by Aldrea Alien
She swung her attention to Lucias, who waited with his head tilted to one side and that dark gaze questing across her for any hint of needed violence. It didn’t show on his face, but the quiet fury seethed in his gaze. Whatever the man had said to bring Lucias here, it was plain that he knew she’d been insulted, manhandled and had suspicion thrown upon her.
I could have this entire troop executed. The thought floated queasily alongside her indignation. He wouldn’t question her ruling. “That man,” she pointed at the guard in question, still being held by a pair of soulless men. “He—”
“Dean?” The name flew sharply from Lucias’ lips. His brows rose, familiarity gleamed in his eyes as his gaze swung towards the man. Just how many of the castle guards could he know? Dozens, surely. “What error in judgement did he make?” He frowned at the garden that still mostly stood in darkness. “Why were you even down here?”
“Because of him.” She jabbed a finger at Dean, snarling as the man merely smirked and shook his head. “He lured me down here with some story about you asking for me and then he attempted to kill me.”
Shock parted Lucias’ lips. He tipped forward, cocking one ear to her. “I beg your pardon? He did what?”
Dean laughed, the sound little more than a nervous burble. Did he only now realise his predicament? “It’s such a ludicrous accusation, I know. The truth of it is far more embarrassing, my lord, I assure you. You see, she attempted to seduce me. I dare say, she must’ve been in the wine this morning. I assure you, I made no such attempt on her life.”
The dark shimmer in the back of Lucias’ eyes darted across them like an enraged wasp as the man continued to dig his grave with each word. Inhumane rage warped Lucias’ features, stealing any semblance of the man she’d fallen for. Specks of silvery-blue light swelled as they came to life in his eyes. He turned to face the guard. “Say that again,” he growled.
All around them, men reared back as if faced with a viper. Only the Great Lord’s men remained unfazed. They closed around Dean as if heeding an unspoken order. For all Clara knew, that was true. Lucias spoke very little about his control over the soulless people his heritage let him command.
Dean sank to his knees, slipping free of the men holding him. He made no attempt to escape. In the lantern light, his olive-toned face had grown ashen and drawn. “I-I—”
“The truth, you said?” Lucias whispered, the words little more than a hiss. “How about a few more? Who is your master? Which land do you hold allegiance to?”
“M-my lord,” Dean stammered. “I am forever your humble servant.”
Poor choice of words. Clara didn’t need to see Lucias’ eyes to know he’d sensed the lie.
“Yes,” Lucias hissed. “You will be.”
Something dark shifted across the guard’s face. His brows lowered. “You’ll not take me.” In one smooth movement, he pulled a dagger from his boot.
The Great Lord’s men surged forward to protect their master. Shocked cries and orders to restrain the man muddied the air.
The men who’d been holding him lunged for the dagger.
Dean’s blade slid effortlessly into his own neck. Blood oozed from the wound, soaking his clothes and the ground as he collapsed onto the path. He convulsed, throwing up more blood as he fought to breathe.
The sight had Clara rooted to the spot. Her stomach bubbled and her throat constricted. Swallowing fast became difficult. Nevertheless, she held her head high and waited for the moment in which her attacker would grow still.
She hadn’t ever witnessed a man die before. Aftermaths of death, yes. There’d been the mutilated remains the barbarian had left of the guards when Lady Lenora stormed the Citadel with her one-man siege machine. Lucias had been close to death by the time she’d dragged him into the training grounds to heal, but that had been nothing like this. Before now, she’d thought any major injury to the neck—that wasn’t an outright beheadal—meant instant death.
Finally, all hint of life left the man.
A hand clasped her shoulder. It took a moment for her to realise Lucias stood at her side. The silvery-blue light had vanished from his eyes. “Have him put in the cellar,” he ordered Henry. “And fetch our newest recruit, I want him to have a good look, see if he recognises him. Be sure to go through his belongings whilst you’re at it.”
