Dark One's Mistress (Dark One Trilogy Book 1)

by Alien, Aldrea

She peeked through her lashes, jerking upright when she saw the buildings were no richer than those of her home street. This wasn't the way to the village square. This was the way to the western gate. "Aren't we going to the village hall?"

  Lucias shook his head. "You've already led me in quite the merry ride through the village and, although I won't deny tracking you was thrilling, we've wasted much time. Farris has no doubt acquired his bride and is making his way back to the Citadel." The streets before them filled with people and he pulled the horse into a lazy trot. "We must be there when they arrive."

  Peering over her shoulder, she caught the plain, boxy form of a carriage disappearing around a distant corner. Lucias aimed them down a side street where the crowd was thinner and urged the horse into a canter.

  They caught up with a line of carriages, escorted by the Endlight guards, just as the last one trundled through the gates.

  Lucias pulled the destrier alongside Thad's less impressive-looking mount. "You were faster than I anticipated," he said.

  The older man offered a grunt, one brow twitching upwards as he faced them. Clara shrank against Lucias' bulk as her presence was noted. He had to have seen her fleeing. What did he think now to see her back in their company and wearing far less than she had earlier?

  "Are we done here?" Lucias asked.

  Thad's gaze flicked from his lord's face to hers, those green eyes heavy as the fine brows drew together. "That we are, my lord. That we are."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Clara stared blankly at the remains piled upon the dishes along the dining table. Bits of what had once been slabs of lamb and beef were dotted down its length, interspersed with the picked carcasses of whole chickens and a few bigger birds that might've been geese. Of the bread she'd smelt during her morning foray into the kitchen, only crumbs were left. A few platters still bore whole vegetables, fruits and pastries; the last survivors of the feast.

  There were mostly desserts left but, with her belly having already reached a comfortably full state, she could barely stand to glance at the delights the servants had presented the room. Not even when the pungent scent of warm cinnamon tickled her nose and set her mouth to watering.

  Her gaze lifted from the near-empty platters, once again straying to where Lucias sat at the head of the table several chairs up from her. How alive he seemed, laughing along with Thad and Farris. Courteous in his discussions with the village council as well as the handful of nobles and wealthier merchants who'd happened to be passing through Everdark at the time.

  Almost a different person.

  There was movement to her left, slow and bordering on imperceptible. Someone halted just on the edge of her vision. Something gold glittered in the candlelight.

  "Wine, my lady?" The figure dipped forward. A heavy, golden jug slipped into view.

  She nodded, unable to stop staring at Lucias. He'd forsaken his normal leather attire for once, opting to clothe himself in a red and black embroided vest and shirt with equally dark trousers, their style service-worthy much like the clothing the count and his son wore. The black hair, which he so often let hang freely, had been tied back, allowing the candlelight to soften his features.

  Having given up the more modest of the two gowns she possessed, Clara wore the low-cut dress the women had first made for her. Yet, even with her shoulders and good deal of her chest bare, she could still be considered overdressed when compared to Brenna.

  The woman who would be the next Countess of Endlight all but hung her breasts on display to everyone within the room. And as for her skirts, why Clara would never have dared to wear something that showed so much leg in public.

  She wasn't quite certain why the count had bothered with the trip down to the village to collect the woman only to then have the council follow them up to the Citadel for a feast. Enquiring had led to a simple answer: tradition. It had puzzled her no end until posing the same question to Thad led to the foreign lord expanding on Lucias' abrupt reply. Any man born in Endlight, especially if they originated from the moors just west the city, was expected to claim his bride the night before the wedding if not earlier.

  Clara poked at what was left of the jellified substance in her bowl. She'd known the original inhabitants of Endlight had once been part of a smaller kingdom, absorbed centuries ago during the border disputes of old, but it hadn't occurred to her they would keep their ancient traditions. How wildly marriage customs swung from one side of the kingdom to the other.

  And such a barbaric custom. Such a scandalous thing would never be allowed in Everdark. Her whole life, Clara had been bludgeoned with the litany of what was expected from good girls. Sticking to it meant she wasn't even allowed live with her intended husband before their wedding, let alone partake of intimate acts.

