Dark One's Bride

by Aldrea Alien

  Clara gasped. How brightly his eyes blazed. The silvery-blue light so intense, they verged on white. The very air around him shimmered. Shivering, she ran a hand up his arm. Tiny sparks of light danced between them. Was he aware of the change? “Lucias?”

  Drawing her back into his arms, his lips brushed over her cheek, slowly trailing down her neck and back up to her ear. His hands slid over her back, the gentle pressure through her corset having her straining her chest against his. Such a simple pleasure, just being in his embrace. Comforting.

  But this glowing-eyed beast wasn’t her Lucias.

  “Stop.”

  He obeyed the command, relinquishing his hold on her. The glow in his eyes was fast fading to its customary silvery-blue colour. She would’ve preferred if it vanished altogether. “I…” The passage of his fingers trailed across her bare collarbone, heating her skin.

  Then, without warning, he turned and slammed his fist against the wall at her side.

  Clara winced. Had she imagined that crack? Had he just broken his hand? He showed no sign of pain.

  One blink and the light vanished, returning his eyes to their usual dark shade. “It appears I’m having more trouble restraining my own want for you than I had factored. It would also seem that someone was not at all honest with how much tiãpe was in my drink.” He peered at her, his brows scrunching together. “Did you say you weren’t well?”

  “I wasn’t.” Clara hugged herself, silently trying to figure out just how she felt. Hot, cold, slightly giddy and more than a touch wicked. Each sensation demanded a different course of action. She wasn’t entirely sure which one to strike out for. “I feel a little better out here. Maybe I just needed some air?”

  He ran an appraising eye over her before bringing the back of his finger to her cheek. “You still seem flushed. How much wine have you drunk since the ceremony? Did you take the full vial of antidotes this morning?”

  “I’ve only had a sip of wine all night,” she replied. It was certainly less than he could say after having witnessed him down two full goblets with his meal. In truth, after hearing the Goddess’ Cup had been spiked, she’d declined everything beyond water. Could they also have put tiãpe in that? How much of this aphrodisiac could she have consumed without her knowledge? “And yes, I downed the whole vial, just as you told me.” It’d fast become an early part of her morning routine since the first suspicious instance of poisoning.

  One of his dark brows arched high, along with a corner of his mouth. He nodded, relief sagging his shoulders.

  Clara shook her head. Insane. All of them. The sooner she was out of this crazy city with their bizarre customs, the better. “I want to go to bed,” she mumbled. Whether tonight would lead them towards sex or sleep, she would decide once within the privacy of their chambers. “Take me there.”

  “As you desire.” He linked an arm with hers and resumed escorting her down the hall. “I shall take my leave and gather what little of my things are scattered about the castle once you’re within.” Lucias raked back the loose hair from his face and turned from her. “That should give me time to cool down. This way.” He guided her into the corridor leading to the grand entrance.

  “Thank you.”

  Lucias froze in the middle of the hallway.

  “What—?” Clara fell silent as he held up his hand.

  The unmistakable clash of steel upon steel reached her ears. Was the castle under attack? The bells. Perhaps the clanging hadn’t come from the temple. But no one had seemed bothered by the noise.

  She clutched at Lucias’ sleeve. He’s unarmed. Likely for the first time in years.

  Lucias scrabbled at his jacket, swearing as he, too, came to the realisation he bore no weapon. “Go!” he ordered, shoving her back the way they’d come. “Return to the lesser hall. I’ll come for you once I’ve dealt with this.”

  “Don’t be a fool.” Clara tightened her hold, refusing to be shaken off. Just like when the barbarian had stormed the Citadel, Lucias was heading straight into danger. She was even less willing to risk losing him now, certainly not with the healing properties of the Citadel’s training grounds sitting days away. “You can’t go in there without any way to defend yourself.” And I promised to protect you. She would kill to keep him safe.

