Dark One's Bride

by Aldrea Alien

  Clara dipped one foot into the bath, then the other. Warm water lapped at her legs. She sank to her knees, then with a sigh, swivelled around to stretch out along the length of the tub. She slipped further beneath the surface, almost floating. Even then, her feet failed to reach the far end.

  Movement from where Lucias stood caught her attention. Just what was he planning and just why was he bent over so ridiculously? She lifted her head out of the water enough to peek over the bath’s rim.

  Lucias popped back up, one of his boots in his hand. Already, the belt helping secure his trousers was undone.

  Heat flooded her face. Clara turned away and closed her eyes as he further undid his trousers. She listened to the soft grunt of him pulling off his other boot, the rustle of fabric and the clank of metal as the clothing hit the floor.

  Then there was silence, broken by her harsh breathing.

  Lucias’ fingers curled around her hair, drawing it back from her ear. “Still so shy, Miss Weaver?” His lips fell upon her shoulder, his breath further heating her already warm skin through the fine linen. “You’ve seen me less dressed than this.”

  He was right there. The first time they’d met, he wore naught but a towel. “That was different.” She’d been trying to escape and he…

  Well, he had levelled a sword at what he had seen as an intruder skulking about his fortress. At least if he remained in his undergarments, he wouldn’t run the risk of them slipping off.

  The splash and rock of the bathwater had her opening her eyes. He hasn’t… Clara peeked through her fingers to the image of Lucias standing in the tub. At the opposite end, granted, but still in the tub with her. Even a few hard blinks didn’t change what she saw. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting in. I’m cold, so scrunch up.” He settled into the tub, stretching his legs out until his rather chilly feet lay on either side of her buttocks. Groaning, he leant back with his eyes closed. “I’ve missed this.”

  “Bathing?” She was pretty certain he’d scrubbed himself down at least twice since her arrival.

  His shoulders shook with silent mirth, disturbing the water’s surface. “Relaxing. There aren’t many baths this big outside of the family suites, so I’ve not been able to indulge since your arrival.”

  “This was where you slept, then? Before I got here?” Had she inadvertently kicked him out?

  One corner of his mouth tweaked upwards. “Did the symbol on the old door not give it away?”

  Not really. The castle was huge, definitely far wider than the Citadel, if not as tall, and more like a rabbit warren than the backstreets of Everdark. For all she knew, there could’ve been dozens of rooms bearing the Great Lord’s emblem. “If this is where the Great Lord is supposed to be, then where have you been sleeping?”

  “Never in the same bed, that’s for sure. Yesterday was in the barracks. Tonight? Well, I’m looking forward to bunking somewhere soft and warm. The beds in the western wing are not the best the castle has to offer.”

  “You don’t deem it safe for you to spend more than a night in the same bed, yet you have me sleep in one place for almost a week?”

  “I spent every night here before you arrived. It’s supposed to be the safest part of the castle. I guess that’s no longer true.”

  She laid a hand on his forearm, sliding down the underside to companionably link fingers. “Maybe it’s only safe when you’re here.”

  Lucias hummed noncommittally, his free hand idly rubbing the top of her foot. “This room is warded against those who seek to do you harm. At least, it’s meant to be. Clearly, I need to tighten the parameters on just what that means.” His fingers slowly circled her ankle as he talked, gently lifting her leg onto his lap.

  Before she could ask just what he had in mind, he slowly began massaging her calf. Never had she thought a touch so simple could be so soothing. It had to be some work of his magic.

  She closed her eyes, trusting he would go no further up her leg. In any case, there were her rather sodden breeches to contend with should he dare sneak past the knee.

  They remained in silence for quite some time. Just when Clara was convinced her muscles had been massaged into jelly, he swapped to her other leg. His hand slipped further up as he did so, tickling the back of her knee. Her leg jerked, splashing water.

  After a muffled curse and a swift apology, Lucias went back to his previous actions. He hummed a soft tune every so often as his fingers kneaded their way along her skin.

