“I don’t belong here,” Lilith said, more to herself.
“I don’t understand you otherworlders,” Sera grumbled. “You get the best of our men and then you complain. If you ask me, you don’t deserve them.”
I didn’t ask you.
“Well, if you don’t wish to be Lady Lilith, mate of the honorable Lord Sorin, then you can just fend for yourself like any other unattached female. Meals are served below stairs in the main hall. I’ll not be carrying up your trays. If you wish for a bath, draw it yourself. And as far as the gowns go, I was going to help you direct the seamstress today, but you can just do that, too.” Sera gave the vanity one last push, setting it into place. Then, huffing, she stomped from the room and didn’t look back.
“They’re all crazy,” Lilith whispered, standing to grab the items off the bed. She placed them on the vanity, randomly organizing them. “And they’re going to make me crazy, too.”
* * * * *
Lilith came to believe that Sera only gave idle threats. Sure, the servant never carried a tray back up to the Black Tower, but another maid did. The dry bread and cold meats was hardly a feast, but Lilith fashioned them into a decent enough sandwich. However, that had been hours ago and the pains of hunger were slowly creeping in. What she wouldn’t do for a large fettuccine Alexus with crusted bread and garlic. Just thinking about it made her mouth water.
Soon after Sera’s huffy departure, the seamstress, Fantine of Battlewar, arrived with an entourage of workers in tow. She’d been horrified to see the black tunic Lilith wore for a dress and instantly demanded the lady remove it. Lilith refused until another gown could be brought in to replace it, even then demanding they give her privacy. The people of Staria might like to walk around naked, but Lilith lived in San LoFrancis, and there people wore clothes. Lots of them.
Fantine worked with a mind of her own, asking questions but then deciding her own answers. She spoke in rapid half-sentences that her helpers appeared to translate, but that left Lilith with a slight headache.
“I told you, I’m not wearing a low neckline,” Lilith tugged at the soft tan material of the tunic dress she tried on. The garments were readymade, just in need of a few alterations. Lilith placed her hand on her chest. “I want it to cover here.”
“That is not the fashion.” Fantine shook her head in disapproval, pointing at a dark blue corset. A soft-spoken brunette with short curls handed it to her. “What pleasure is that to…?” The words trailed off.
Precise, nimble fingers clipped material deftly into place as the seamstress fitted material around Lilith’s slightly protesting body. She pulled the corset tight, constricting Lilith’s waist and making her gasp.
“Eyes,” one of the helpers said as she studied the outfit.
“Agreed.” Fantine nodded. “More blues.”
“Blues,” the others repeated in unison.
“More here.” Lilith again patted her bare chest. The corset thrust her breasts up, like it did on the other women. Glancing around, she grabbed a wide scrap of material off the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders before tucking the two ends into the front bodice to create the affect of a shirt. “See.”
All the women tilted their heads to the side at once. Fantine frowned. The others bit their lips.
“We got what we require,” the seamstress announced, waving her hand for the others to follow. They scurried to pick up their messes before rushing out the door.
Now that she was alone, she studied the quiet chamber. Lilith normally adapted to new surroundings and sounds. She had to with her job. This place was different. The silence pressed in on her, broken only by the occasional whisper of the wind against the window slits. The fireplace in both her and Sorin’s room were barren, causing a chill to settle in the tower.
Dressed modestly in her new gown, shawl, and blue corset, Lilith found herself in Sorin’s chamber. She thought it sad that so much of his life focused on war—from the beliefs of his people to the arsenal of blades attached to his wall. Where were the photographs? Or the paintings of loved ones and ancestors? Where were the books or games? Did the man do anything outside of battle? Nothing in the room told her about the man she now lived with. Did he have hobbies? Aspirations? Or perhaps the lack of personal belongings was more telling than not. Maybe a knight didn’t have aspirations for the future because they didn’t believe they would have a future.