The man saluted and snapped a hearty, “Yes, master.” A few swift gestures had the dead lieutenant hoisted by his arms and legs to be carted off into the shadows whilst one of the men ran off to, presumably, find Clara’s previous would-be assassin.
“I also want all the gates, every single entrance, closed and your men posted before them. No one goes in or out until I say so.”
“Is that measure necessary?” Farris enquired, his head turning back from watching the soulless guard rush off into the castle. “My men—”
“—were compromised. Twice my betrothed has been targeted. She’s only been here five days and the fifth has barely begun. We are to be married tomorrow and I’d prefer not spending the ceremony looking over my shoulder for an attack.” He swung on his heel to face the old man. “Line up your men, every single one who is stationed at the castle. It’s past time I tested their loyalty.”
“All of them? But there are hundreds.”
Lucias’ eyes narrowed. “One of our own almost managed to slaughter your future Great Lady.”
Farris opened his mouth, shutting it again as his son clasped his shoulders.
“I’ll give the order,” Thad said. “But Dad’s right, it could take hours and you’ve a rehearsal to attend.”
Grunting, Lucias flapped his hand between them. “Forget the rehearsal. Ensuring my future wife shall be safe for the duration of her stay here is paramount.”
“Of course,” Farris babbled. “It was not my intention to—” He fell quiet as Lucias raised a silencing hand. Instead, he nodded to his son.
Giving the much older man a pat on the shoulder, Thad directed his father over to the group of Endlight guards still milling near where Dean had fallen. Thad spoke at great lengths to the men, his voice too quiet for Clara to make out.
“One through the servants, one through the guard…” Lucias muttered, catching her attention. He eyed where Dean’s body had lain, gnawing on his bottom lip. “How many more could she have sent?”
“You seem particularly troubled by this one.” The whole reason the castle guards travelled in groups was to deter the threat of an assassin being disguised as one of their own, but what better way to blend in?
“The servant, your would-be assassin, he was here for only a few days. His execution was sloppy and the castle guards had latched onto his trail the morning of his attack. But Dean…” Lucias shook his head. “I thought I knew that man. He lived alongside us, fought at our side, drank with us and the other guards. I shared sleeping quarters with him and several others in the barracks. We went on regular patrols. There was never any hint of a lie when he spoke and it was always with respect.”
She frowned in thought. The man had seemed agitated. She’d dismissed it as being solely anxious about being caught before fulfilling his task, but maybe there’d been another reason. “Did he have any family? Children? A spouse?” She didn’t doubt Lady Lenora would stoop to kidnapping and threats in her pursuit of killing her own son.
“Just an older sister, as far as I know. She used to visit him every seventh day. Although…” He fell silent as he tapped his lips with a forefinger. “Now I think about it, her visits stopped a few weeks back. I’ll be sure to have a few of the men check on her. She at least deserves to be told her brother’s dead.”
Clara nodded in silent agreement, her gaze idly traversing the wall top where guards continued their duties. What would they do if the woman was found to be missing? A path to choose when we reach that fork. Knowing Lucias, he would insist on tracking her down. Even if only to ensure her safety.
“What I don’t understand is, if he was working for the Raven Household,
why would he attack you?”
“The baby,” she blurted. “He…” Clara cast a glance at the surrounding guards. There were less now, with most sent away at Thad’s command. But who amongst them could they trust? Probably for the best to assume no one. “He must’ve thought it would be easier to kill me first.” The logic seemed sound to her. Why persist with killing the current Great Lord when his power would only be transferred to his unborn child? Far better to ensure any chance of the magic skipping to that child was dead before striking at their sire.
The lines between Lucias’ eyebrows deepened. His lips pursed as if he’d eaten nothing but limes. Had the thought of her becoming a target never crossed his mind? Not even after her status as his mistress was made public?