  Clara tipped her head back, sliding down until her shoulders were just below the water’s surface and her head rested on the bath rim. Her mind wandered as she lay half suspended in the water. They were to be married in the morning. He would speak his vows and she would say hers, everyone would rejoice.

  And then?

  “Lucias?”

  His fingers paused briefly. Silence reigned in the room once again.

  Once they were married, she became his wife. That was the only outcome, but he was the Great Lord. So she would be… “What will I be called?” She couldn’t wait until they were standing before the altar to find out what new title she would wind up with. Not mistress, that’s for sure. When Brenna had faced down that nasty woman, she had declared Clara would become the next Great Lady, but that title had been forsaken for several successions.

  “You already know my family’s name. You’ll be Clarabelle Dark.”

  “I meant my title.” She cracked open an eye and peered at him from beneath her lashes. Surely, he couldn’t be that dense. “I’ll no longer be your mistress so—what?—my title changes to the Great Lord’s wife?”

  He shook his head, repressed laughter shivering across his shoulders. “You’ll be known as the Great Lady, of course. Although, since the kingdom has been so long without one, I could, if you like, change your title. How would you feel about the people calling you their queen?”

  Queen? There were times, especially when they were alone in the Citadel, when she forgot the title of Great Lord meant Lucias ruled this land. But being here, spending time with the court, had pushed that to the forefront of her mind. “You won’t change your family’s name but you’d have me referred to as a queen?”

  Shrugging, he resumed massaging more vigorously. “There’s hardly any difference in calling you Great Lady or Queen. After all, I’d merely be gifting you with the title you would have had this been any other kingdom.”

  Not all. The Ebony Court that ruled the neighbouring kingdom certainly didn’t have a queen. If her studies were correct, then the Raven Household was the closest anyone there got to being royalty and they were only in power because of the same lie-detecting abilities Lady Lenora had inadvertently bestowed upon her son. “If I am to become queen, does that mean you’d be willing to name yourself king?”

  He chuckled. “No thank you. If you’ve read any tale involving kings, you’d know they’re far too stuffy for my tastes.”

  Grinning, she withdrew her leg from his grasp and sat up to rest her elbows on her knees. “I think it would suit you, your majesty.”

  Lucias gave a disgusted snort. “No, no.” He waved a hand in the air, clearly batting away the horrid little thought. The act sloshed water violently up and down the bath and flung droplets from his fingertips. “None of that. There is nothing majestic about me.”

  Clara laughed. “I couldn’t have said it better.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “So,” she murmured. “I become the Great Lady, Clarabelle Dark. Correct? No queen without her king.” Even so… What a mouthful that’s going to be.

  He reached across the gap between them to brush her cheek. A trickle of water wove a path down her skin. “As you wish, Miss Weaver. By tomorrow evening, you will be my Great Lady Dark.” Somehow, the address seemed even more intimate coming from his lips than when he addressed her by her old family name. The way he purred the words, drawing each one out as if his lips were hesitant to let them go, prickled her
skin.

  She slipped deeper into the water, letting the wavelets lap at her chin. It was the cold air that was affecting her, not his voice.

  “It’s late.” Lucias stood and clambered out of the bath. He grabbed a towel from the pile folded neatly on the nearby stool and wrapped it around his waist. “We should go to bed. Tomorrow will be exhausting enough without adding a lack of sleep to it.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The muffled clang of temple bells intruded upon Clara’s dreams. She stirred, reluctant to heed the call of morning. It was warm in her bed, snuggled securely beneath her sheets and with the flickering light of fire dancing across her closed lids.

  Clara rolled over to find herself staring into Lucias’ dark eyes.

  He lay atop the blankets, smiling at her. Stubble adorned his face. Mercifully, the silvery-blue light that had become a common occurrence these last few days did not flicker to life in his eyes. “Good morning, beautiful.”

