One
The Consort’s Chronicles
E.C. Jarvis
Copyright © E.C. Jarvis 2015
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced
in any form, including photocopying, recording,
or other electronic or mechanical methods—except
in the case of brief quotations embodied
in articles or reviews—without written
permission by the author.
ISBN 978 1 523 215 867
First Edition January 2016
www.ecjarvis.com
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Thanks to those who helped with their invaluable opinions along the road:
Dan C. Boutwell
Ian Jordan
Carl Baumann
Nici Bowditch
Kat Hutson
http://klhcreateworks.com/
This is a work of adult Erotic Fantasy.
CONTENTS
I – Routine
II – A Plot
III – Into the Lair
IV – Welcome Home
V – Doctor’s Orders
VI – Visitors
VII – A Royal Celebration
VIII – Revelation
IX – Into the Lair II
X – An Offering
XI – The Shock
XII – Requests
XIII – Developments
XIV – A Goodbye Treat
XV – Travel Companions
XVI – Lodge Life
XVII – Jealousy
XVIII – Assassin
XIX - Home
About The Author
I – Routine
Lenora tugged the red silk sheets up to her chin and stared at the flickering gas lamp beside the bed. The flames danced, pushing the shadows to the darkest corners of the room, and tall marks from the four bedposts stretched up the walls. She shifted, rolling onto her back, head propped up on the pillow. Her eyes scaled down the wall, following the hand-painted mural of a nude woman bathing in a waterfall. A majestic and equally nude male leered at the woman from the side. Lenora glinted past his impressively large appendage, then locked eyes with herself in the mirror opposite. Her pale face, partially obscured by shining brown locks, looked every bit as tired as she felt.
A flushing noise sounded from the room behind, and she closed her eyes. He would be back any minute, and she knew what would follow. Just as expected, Emperor Averys returned from the washroom and strode across the room. In one swift move, he pulled his beige nightshirt over his head and draped it over the dresser, revealing his olive-skinned, muscular back and hairy buttocks. He turned, stretching his arms above his head, his potbelly sticking out at an odd angle. Lenora watched with soft eyes. Taking it all in, she tried to maintain the impression that she was interested, that she still desired her husband, though he was far older and not quite as attractive as he imagined himself to be.
He was the Emperor of Kienia. Most women across the nation, if not the world, would throw themselves at his feet for the chance to share his bed. Lenora would have counted herself among them, of course, twelve months ago, and had been overwhelmed with joy when he’d chosen her as his new wife. Things were a little different now. The shine and glamour had worn off and the grim reality of the marriage grew clearer every day. His nightly routine was now so ingrained in her mind that it threw her when he didn’t bend down to touch his toes—not that he could quite reach them—before getting into bed.
“Not touching your toes today, love?” she asked.
He paused, one knee perched on the end of the bed, hands splayed out at her feet. He grunted through his nose and stood up again to finish his stretches, giving her a not-so-pleasant display of his hairy rear-end in the mirror as he bent over. She snapped her eyes shut and bit her tongue to suppress a laugh. Laughing at a man—Emperor or not—prior to engaging in amorous activities was a sure-fire way to put him in a bad mood.
He lurched onto the bed, dragging the silk bedsheet away from her fingers, and crawled closer. His thick arms and legs held his looming body above. As he reached her face, his nose to hers, a hand snaked down the side of her chest and across her hip bone. He’d declared admiration for her “child-bearing hips” more than once. His hand trailed her inner thigh and then pulled her knee up, draping her leg across his shoulder. His other hand gave her breast a firm squeeze, eliciting a grunt of approval from deep within his chest. Such was the extent of his foreplay; he didn’t bother with a kiss these days. As she felt him bearing down to join with her, his eyes narrowed.
“Give me a son,” he said.
She’d barely registered his voice as it was immediately followed by harsh and determined thrusts, the quiet of the bedroom disturbed by his relentless grunting and barking noises. She felt her head sinking into the soft pillow—perhaps not sinking, more like being hammered. Either way, she closed her eyes and bit her tongue again as she tried to ignore the pillow folding up around her ears, threatening to swallow her whole the further he pushed her into it. If laughing at the start of sex was a bad idea, laughing in the middle of it might prove fatal. As fond as she was of riding horses, being ridden as though she were a horse traversing rocky terrain in a hurry was not a pleasant experience.
One final and particularly painful thrust and he was done, his hairy bulk collapsing down, squashing her left breast and restricting the blood flow to her shoulder. His head of rough and rapidly greying hair tickled her nose. A moment passed where his heavy breathing slowed, and then he rolled off to the other side of the bed.
She smiled at him. He did not reciprocate. He merely turned onto his side, putting his back to her, and reached out to shutter the lamp.
Give me a son. His words echoed in her head, and a shiver worked its way down her spine. It sounded like an order, something Chief Commander Barentyn might bark at one of his subordinates. As if she could simply obey, as if somehow she’d spent the last year preventing her body from doing just that. She wanted to give him a son, more than anything, because it was her duty to do so—duty to him, duty to the Empire—and because he would probably break the nightly hammer-you-into-the-pillow routine during pregnancy, at least. She could use a break from that.