  “I always have a means of defence at hand.” Lucias disentangled himself from her grip. Caressing her cheek, he stepped out of reach. “But I can’t focus if I’m consumed with whether or not you’re safe.” He turned from her. “Do as I ask and leave this area. I’ve no desire to compel you into obedience.” Without waiting for an answer, he marched around the corner.

  You’ll not sway me so easily. She refused to stand idly by whilst her husband threw himself into danger. His magic wasn’t limitless. All it would take to end his life was a single misstep coupled with a lucky strike from some man’s blade or arrow.

  Behind her came the hurried tramp of boots.

  Clara paused only to determine that the pounding footsteps were headed in her direction before fleeing via the only route she was familiar with: the one leading towards her husband and the fighting.

  How many hallways intersected this one? How many men were behind this attack? Enough to surround the castle? To block every exit and close in like a snare around a bird’s leg?

  She wished she knew.

  The clash of weapons and the hair-lifting screams of the wounded grew louder. Rounding the corner, she spied the sight of armoured men fighting other armoured men at the far end of the corridor.

  Clara raced onwards, slowing only once she’d exploded into the grand entrance. Keeping close to the walls, she relied on her dark attire to blend with the shadows whilst searching for Lucias in the chaos. However did they tell enemy from ally?

  Her fool of a husband had managed to procure a sword and now darted through the fighting, intent on the entrance where, filling much of the doorway, stood—

  It can’t be. Clara rubbed her eyes, pleading to the Goddess that someone was playing tricks with her vision. But no, the hulk of a man casually lopping off men’s heads with his great battleaxe was the same barbarian who’d all but killed Lucias three months ago.

  No. This was her worst fear come to life.

  “Dark One,” the barbarian bellowed. “I see you still live.” He swatted aside an impending attack with all the effort of batting away a fly. “You will not be so fortunate this time.”

  Snatching a sword from a fallen soldier, Clara raced towards them. Terror had the weapon dragging at her arms, but somehow, she lifted it. To do otherwise was to let her husband die.

  A shadow fell over her, she spun in time to witness the horrified contortion of a man stabbed through the chest.

  Other men, garbed in the green and gold of Endlight, surrounded her, their blades trained on keeping everyone from her. Beyond their ring of swords, the fighting continued. Lucias had reached the barbarian and, for now, appeared to be holding his own.

  “My lady.” Thad stood over her would-be attacker, his fine clothes torn and blood-splattered. With the man dispatched, the lord wrenched his sword from the crumpled armour and faced her. “This is not your fight.” His strong arms wrapped about her waist, hoisting her onto his shoulders before she could object. The sword slipped from her grasp and clanged to the floor.

  Clara bounced up and down as they left the battle behind, the motion threatening to empty her stomach. “Put me down!” she shrieked, pounding her fists upon his broad back. “That’s an order!”

  Thad did as commanded, lowering her to the ground. “You must be protected.”

  She planted her feet and glared up at him. She’d had enough of everyone seeking to maintain her safety. She could look after herself. “That’s who you must protect,” she snarled, jabbing a finger in Lucias’ direction. By the noise reaching down the corridor, the barbarian was in the room now. The brute would be hounding her husband whilst she was stuck here arguing. “Go help your lord.”

  “But he—”<
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  Unthinkingly, Clara backhanded him. This was not the time for a lengthy discussion. “Did I mishear the priest?” she screamed into his face. “Is he not my husband? Am I not your Great Lady? Go, Lord of Endlight, do your duty and help the man you claim to serve!”

  Thad paled. He drew his sword. “Men!” he roared at the guards flanking him. “To your lord!” He rushed back up the corridor, aiming for the hulk of muscles and steel battering at Lucias’ defences.

  She withdrew into the shadows even as she followed the guards, wary of being taken by surprise again.

  Now she knew what to look for in the fighting, she could make out various clusters of heraldic colours. What she couldn’t place was the dark garb that appeared to belong to the enemy.

  So many men. How was it they’d gotten into the castle? Endlight was the most fortified place she’d seen. But how many nobles attended this wedding? Dozens? Hundreds? Each one would’ve entered these walls with their own guard. How hard would it be to slip in one more group of armed men?