When she carefully dug through his trunk, desperate for a hint of the man who lived there, she found a neat stack of clothing atop a folded blanket. Armor and chainmail dominated most of the space, some shiny with elaborate carvings and others tarnished and worn by time. A few of the chest plates had puncture holes in them.
Thinking about it made Lilith’s head spin. She became desperate to discover something, anything, about Sorin’s human side. So far, all she’d seen was a dominating warrior with questionable restraint when it came to sex.
“I don’t belong here.” Lilith closed the lid, leaving everything the way she’d found it. She wrapped her arms around her stomach. The idea of forever in Staria scared the hell out of her. She hadn’t been bred for this life. Giving in to weakness, she leaned her head down and began to cry. “Please, Divinity, get me out of here. I didn’t screw up this bad. I don’t deserve this. I don’t belong here.”
* * * * *
Four days. Four very long, emotional days. And she spent them completely and utterly alone.
Lilith stared at her fingers, refusing to look around the main hall. She missed Jayne and Karre, even Paige. At any rate, she missed the idea of them. They would have understood her position, the stranger set on display before a group of very moody, very accusing knights and their women.
For the most part, no one talked to her. After the seamstress’s visit, she hadn’t had anywhere near a real conversation. The few who ventured the occasional words did so with disdain, some with open hostility. They made her feel like evil incarnate, and all because she wouldn’t fuck their most beloved warrior.
They allowed her full access to the castle and she spent hours during the day exploring, analyzing her situation and searching for a way home. She even pressed against the walls, looking for secret rooms like her bathroom. She found none. Her natural curiosity made her perfect for her job. Torches, fireplaces and narrow windows remained the main sources of light wherever she went. She could only imagine that the Starians had spent so much time on perfecting war that they spent little effort on other technologies.
Inside the castle, a large kitchen buzzed with constant activity. If they weren’t serving one of the two main meals of the day, the cooks stayed busy baking breads and pastries. Lilith loved the smell outside the kitchen and would have taken a closer look had her presence warranted more of a welcome. Accessible from the kitchen, castle gardens and a small fruit orchard spread out over an enclosure.
Below stairs, there were sewing chambers with enormous looms and sewing tables, a laundry room with a boiling pit of the dark blue water, quarters for servants, and walk-in linen closets. The shelves were filled with sheets carefully labeled with various coat-of-arms and symbols. Larders and dry storage overflowed with food and drink. Should there be a siege, Battlewar would definitely stand independent for many months.
Stairs led down to a dark dungeon, one she could only see through the barred window on the thick door. When she tried to get a better look, Brock chased her away. The accommodations were much worse than her initial holding cell.
Several private towers, like the one she lived in, lifted high over the castle. Then, directly above the hall, smaller apartments were set for the knights of lesser rank and their families. Her welcome there had been just as cold, as she walked the long hallway and peeked inquisitively inside any open doors.
One mother had even gone so far as to shield her smiling little boy, warning, “Stay away from the witch or she’ll curse your sword hand.” The cute smile faded to be replaced by instant fear.
Harlot or witch. Lil
ith gave a sardonic laugh. Great options.
If the days were bad, the nights were horrific. Lilith lay those long hours, alone in her tower, surrounded by darkness and plagued by her own mind. It became impossible not to think of Sorin, of how she was expected to give herself to him. Then she’d remember his kisses, passionate, demanding and completely overwhelming.
There, in the relative safety of her bed, surrounded by the dancing firelight and shadows, she allowed herself to fantasize. She hadn’t seen him naked, not even bare-chested, but her imagination could fill in what she didn’t know. Many of the men had tattoos on their arms and flesh littered with scars.
“Sorin,” she’d whisper, feeling foolish now that she thought about it in daylight. In her fantasy, he made love to her slowly, tenderly. His thick, strong body would stretch out on top of hers, their legs entwined. Hands ventured over every inch of flesh, tracing muscles and discovering secrets.