She clutched at the silk bedsheet again, bringing it up to her chin. Though she’d felt tired before, she was wide awake now. His words played on her mind, grating like fingernails down a chalkboard. Give me a son. Less an order, more a demand. A threat? Her thoughts turned to his first wife, Emi. They’d been married how long? She couldn’t remember but was damn sure it was long enough for her to have produced an heir for him if she’d been able.
Another shiver snaked down her spine as she considered his words. It might have been the first time he’d said them to her, but perhaps he’d said them before—perhaps to Emi. Maybe his first wife had been unwilling, or unable, to obey his command. Maybe she hadn’t died of natural causes…
A knock at the door made her jump. Averys grunted and reached out to the lamp, bringing light back into the room.
“Who’s there at this hour?” he called, his voice gruff.
The door opened inwards and Lenora sat bolt upright in the bed, clutching the sheet to her chest to cover herself. Chief Commander Montague Barentyn appeared in the doorway, wearing his best-pressed uniform, a line of shining badges on display. In the shadow behind Barentyn’s shoulder, she could see Paxton Lusk, Averys’ assassin, his gaunt, pale face shining through the dim shadows. Panic caught in her throat at the sight of them. Averys sa
t up to face the men in the doorway, his broad back blocking her view.
“What is it?” he barked.
“My apologies, Sire. It is an urgent matter,” Barentyn said.
“It’d better be.”
He stood up, apparently not concerned about giving the men a full-frontal show, and walked to the dresser to pull on his nightshirt.
“Apologies, Ma’am,” Barentyn muttered, and Lenora found herself nodding as if this were a perfectly acceptable situation—as if she didn’t mind men invading their bedroom in the middle of the night.
If they’d have arrived just a few moments sooner, they’d have had quite the show. Her stomach roiled at the notion that perhaps they actually had arrived sooner and had stood in the corridor, listening to Averys’ barking noises and politely waiting for him to finish his business before interrupting. How noble of them.
Averys strode through the doorway and into the corridor, followed by Barentyn. Lusk gave Lenora a sideways glance, his eyes—sunken into their sockets—taking only a second to peruse her lest he get caught doing so. It was a full perusal nonetheless, one which elicited a crooked upturn in the corner of his lip.
As Lusk turned and headed down the hallway, a third figure appeared behind him in the shadows. She’d not noticed anyone else out there until now, yet as soon as she spotted him she knew who it was. The light caught the edges of his unusual light-red hair, his blue eyes locking onto her for such a short moment. Nathanial. Averys’ trainee assassin. There was no hint of expression on the young man’s face, but there was something in the intensity of his look that sent a streak both hot and cold straight down her spine to settle in the tips of her toes. Lenora watched as he turned and headed down the corridor with the other men.
The door swung shut. The clicking of the latch made her jump, and she sucked in a deep breath, not realising she’d stopped breathing at some point. Her mind raced. What terrible thing must have happened to cause them to dare intrude in such a manner? It wasn’t unknown for him to disappear through the night to tend to…whatever it was he went to do, but usually he just slipped away silently and returned before morning. He never left at someone else’s behest.
Averys rarely informed her of matters of state; she was nothing more than a pretty trophy to sit at his side and pop out children, but that didn’t abate her interest in affairs. More than once during daylight hours, she’d concealed herself in the rooms beside Averys’ drawing room and climbed on the furniture to listen in through the gaps in the cornicing. She didn’t much fancy her chances of sneaking around the palace late at night, though, and if Averys came back to find her out of the room, there would be hell to pay.
As she tried to relax back into the headboard, her gaze tracked across at the mirror again, her face contorted in an expression of horror. The corner of the bedsheet had slipped free from her grip, exposing her pale breast, nipple as hard as rock in the cool air.
Had they all seen?
If Barentyn had seen, he’d showed no sign of reaction, though he was as much of a crabby curmudgeon as Averys, and she doubted a room full of nude women would do much to arouse him. Her thoughts then turned to Lusk, and immediately she pushed him aside. If she could block out the picture of Averys’ hairy-ass-crack from her thoughts, she would push any thoughts of Lusk and what he did or did not see to the same spot at the back of her mind. Lusk and hairy-ass-crack seemed like good company for one another.
That left only one person. Nathanial. Had the bedsheet slipped before or after the door swung shut? Had he seen?
She slid down under the sheets and stared up at the ceiling. Dark blue eyes flashed across her vision, staring, piercing into her soul. She’d seen Nathanial around the palace before, always silent, popping up in dark corners out of nowhere. At seventeen, he was two years younger than her, though he seemed far older and more experienced than most young men his age. He’d been selected at birth and trained every day of his life to obey and defend the Emperor, and if his deadly reputation was anything to go by, he was unbeatable in combat. His face would not leave her mind. An uncomfortable, hot flush settled between her legs. She reached down, hand slipping beneath the sheets and between her legs; she was wet. That shouldn’t have surprised her after the pillow-hammering session with Averys, but the wetness was hot and slick—her own. She was…aroused?