  What did the Goddess think of Endlight's women coming before the altar in such a state? Or did the nomads, along with those living within the nearby city walls, still worship another deity? One who was obviously lenient when it came to a person's morals.

  Her spoon slipped and clanged against the bowl. Such a divinity seemed the perfect being for men like the Great Lords to worship. What better excuse could they have than custom?

  A sharp bang on the table brought her back to the nobles clustering around Farris. The old count was laughing, again, and attempting to speak through the dreadful wheezing. "You should've... seen the look... on his face!" He slapped the table once more and clutched at Brenna. The woman had perched herself upon her future husband's lap like a child, her nearly fully-exposed bosom bouncing distastefully close to his face.

  Clara's gaze swung back to Lucias. He was listening to the count's story with the expression of one who had heard it many times before but was still a little embarrassed to hear it again in such company. Seeing such a reaction, Clara was almost sorry she'd positioned herself just beyond normal hearing.

  Another outburst of laughter from the old man had Lucias grimacing and shaking his head. He glanced her way, his lips softening into a smile that had her cheeks ablaze in seconds.

  Gripping the delicate stem of her goblet, Clara held the cool, crystalline bowl to her chest. She sipped the pinkish liquid within, wrinkling her nose at the bittersweet aftertaste. How could anyone drink this stuff?

  Her gaze travelled down the table to the men and women draining glass after glass of wine. No one seemed at all bothered by the flavour. She took another hesitant sip. Less tart than the last and a touch fruity, almost reminiscent of the plums her father used to buy every year.

  "You look bored."

  Clara jumped at the voice, almost spilling the half glass of wine. Her gaze darted to where Lucias sat, or at least had been sitting. The men and women around the empty chair still laughed and chattered amongst themselves. How hadn't she noticed his disappearance?

  "I admit, I am not entirely fond of these gatherings myself." Lucias collapsed into the chair beside her, the heels of his booted feet resting upon the edge of the table. His arm draped over the chair back, an empty goblet dangling from his fingers. He gestured with it to a passing servant and the glass was filled with a deep red wine. "I wouldn't recommend drinking too much." He nodded towards her goblet. "It can go straight to the head of the inexperienced."

  She rolled her eyes. Brenna had drunk two glasses during the meal and was now working her way through a third. Surely if the woman could consume so much without any ill effects, then so could Clara. "I'd have thought you would prefer me in an inebriated state."

  Twisting in his seat, Lucias shot her a dark look before sipping quietly at the deep red wine. He stared at her over the crystalline rim for some time before finally lowering his glass with a sigh. "It's about what you expect of me, isn't it?" He gave a small smile, his eyes glittering with a deep sadness. "So I don't suppose you'll believe me if I swore it would be the last thing on my mind, would you?"

  Jerking her shoulders back, Clara looked away under the pretence of taking another sip. Bitter wine brushed her lips. He sounded
genuine, but she couldn't bring herself to believe his words. What better way to have her comply with his wishes than to get her drunk?

  The music, which had been softly playing as they ate, grew louder. Gentle notes flowed from wood and string, soft and with a hint of a spring to encourage movement. Clara fast found her foot swinging from side-to-side to the alluring beat.

  All around her, people left the table and the group clustering about the fireplace. She tracked the migration, both the stately and the more spirited, to the once vacant floor at her back. There, the people began to dance.

  Clara's gaze proceeded to follow the pattern of feet and skirts as they twirled about with the music picking up speed and volume. A part of her longed to join in the dancing, although she couldn't bear to do so alone like she often did at the fairs in Everdark. No, she'd need someone to join her who wouldn't be expecting anything further. Someone like Thad.

  She glanced at Lucias. His attention had swung to the dancing couples, the tapping of his boot heel on the table joining in with the rhythm. The memory of his face, the jealousy that had flared in his eyes when she and Thad first met drifted to the forefront of her thoughts. He seemed somewhat at ease right now. Certainly more relaxed than before the Endlight lords had arrived. Perhaps it would be best to not aggravate him.