Lilith adjusted her hips, pressing her legs tightly together as she adjusted her skirt. A few of the knights stared at her as she reached for a drink. The maids thought it odd she insisted on juice for the evening meal instead of liquor. As appealing as drunken oblivion sounded, the last thing Lilith needed was to be inebriated.
Her mind wandered once more as she set the goblet down. Sorin’s restraint surprised her and the more she thought about it, the more impressed she became. The feel of his cock, pressing at the entrance of her pussy as they lay in the stairwell, haunted her. There were so many other ways she could have handled that situation.
In reality, she doubted she’d ever fuck a man in the stairwell of a castle, but in her fantasies the idea was arousing. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the high back of the chair. Part of her wished he would have just thrust and taken her, not giving her a choice but to let him ride her. She shivered, forcing the thought from her mind, sure she’d prefer the soft and gentle version of her dreams.
* * * * *
Battlewar loomed like a dark omen over Lord Sorin’s head. His brother stayed behind with a few of the others, not ready to come back as he rode to tell the king about the Caniba spies they encountered in the forest. Seeing the blood staining his hand, Sorin wished he could have been the one to ride for the southern borders.
Seated upon his steed, Sorin waited in hopes that Ronen would send for him. The harsh lines of the castle stood firm against the streaked magenta-orange sky. The three knights who traveled back to the castle with him were already well into the outer bailey, and the sentinels guarding the wall stared at him in curiosity, holding the gate open.
Sorin didn’t want to ride in. Lilith was in there, in his home, invading his life. His cock pulsed, never satisfied, always half erect, but he determined he couldn’t touch her, no matter how much he wanted to. If he dared, he’d not be able to stop. Even in his dreams, he had no control with her. Each night when he closed his eyes, he’d picture himself behind her, thrusting like a madman, pounding violently into her until he came, only to do it again and again.
Why have the gods cursed me?
A sentinel lifted his arm, gesturing toward the open gate. Sorin blinked, needlessly looking back in hopes of an escape. No rider came for him, and he found himself nudging the horse forward before turning back around to face his fate. Ignoring the quizzical expressions of the guards, he kept his back straight and his eyes forward. He had to look a fright, covered in dirt and blood, but it wasn’t anything the people of Battlewar Town hadn’t seen before.
Through the corner of his eyes, he saw people in the town pointing at him from outside their closely set homes. Intermingled with the homes in the outer bailey were a couple of barns, many workshops, small breweries and a large marketplace where the commoners sold their wares. A few of the soldiers lifted their hands in greeting.
Sorin slowed his horse as a little girl ran after a chicken. Her pretty dress was covered in mud and she gave him an impish smile. All he could manage was a nod in return. Her smile fell somewhat. As one of the few female children, she’d be used to more attention.
“Curse the witch, my lord!” a peasant woman yelled, pointing her finger in the air. Dark, small eyes watched him from within a sea of hard wrinkles. “We’ll sacrifice a goat to send her back to the otherworld!”
“Yea, my lord!” an old man next to her added, just as drunkenly. “Curse the witches that bring unhappiness to your home!”
Sorin’s brow furrowed in surprise. It would seem rumors had spread while he was gone.
“Bless Lord Sorin! Bless Lord Ronen!” another voice added, calling over the distance. He couldn’t see who screamed it. “Curse the witches!”
A round of agreement seemed to move over the street, traveling away from him throughout the town. “Curse the witches! Curse the witches!”
“Bless you as well,” Sorin answered, hoping to quiet some of the whispers with words of his own. The king would not be pleased to hear the people of his most beloved city had revolted against the two brides of Firewall. “But they are merely foreign wives, not witches. They will learn our ways.”
One can only pray.
“Wives are witches, my lord,” the old man cackled. “You just haven’t been married long enough to see it!”
“Eh!” the woman next to him screamed in protest, instantly throwing a tankard of ale at his head. “I have four men waiting in line to replace you. We’re all just waiting for you to drop.”