She felt her face flushing at the notion, and her fingers traced across her own sensitive flesh, sending tingling ribbons through her core. Dark eyes staring. She pushed the silk sheets aside and felt goose bumps rising across her body. Hiding in the hallway. Her fingers began to move, her back arching at the sensation. She reached up to squeeze at her nipple with her free hand and needles tingled across her chest. He was watching. Her eyes squeezed shut and she rubbed herself, harder and faster, a slight moan escaping into the quiet room as she felt herself tumbling over the edge. He had seen. A gasp escaped her lips. And he was watching.
Silent minutes passed by. The pounding of her heart in her ears slowed. A smile crept across her face. How odd—that a single look from Nathanial had been the catalyst for her arousal. She’d not felt such excitement since her wedding night, and even then the anticipation had been more of a thrill than the actual act. After a while, her smile faded when she realised Averys had not returned and was not likely to do so for the rest of the night. Not that she wanted his company, but if he were lying in bed next to her, she could be sure he wasn’t conspiring with his minions to do anything nefarious.
“Give me a son.” The words lingered as she felt herself slipping off to sleep.
II – A Plot
Two days had passed slowly. Lenora sat alone in the vast and opulent dining hall, drumming her fingernails on the crystal glassware. She’d not seen Averys since he left two nights before, and the fact that the staff had only set out cutlery on her place at the table for the second time told her she was unlikely to see him this evening, either. Though one part of her felt glad at the prospect of escaping his affections this evening, she couldn’t help noticing the niggling twinge of unease at the situation. He usually told her if he wasn’t going to be around for any amount of time, even if he never gave her a reason. The fact that he’d gone off under such odd circumstances had prevented her from simply asking the staff or the guards if they knew where he was, as she suspected they either didn’t know or wouldn’t tell her if they did. It was all very suspicious. She picked up her glass of water and took a thoughtful sip.
“The Emperor asked me to bring you a message.”
She jumped in her seat, a blob of water sloshing down the front of her chest. She turned to see Barentyn striding along the length of the dining table toward her, and worse, Lusk followed in his wake.
“I’m sorry if I startled you, Ma’am. The Emperor has been called away to deal with an urgent matter. He will be gone for a few more days.”
“And you didn’t go with him?”
“He has a sufficient number of soldiers with him, I assure you.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you for letting me know.”
“Are you well? You seem pale?”
“Quite well, thank you, though I am a little tired.”
Barentyn stared at her for a moment, a questioning look in his eye. “Should I send for the doctor?”
“Oh, no, thank you. I’ll be fine.”
“Very well. If you’re sure. You should get some rest.”
“Thank you, Commander.”
He nodded and headed out. Lusk stayed for a moment, once again perusing her with pale grey eyes sunken into their sockets. His gaze settled on the trail of water snaking down the front of her chest and disappearing down her top. Again, his thin mouth curled up a little before he turned to follow Barentyn. Why he’d felt the need to accompany the Commander to deliver such a simple message she didn’t know, and why he had stayed behind rather than going with Averys seemed even more worrying. Now, more than ever, she wondered what was going on.
Lenora sighed as the two men left
the room and rested her elbows on the table, dropping her head into her hands. A slight sensation tickled the hairs on the back of her neck, and she turned to face the doorway again, catching a brief glimpse of a figure dressed in black gliding through the door where Barentyn and Lusk had exited. Dark clothes and red hair. Her legs involuntarily squeezed together beneath the table. He was watching.
A maid emerged from the direction of the kitchen, balancing a dinner plate on her arm. “Baked fish this evening, Ma’am.”
“Thank you. I’m not hungry anymore. I think I’ll just head to bed.”
“Very well, Ma’am.”
The maid scurried off and Lenora stood up, determined to get some answers. She was the Consort, after all. That stood for something, right?
In spite of her newfound determination, she slipped her shoes off, settling them on the tips of her fingers, and followed after the men, tiptoeing barefoot across the polished floor. Their voices trailed off down the corridor, and she tracked them as they turned into the large entrance hall. A guard raised his eyebrows at her as she passed him, and she feigned a yawn, trying to make it look like she was heading to bed. The men moved down a set of stairs which curled around as they descended, and she followed, catching up enough to hear the tail end of their muted conversation.
“…should make her see the doctor.” She heard Lusk’s voice, and her heart thumped against her chest as her feet slid silently down the steps.
“If there is a chance, we should delay the plan.”
“The Emperor grows impatient with her.”
“Yes, he’s already picked out the next. He’s gone to visit with Lord Longhill. He has a daughter of age, the youngest of nine children, and the only girl. Good brood stock.”
“As long as he doesn’t snap too soon with this one like he did the last. If there’s a chance she may be pregnant, it would be a waste.”
Desire and Duty (The Consort's Chronicles Book 1) Page 1