  But who else would dare to ask her other than Thad?

  Lucias drained the last of his wine and, with the chair legs skidding along the stone, sprang to his feet. "Would you care to join me in dance, Miss Weaver?"

  Of course, he would dare. Clara stared at his outstretched hand as if it held a dagger, frantically thinking of an excuse he would believe. "I—"

  He took the half-full goblet from her unresisting fingers. "Come now. If I am to restrain myself from the thought of ravishing you in my bed, then at least let me have this one dance."

  She glared up at him, content to leave him standing there. Restraining himself from her, was he? He spoke as if he was doing her some great and trying favour. Clara raised her hand, itching to slap him.

  Movement, or rather the cessation of it, on the edge of her vision caught her attention. She suddenly became aware of the room's stillness. The chatter she'd been ignoring earlier had died to whispers, leaving only the hushed notes of the musicians' fading melody. People were watching them, watching her. Waiting to see what she would do.

  Blushing at the scrutiny, her fingers alighted on his forearm. She silently allowed herself to be drawn to her feet and escorted to the dance floor where he gently swung her around to stand before him.

  He took a step backwards and bowed. Her face burned hotter and, aware they were still being watched, she curtsied. Lucias held out his hand for her. She clapped her palm against his, biting her lip in instant regret as her fingers, not protected like the rest of her gloved hand, throbbed. Taking a deep breath she drew herself upright with some manner of grace.

  Lucias pulled her close, his other hand falling to her waist. His chest pressed heavily against the stiff-panelled corset she was suddenly thankful to be wearing. "How good a dancer are you?" he whispered, softly twirling them to the music's beat.

  "Adequate," she admitted, raising her voice as she spun out to arm's length. "Enough to know this is a courtship dance." She bobbed again, him with mimicking the genuflection.

  His shoulders shook with a minute, cheerless laughter. "I thought you might prefer the Display of the Peacock over others." The smile he gave matched his laugh. "Although, I'm afraid my plumage is a touch too dark to attract a mate with. Even then, I'd have little time to make a woman my wife before she became a widow."

  Clasping one hand and facing his back, she followed him as they trotted in a circle. "So you'd rather waste your time on a woman who denies you everything?" Clara gave him yet another bow. They changed hands and circled in the other direction before ending up back in his arms.

  "Ah, but I am apparently set on raping you come the new moon." His voice was small and carried with it the hint of a question.

  Clara stiffened.

  Lucias guided them across the floor, not seeming to notice her sudden lack of response. "Is it not what you told Thad?"

  So Thad has spoken with him. Despite her plea to not get involved. Her stomach clenched, bile sliding up her throat. She swallowed, desperately trying not to let her thoughts show. "I spoke only of the deadline you imposed upon me. Of how you said I could either come to you or be raped."

  "That's not what I said!" he hissed, tipping her backwards and forcing her to cling to him.

  "But is it not what you meant?" She gasped as he hauled her upright, bouncing back onto her feet with a jarring hop.

  Step for step, they followed the music's soft notes in silence, his dark eyes glittering with the candlelight. At least, she hoped the flickers of light came from the candles. "No."

  No? Clara tripped, barely feeling the tendril of his magic right her. Choose how I will come to him or he decides for me. Obviously she had no intention of going to him. So what else would he mean if not force?

  She spun away, then back into his grasp. "Your mother will be here soon." To kill him. And her, if she couldn't convince him to let her leave before then. Perhaps Thad would have more luck. Although, now she'd seen how the soon-to-be-wed couple were in public, she was hesitant to share a carriage with them.

  His eyes hardened, the faintest spark of blue danced in their depths. "She will."

  "You've little time left." Then he would die. Because he is his father's son. It didn't seem fair Lucias was to bear the brunt of his mother's vendetta again the man who'd kidnapped her several decades ago. Yes, Lucias had been the outcome, but he could hardly be the one to blame for his father's actions.