  She answered with a grin. A spark of memory fluttered awake in the depths of her thoughts. They’d snuggled into bed whilst he told her tales of the kingdom’s history—quite often, that meant tales of his ancestors’ misdeeds, but he’d refrained from such talk for neutral ground. Wrapped in his embrace, she had dozed off listening to his voice.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  Clara nodded. Last night had indeed been the first she’d slept soundly. “And you?” Judging from the ruffled state of his hair and the distinct lack of clothing beyond his drawers, she gathered he’d been nowhere else.

  The suggestive twist of his lips warmed her cheeks. “Can I tell you a secret?” His gaze roamed over the walls, his expression one of mild distaste. “I’ve never liked sleeping here. It’s always felt so isolated.” The sudden grin adorning his face seemed directed entirely at the window. “But last night certainly changed that.”

  She sat up, taking in the room. Everything was just where she remembered it. The fireplace blazed merrily away, its warm light peeking through the elaborate iron screen.

  Clara dared to peek at what she wore, surprised to find herself not only firmly ensconced beneath the comfortable layers of winter bedding but also covered by her voluminous nightgown. Half of her had expected to still be clothed in the same sodden chemise and bloomers she’d been wearing yesterday.

  “What happened last night?” She could recall everything clearly enough, right up until she’d begun to drift off. And Lucias…

  He’d wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him.

  Gasping, she buried her face into the pillow and mumbled, “Please, tell me we didn’t—”

  Her plea was cut off as Lucias rolled back onto the bed and laughed. When she lifted her head to glare at him, he only laughed harder. Her chest tightened. He thought this was a joke?

  “Nothing happened,” he managed to wheeze. “I swear, you’d remember if it had.” His easy smile took on a smug, predatory edge before it vanished. “Do you not recall changing before we sought the bed?” He pointed towards the far corner of the room. “You hid yourself behind the screen, remember?”

  Now he had said it, she’d a vague recollection of darting around the screen of blackened wood and red silk. Then what? Obviously, she’d changed, but… she recalled his closeness, the warmth of him against her body and the tingling caress of his hands gliding across her bare arm as she drifted off to sleep.

  “We spent the night together,” she murmured. Perhaps not quite like what the people beyond this room would believe, but very close to it.

  He inclined his head, his smile faltering. “As I promised you.” His gaze traversed her and the dull glow of light took his pupils for but a moment. He cleared his throat, launching himself off the bed. “Since you’re awake,” he said amidst the flap and rustle of linen. “I should ready myself and leave you in the capable hands of Thalia’s ladies until the afternoon.”

  Afternoon. That was when they were to marry. When she would be required to recite her oath before a hall full of people. And if I mess it up… Her stomach twisted. She couldn’t think about it or she would make a mistake purely because she believed it would happen.

  Lucias strode towards the open entrance to the bathing chamber, halting only once he reached the doorway. “Feel free to get dressed without fear of interruption, my dear. I shall be a while.”

  Clara slithered out of the bed and, over the carefully muffled sigh of pulling on her dressing gown, listened to the peculiar sounds emanating from the open door. Water? There was a definite liquid quality to the noise. Did he bathe? Again?

  She slunk up to her clothes chest and hauled out a fresh pair of knee-length bloomers. Her chemise sat with the rest of her wedding attire, a piece that was cut wide at the neck and decked in lace even though few were likely to see it. The women in the Citadel who’d made her gown had offered to stitch together a pair of bloomers to match, but plain linen had always served her fine.

  The sound from the other room changed as she hastily donned the garment, turning into something that reminded her of patting wet cloth. She picked up her chemise to the accompaniment of furious, and soggy, scrubbing.

  Then there was a disturbing silence.

  Pausing with the chemise to her breast, she cocked her head. Nothing indicated anything serious or wrong going on in the room. So what was he doing in there? Did she dare have the courage to creep up to the half-open door and peer inside? She took a hesitant step towards the bathing room.

  A knock came from the other door.