  A hand clapped over her mouth. She lurched forward, sudden terror blanking her mind, only to be dragged back by an arm about the waist. The unseen man tossed her over his shoulder as effortlessly as Thad had done.

  Clara struggled. She kicked out, trying to connect with more than air. When that failed, she clawed at her kidnapper’s jerkin, making her way down to his belt. Her hand fell on the hilt of a dagger. Tearing the weapon from its sheath, she slammed it into the man’s back.

  The man collapsed with a piercing scream, sending her tumbling across the floor.

  Aching, she crawled over to where her would-be kidnapper lay writhing. There appeared to be no identifying marks on his clothes, but she didn’t need them to suspect this man worked alongside the barbarian. And that meant Ne’ermore and Lucias’ mother were involved.

  She hauled the dagger from the man’s back and, as he howled, scrambled to her feet. The man could’ve killed her. Instead, he sought to carry her off. Why? What did they have to gain by taking her now?

  A hushed gasp broke through her panting and the man’s groans.

  She whirled, her pilfered weapon held at the ready.

  Sweetie stood in the hallway, her brown eyes at their widest and trained only on the blade sitting inches from her nose.

  Clara hastily lowered the dagger. “What are you doing here?” The girl should’ve been abed hours ago, along with— “Where are the others?” she demanded, frantically taking in their surroundings. No other little faces popped out from behind the decor. They were alone, except for her deathly quiet would-be kidnapper.

  “I don’t know,” Sweetie mumbled. Her gaze refused to lift from the weapon in Clara’s hand. “Maybe their bedrooms? We were all heading there when we heard—”

  A roar of anger and pain boomed from the man. “I’m going to kill you!” His hand wrapped around Clara’s leg, attempting to tug her off balance. His efforts got him little but the heel of her shoe on his hand. “And you, monster,” he snarled at Sweetie, using the train of Clara’s skirt to claw his way along the floor. “Skin you both alive like the demons you are.”

  Screaming, Sweetie raced off down the hallway.

  “Wait!” she called after the girl, the word out before she could stop to think if she would be heard by others. The direction Sweetie had fled was the same one the man had been attempting to cart Clara down.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he growled.

  Unable to turn with his weight pinning her to the spot, Clara slashed behind her with the dagger. A hissing cry, followed by the absence of his weight, told her she’d struck.

  Not waiting to see if the man was dead, she raced after the girl. Wherever her would-be abductor had planned on taking her, Clara was certain he wouldn’t be attempting the feat alone.

  Sweetie’s path took them down a dark hallway. It curved ahead. A pale glow, such as the beacon that marked the grand entrance, emanated from the corridor. A way out? Would the man really have taken her back into the thick of the fighting?

  Clara rounded the bend and slid into a small, round intersection. Moonlight illuminated the area through a pair of tall windows, throwing long shadows across the space. The room didn’t seem at all familiar. Had she taken a wrong turn? She could’ve sworn her would-be kidnapper had kept a straight path. Perhaps the man had aimed to carry her to a less guarded part of the castle and some obscure exit.

  She peered about, wary. Wherever this place stood in the castle, it was devoid of men. Not even a sign of any fighting.

  The faint snuffle of hastily-stifled tears drew her gaze to a statue set into one of the four alcoves. Sweetie huddled at its base.

  Clara skirted the edge of the intersection, checking each hallway entrance before proceeding. The clack of her heeled shoes boomed through the silence. She rocked onto the balls of her feet and continued on to kneel next to the girl. “It’s all right,” she whispered, wrapping an arm around the too-slim shoulders. “I’m here.”

  “S-sorry,” Sweetie whimpered.

  “For being afraid?” She wiped the girl’s cheek dry with a sleeve. “That’s nothing to be sorry for. But we can’t stay here.” Clara stood, gently lifting Sweetie to her feet. They couldn’t risk going back. There could be other men waiting and, whilst she would’ve considered it a calculated risk were she alone, she had no inkling of what they might do to the girl.