  He sighed. "I know."

  "What will you do?" He had to have some plan to survive the barbarian's assault.

  "I..." His steps became wooden, his face even less expressive. "I will wait and accept the fate our Goddess has given me."

  Death. And the land would be destroyed. Its people butchered or worse. Could the Goddess truly be so cruel to her people and allow such a thing? "And what of our deal? If I leave, what will you do with Tommy?"

  "Take him with you if you think you need to. Had my death not been so certain, I would've liked him to stay and be fully absorbed into the ranks."

  She pulled back to glare at him. "You know I won't let you take his soul."

  He shook his head. "Poor choice of words, I see. No wonder you think the worst of me." His mouth curved into something too small and sad to be considered a smile. "I swear, Clara, I do not intend to take the lad's soul. The boy is harmless and works in the stables well enough. Given time, and training, he could've been an excellent stable master. Guess there's not much chance now."

  "Tommy?" Surely they not speak of the same man. Yes, he was excellent with animals but, as far as she knew, he'd never given orders to anyone.

  "You'd be surprised what he takes in and what he can do when you stop treating him like a child and more like the young man he is." He chuckled, his gaze drawn to something over her shoulder. "I see it didn't take her long."

  She twisted her head, straining to see what had caught his eye. With a flick of his hand, he twirled her around. Clara gasped as her back struck his chest. The doublet didn't offer much padding and the muscles beneath were firm.

  He wrapped his arms about her waist. "Farris has finally drunk himself to sleep." Resting his chin on her shoulder, he gently swayed them from side to side. "I've a feeling I know what she'll do now."

  Brenna had abandoned her husband-to-be's side to drag Thad out onto the floor. The way she twirled and gyrated against the older man set Clara's face aflame. Did Brenna have no morals? Upon her arrival at Endlight, and her subsequent marriage to the count, Thad was to become her step-son. Yet she chose to dance in such a way as to suggest she was betrothed to the younger foreign lord instead of the count.

  And in front of her parents. Clara glanced at the crowd. No one seemed at al
l bothered by the pair. She couldn't even find the woman's parents. Why, if Clara had attempted such an act before her mother... Well, her mother probably wouldn't have cared so long as a wedding was involved.

  Brenna had to be aware of being just another in a line of young women. Clara suspected the woman would be looking to ensure she was not brushed aside when the current count died. What better way to do so than seduce the next in line? Even so... She sighed. It just seemed wrong.

  "If he's still the same Thad I remember, she's wasting her time." Lucias' quiet laughter shook her whole body. "He's not going to be interested. She'd have been better off trying her luck on his eldest."

  "Not interested?" Clara mumbled. "He is a man, she has a pulse." Was it not the only requirement of all men? Especially those of Endlight. And Thad had probably taken his own romp through the city's brothels.

  Lucias' snort of amusement blew past her ear. "You think this is the first time a woman has tried to lure him into their bed? Thad is no fool. He takes steps to ensure he's not the least bit tempted whilst away from his wife."

  She eyed the dancing couple. Brenna wasn't holding much back. A man would have to be dead to not react in some fashion. Clara was certain if the countess-to-be were to take it any further, it would require an extreme decline in the woman's decency. "Steps?"

  "I believe it's some sort of herbal remedy they use on the men posted in Endlight's border towers. To keep them focused on the task at hand and not on the nomadic women of the nearby moors."

  "I see." Was this why Lucias had seemed content to allow Thad to be alone with Clara? But it did not stop the jealousy. Sibling rivalry. Was Thad's presence responsible for the more amenable Lucias? She couldn't see why he'd bother when Thad was married and uninterested. Or had the foreign lord's arrival merely shown the true Lucias? "You and he, you were close once. Like brothers."

  "Once."

  The music had taken on a dreamy note. Clara leant back against his chest, letting her mind wander along with the music. So Thad had not lied about his closeness to his lord. Did it mean he'd spoken truthfully about everything else? What about Lucias' treatment of women? Seeing this more open man, she could well believe Thad had known a different young lord.