The man ducked and began to run down the muddy street. “See what I mean!”
Beyond the market, in the center of the city, a second, shorter wall encircled the inner bailey yard and castle. Contained within were the exercise yard where the knights trained, a small chapel, and the stables. Sorin found himself riding abnormally slow as he passed through the inner gate. Young pages ran for him, eager to take his reins so that he may dismount and go inside. Their eyes lit with boyish excitement to see the blood-stained tunic their lord wore.
The towheaded page nudged the darker one, prompting him to ask, “Did you slaughter Ronen’s witch, my lord?”
By all the bloody battleaxes in Staria.
Sorin sighed heavily, swinging his leg over the back of the horse and tossing over his reins. “I did not see any witches, but my sword did meet Caniba spies.”
The boys nodded in excitement, whispering fervently as they hurried to take care of his horse. He desperately wanted a drink, but didn’t dare enter the main hall to face more curses or worse—his wife. Slipping around the side of the castle, he ducked under a narrow entryway mostly used by maids carrying wet laundry outside to dry.
“My lord,” a servant gasped in surprise to see him. She gave a small curtsey. “Is there aught I can do for you?”
“Here.” He pulled his tunic over his head, glad to be rid of it. Tossing it at her, he asked, “Where is Lady Lilith?”
“In the main hall for the evening meal, I believe, my lord,” the woman answered. “Would you like me to fetch her?”
“No. Leave her. Have someone bring food to the Black Tower.”
“And your bath?” she asked.
“I’ll use the one in my lady’s room,” he answered, not wanting to wait for someone to cart up his usual metal tub.
Chapter Seven
“Lord Sorin beheaded four Caniba spies in the forest with no help from the others. Sir Traven said he is possessed and the men who rode with him are in a dark mood because of it. Sir Traven said they should have taken at least one of the Caniba men alive so they might discover what they were doing this far north. It’s true what they say, that witch Lady Lilith cursed him into madness.”
“Those in town say we should dunk her in the river. If she comes to the surface, she’s a witch. It’s the only way to be rid of that kind.”
“Not true. There’s always fire. Witches burn faster than humans.”
“And the other? Lady Jayne? Did they find her?”
“Dead, too, for all I know. And good riddance for the poor Lord Ronen.”
<
br /> Lilith didn’t know the maids who spoke, as she waited on the tower stairwell, just out of eyesight but close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation. She strained to hear more, but they walked off. A sick feeling curled in her stomach. Sorin decapitated four men in a fight and they blamed her for it?
“I don’t belong here. I don’t belong here,” she repeated, whispering the mantra as if saying the words could make the land of Staria disappear.
Her legs ached, the muscles still adjusting to the endless progression of steps. By the time she made it to the top, she longed for nothing more than the warmth of her bed and the secret fantasies of her late night dreams, tucked away from the spiteful eyes of the hall.
The soft glow of firelight shone from her room. It wasn’t unusual as someone usually lit it at night. For all its barbaric tendencies, Battlewar Castle flowed to a unique rhythm perfected by time and practice. Things were done, even when you didn’t see someone doing them.
“I don’t belong here,” she said under her breath as she entered her room.
Lilith tugged at the scarf around her neck. Fantine had matching ones made for all her new gowns, though some were so fine and thin their transparency did little to provide cover. The material trailed behind her as she absently dropped it on the end of the bed and walked across the room to the window. She peered out the slit, seeing a few trees and plenty of darkening sky. Stars poked in from the heavens, just starting to shine through.
“Why did you send me here?” Lilith moaned. She’d worked so hard for the company, had done her job, gathered information and they were going to punish her like this for one, little, stupid accident? Feeling helpless, she hit her hand on the stone wall, slapping it. “I don’t belong with these people.”
“Is my lady too high for us?”
No. Lilith stiffened. It can’t be.
Lilith Enraptured (Divinity Warriors 1) Page 7