  That left going forward. Several corridors branched off the room, all as equally dark as the passageway at her back.

  Keeping her dagger high, she led them down the nearest hallway.

  The hushed pad of another’s feet upon the stone was all the warning she had before a sack dropped over her head, throwing the gloomy world into complete darkness.

  Then the only sound was Sweetie’s screams piercing the air.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Several men carted her through the castle with all the ease and care she would’ve afforded a bolt of cloth. Her unseen captors had worked fast to bind her hands at her back and haul her away. She wasn’t even sure how many men there were, a definite two if she was to judge by the arms hefting her about. But the footsteps suggested more people trotted alongside them.

  Clara struggled against the bonds, thrashing about like a cornered rat. The coarse rope bit into her wrists. Sweat fast soaked her back, adhering her clothes to her body just as the sack clung to her face. She tossed her head, finding it increasingly difficult to breathe in the humid air. The cord securing the sack about her neck dragged at her throat and set off a bout of coughing.

  She’d tried screaming, giving up when a particularly shrill attempt gained her only a mouthful of dusty hessian. Clearly, help wasn’t going to come at her call. If she could get just one arm loose, then perhaps she stood a chance of freeing the rest of her.

  So far, her numerous tries were proving themselves no more helpful than her shrieks.

  Would a leg be easier to free? Her foot twitched at the thought. They hadn’t bothered with tying her ankles together, but between the way one man had his arms wrapped about her knees and how her skirts tangled about her legs, they might as well have.

  The peep of a whimper reached her ears. Not hers. That could only mean…

  Sweetie.

  Fresh rage flooded her senses. They had taken the girl. Likely trussed the same and terrified out of her mind.

  Clara fought the bonds. The rope dug deeper into her skin as she strained. Still, they held fast.

  The back of her ankle smacked against what she guessed was a hip. If only she could get enough purchase to distract at least one of them. A swift kick in the side with her heels would be enough to win her freedom.

  “Wriggles something fierce, doesn’t she?” one of the men quipped to his companions. “Ye would think she’d be grateful to be free of the man.”

  Clara stilled, straining to hear over her own panting. It was the first time any of them had said a word since her capture. She had assumed these invaders cam
e from neighbouring lands but, if she wasn’t mistaken, wherever the man called home now, his accent had originated from within this very kingdom.

  Did that mean the enemy had a foothold within their realm?

  Another man sniggered. “I hear they teach their women that it’s an honour to be his mistress or some rot like that.”

  “An honour?” the first man scoffed. “To bring another soul-sucking demon into the world? Aye, if ye came from the abyssal swamps yerself.”

  “Will you two shut it?” a third man said, this one closer to her head and, if he truly was the bulk pressing against her back, with a far higher voice than she expected from someone so large. “We’re not in the clear until the lady’s got the girl.”

  Lady? Did he mean Lucias’ mother? That can’t be right. The last Clara had seen of the woman, Lenora seemed more intent on killing her son and ensuring there was no heir. Had the failed attempt on his life changed the lady’s plans?

  Silence fell over the group, punctuated by the odd grunt as they shuffled her through what she assumed must be several doorways. Even with the sack muffling all but the closest voices, she heard the harsh clash of steel alongside the cries of injured and dying men. The sounds came faintly at first, growing louder before fading again.

  Was Lucias amongst them? Did he even still live? Would anyone hear if she screamed now? Probably not. Her voice was likely to be lost altogether if not mistaken for another poor victim amongst the fighting.

  They lowered her to the ground, seemingly content to leave her to sit quietly. She wriggled, searching for Sweetie. Had they discarded her? Or worse?

  “This is the right one, is it not?” one of her captors asked. “I don’t want to be risking my neck only to find we’ve snagged some prettied up servant like that woman earlier on.”

  “It has to be her,” the high-voiced man replied. “She’s wearing the Dark One’s colours and this one’s hair is the right shade. Red as blood. Is that not what the big guy said?”