Bending to scoop her dagger from the ground, Lucias handed over the short blade. “Allow me to escort you back to your chambers to dress.”
Clara nodded as she sheathed her dagger and wrapped her dressing gown tighter around her. It took little to remind her she stood in the middle of the gardens garbed in very little. Even a pair of slippers would’ve been welcomed to her poor freezing toes.
They strode through the corridors in relative peace, taking what had to be the same path Lieutenant Dean had led her down. A few servants scuttled on by every now and then, barely pausing to bow or curtsy. She eyed each one. Could they be the next threat to her life and the kingdom?
No. Lucias had already led her first would-be assassin through the servants. He hadn’t identified any as dangerous. But did that truly rule them out? If the man didn’t know another had been sent… He didn’t know about Lieutenant Dean. Alone, the first man had said. That clearly hadn’t made him the only.
But what solution could possibly be viable there? Lucias planned to speak with every guard in the castle as it was. That would take up a good chunk of the day, if not all of it. To add servants on top of them… We’d have to push back the wedding. Which ran the risk of giving whoever meant ill more time to act.
“Are you well?”
She jerked her head to stare at Lucias. He’d said little for much of their journey, but even in the sooty lantern light, the concern lining his face was palpable. “I’m fine.”
“He didn’t harm you?”
Clara shook her head. Had the man truly been trying, though? She’d never know the answer there.
“I can’t believe you held him at bay with a pair of daggers.” The pride in his voice was palpable and swelled her chest.
“I did.”
Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, Lucias pulled her close enough to plant a kiss on her cheek. They remained no further apart as they strode down more familiar corridors. Her chambers weren’t far. “I was going to suggest we stay for a while after the wedding, but I think we should instead return to the Citadel.”
She nodded. “Probably for the best.” And if they journeyed elsewhere afterwards, she would’ve had time to settle the children into their new home.
They halted before the closed door to the bedchamber. She didn’t recall shutting it. Did it mean a well-intentioned servant had passed this way, or something far more sinister?
The handle gave a squeak as she opened the door. Unlocked? A peek inside revealed nothing out of place or missing. Nevertheless, she offered no objections as Lucias checked over this room whilst she waited in the doorway.
It was only once he had casually emerged from the bathing chamber that Clara dared to enter. She padded to her bedside table, setting the dagger down.
Yawning, she sat on the bed. How long had it been since the lieutenant woke her? Hours? Dawn was certainly happening on the horizon. “I guess sleeping a little longer is out of the question.” She wasn’t sure just how well sleep would come, but resting would likely see her far more alert for anything tomorrow.
“You are welcome to try. Although, I doubt your ability to do so.” He bowed, stepping out of the doorway and into the hall. “Be well, my dear. I shall see you in the evening.”
Her stomach fluttered at the reminder that he would indeed be sharing this room, if not her bed, tonight. Is that wise? So far, the assassins had concentrated on her. At least, Lucias had made no mention of an attempt on his life beyond the ambush outside the city walls. But to have what Lady Lenora would’ve certainly described as both targets in the same room…
Before she could voice such concerns, Lucias had closed the door.
“Wait. I—” Clara leapt off the bed as the latch finished clicking shut. Tugging her dressing gown tightly around her, she rushed out into the corridor. The cold air slapped her skin. Shivering, she searched up and down.
No sign of her betrothed.
She cocked her head, listening for the telltale hint of someone on the move. Noises reached her over the hushed rasp of her own breathing. Snoring mostly, interspersed with the muffled bumps and murmurs of others in the rooms above and below stirring at this early hour. No footsteps.
How did he manage to disappear so quickly? Was that yet another facet of his magic?
Clara glared at the empty corridor, fervently wishing Lucias would suddenly appear. They were going to have a serious talk about his magical abilities after the wedding. He may not wish to brag about what he could do, but it just wasn’t right for a wife not to know the full extent of her husband’s power.
For now, there was little she could do except return to her chambers and dress.