  Clara jumped, a scream barely contained in her throat. She hastened to the exit, her fingers halting upon the key. “Who is it and what do you want?” The words came out a little harsher than she intended, but she wasn’t about to repeat yesterday’s attempt on her life.

  “Ewan, your ladyship,” a wobbly voice answered. “I-I was told to bring the Great Lord’s clothes here?”

  Clara turned the key halfway around before another thought came to mind. “Put the clothes on the floor and turn around.” Already, she could make out the hurried movements of the man’s obedience. “Knock on the door to your right and ask for Tommy, he’ll take it from there.”

  There was the hollow knock on another door, then silence reigned from the other side.

  Clara turned from the door. It would take a moment for Tommy to wake, if he wasn’t already up, and a little while longer for her page to see to it that the corridor was absent of servants. She could at least get her chemise on. Dressing in instalments. If people kept interrupting her, she’d be fastening her last button at the altar.

  Three knocks, all brisk and no-nonsense, rattled the door.

  Slipping her dressing gown over the clean lines of her chemise, she strode back to the door. The silken fabric whispered against her skin with every movement. “Tommy?”

  “A boy left clothes here,” her page replied. “Said they were for Lucias? I waited until he’d left like you asked.”

  Excellent. There were times when she wasn’t sure if he’d heard her specific requests and she was certain he’d blatantly refused a few from others. She unlocked the door and opened it to find Tommy already clutching the bundle of clothes. “I hope he didn’t wake you.”

  Tommy shook his head. He certainly seemed a little too well-dressed for a sudden rousing from slumber. “You look less tired.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced over her shoulder to the other door, still sitting slightly ajar. “I’d a good night’s sleep for once.” She’d lost count of the night’s Tommy had woken her from a nightmare during her journey here. Knowing people hunted her specifically certainly hadn’t helped matters.

  She never recalled what had disturbed her, but he always spoke of her yelling and crying in her sleep. Had she always slept so fitfully? She’d never know, no one at the Citadel lingered close enough to her chambers to hear and if her mother had ever noticed, then she had clearly preferred to let Clara wade through her dreams.

  Clara held out her hands for the cl
othes her page still carried. “May I?”

  With a heavy blush further darkening the olive tone of his skin, he shoved the bundles toward her. “S-sure. Sorry.”

  Waving away the apology, she tucked the clothes under an arm. “Why don’t you get a little more rest? The wedding won’t start until late afternoon and I shan’t have need of your time until then.” Even then, that would consist mostly of him aiding Derek in rounding up the children for the ceremony.

  Nodding, Tommy turned and crossed the hall to his assigned quarters as Clara shut and relocked the door.

  She examined the bundle of clothes. It seemed to hold nothing more.

  As quietly as she could manage, she peeked around the door. Hopefully, Lucias wasn’t naked.

  He sat on a stool set before a small table, hunched over a mirror. A tray sat before him. What drew her eye the most was the foam covering his face and the wicked-looking blade he had pressed to his cheek.

  She held her breath as the blade’s edge glided across his skin, taking the foam with it. He wiped the blade clean on the towel draped across his shoulder and went to scrape more off.

  He paused in lifting the sharp edge back to his face, the blade not quite touching his skin. Slowly placing the shaving instrument onto the tray, he swivelled on the stool. “Was there something you required in here? Forgive me, but I thought everything you needed would be in the other room.”

  Clara shook her head, her gaze drifting to the tray. She couldn’t make sense of the assortment of pots and brushes. One held what seemed to be a bar of soap, whilst another was clearly the same foam on his face. “When did they bring that in?”

  “It was here last night. Didn’t you notice?”

  No. He had rather ensnared her full attention then, doubly so once he turned on the taps. She held out the bundle of clothes. “A servant turned up with these.”

  “May the Goddess bless you, Farris. I thought I’d have to hunt them down.” He waved his hand towards the bench. “Leaving them there will do, if you don’t mind.”