She set to work with cannibalising her attire to form one wholly unrestricting outfit. Fortunately, the overall black and red motifs matched with little effort on her part, leaving her with a loose-fitting shirt and overcoat sitting primly over a much wider skirt than they were designed for.
A timid knock on her door reached her ears.
Clara finished tying the last of the laces securing her boots and scuttled across the floor for her sword. Quietly drawing the blade, she softly trotted to the door. If whoever wanted her presence also sought to do harm, they weren’t about to find her an easy target.
She flung open the door, her sword levelled.
The children milled around the doorway, wide-eyed and confused.
Clara hastened to lower the weapon. She fell to her knees and embraced the smaller ones. A few quick questions, and further hugging, confirmed that everyone was unharmed. The guard had come only for Clara. Just like the first one. Had Dean also worked without the knowledge of others making the same attempt? How many assassins would Lucias’ mother send before she gave up?
“Can we stay with you today?” Poppet asked.
“Well…” Like Lucias, her only expectation had been to attend the rehearsal at midday, to ensure they both remembered their vows and whatnot. She hadn’t given much thought to the rest of her day. “I don’t see why not. But not here.” She waved her hand to indicate the room with its black and red decor. “How about we all trot downstairs for some breakfast, then retire to the library and see if there’s any suitable reading material for you to study?” She laid a hand on Ruby’s shoulder. “Except for you. We might start you off on a little writing. Have you attempted it before?”
Ruby nodded, her eyes uncertainly rolling from one side to the other. But there was a sudden determined edge to her walk.
Beyond the girl’s eagerness, the latter half of her suggestion was met with a few groans, but Clara merely hitched up her skirts and strode into the corridor. Studying would be an excellent distraction from the morning’s upheaval, not only for the children. She could do with forgetting about the lieutenant’s corpse, the thought of possible attacks on her person, and the very real prospect of spending tonight with her betrothed.
Chapter Eighteen
The new lock resisted her efforts to turn the key. As stiff as the mechanism was, the faint clunk it gave still seemed too loud.
Clara laid her forehead on the door and sighed. One more day. The better part of five days had passed since her arrival and she’d only begun to appreciate sealing herself away from others just to sleep.
&
nbsp; The day was done. The morning had been bliss, filled with children listening as she read aloud the various stories in the castle library, then listening to them in turn whilst they showed her what they understood.
Now here she stood, locked within the supposed safety of her bedchamber for another night. A part of her longed to return to those carefree months of being sheltered behind the Citadel’s thick walls. Would she ever feel so secure again?
Odd, too, for Lucias to expressly demand she made it difficult for anyone to enter. Surely he would prefer to be unhindered. He may not be adhering to the local custom and taking his bride on the night before the wedding, but he had firmly stated they were to share the room.
Together. Why did her stomach flutter at that thought?
He’d been strange for most of the afternoon, overly formal and polite as he guided her through the hours before the evening meal. Much of the time was a blur, stuffed with the mindless chatter of people she knew little about but was forced into small talk with.
They’d gone on to feast in a similar manner to the previous nights, although thankfully without a reoccurrence of Farris’ embarrassing drunken declaration. Then, with a large portion of the hall cheering them on—and a few bouts of lewd advice for Lucias which set her face aflame—they exited the great hall together only to have him leave her here.
Clara pressed her ear against the door. The only sounds to reach her were the steady trump of her heart and the rasp of her breath. Had he changed his mind about tonight?
She pushed away from the door, her stomach churning with equal relief and disappointment. Obviously, he would much prefer their wedding night to this, but was he really going to just leave her here because tonight wouldn’t be in his favour?
“Fine,” she mumbled as she marched across the room, stripping off the outer layers of her gown. “If he thinks I’m spending the night waiting for him to show up, then he is sadly mistaken.” She discarded the last of her petticoats, viciously kicking it aside, and attacked the laces of her corset.