by Chloe Cox
Lucia was beginning to get a feel for things, the ebb and flow of social groups and conversation, and how she might best go about her detective work, when suddenly she stopped.
Her lips parted. Her heart pattered. Her fingers dug into Lord Cesare’s arm.
There, in the middle of the crowd, was the Severille couple she had seen in the street on that first night. Lucia would recognize the woman’s waterfall of shining black hair anywhere, and there were her master’s glittering black eyes. As Lucia watched, the master led his slave, who was bound by the wrists, to one of the many pillars from which strings of lanterns were hung, crisscrossing the barge. There he raised her arms above her head and tied them to the pillar with her own lead. He produced a blindfold, and attached that, as well.
Then he ripped away her dress.
He left her there, like that, naked, blindfolded, and bound to a pillar for all to see, while he filled a plate with food and joked with other guests, sometimes gesturing back to his naked prisoner with obvious pride of ownership. Lucia still had no idea who they were, but she could not tear her eyes away from the blindfolded, bound, naked woman, put on display for her master’s benefit. It made Lucia wet.
And, with a rush of embarrassment, Lucia realized that Cesare might feel that, too.
“That excites you,” he said. He moved his hand farther up her thigh and under her thin skirt, where two of his fingers began to toy with her wet folds.
“You know it does, my Lord,” she answered.
“Yes, yes I do.” Lord Cesare laughed, and his fingers probed a little deeper. Lucia felt weak. “Tell me what it is exactly, Lucia.”
She groaned. It was still so difficult to admit aloud.
“Obey me,” he said, and thrust a finger into her. The guests continued to mill about, drinking amberwine as if in preparation for the real party. Things were starting to loosen up. One of the Severille master’s acquaintances walked over to where the woman with black hair was bound and squeezed her breast. Lucia could see her squirm against her restraints, a smile on her lips.
“I saw them,” she said, gesturing to the couple. “I saw them, on the night of the Dance of the Seasons. He had her in public. Right there on the street, he ordered her to spread her legs and please him. And here, tonight, he has her…on display…”
Lord Cesare fucked her steadily with his finger, knowing just when to pull slightly away. He wasn’t going to let her climax. He was just going to torment her. Lucia looked to him in frustration, and saw that something seemed to amuse him.
“That interest of yours might prove very useful,” he murmured into her ear, nibbling a little on her earlobe.
Suddenly he lifted her off his lap, stood up, and deposited her back on the ground. She was speechless, still dazed from his finger, which she saw shone with her juices in the lantern light. Lord Cesare was unfazed.
“I will indulge your little curiosity while you perform your duty,” he said with a smile. “Just remember to maintain your focus. Come.”
And he walked briskly off, dragging an unsteady Lucia off toward the middle of the barge.
It was the area where the most guests mingled and the performers wandered, and where the heart of the celebration beat in earnest. It was where guests would dance and fuck, and performers would perform Severille feats, once the amberwine had been drunk and politics had been played and deals struck. Now it was full of calculating groups of powerful men and women, all of them going about the usual business of being powerful. Lord Cesare led Lucia to the center, and beckoned a servant to him.
“Bring that low table,” Cesare said. “The one Count Beltrane rests his feet upon. Send him my apologies, but tell him he will not regret it,” he added wryly.
“My Lord—” Lucia began.
“I did not say you could speak,” he said. “Remember to listen. Start now. Can you hear all the conversations around you? They will gather closer soon enough. Listen for the voice.”
She made as if to speak, but Lord Cesare yanked hard on her leash. Lucia crashed into him, and several guests paused in their conversations to see if anything interesting was about to happen.
“Stay silent,” he whispered. “And listen.”
The skin of her neck stung where the collar had bitten into it, and Lucia was surprised to find tears welling up in her eyes—and more moisture seeping from between her legs. She could tell from the movement of Lord Cesare’s chest that he was aroused, too, that their inexplicable physical bond was unbroken. Bringing her physically to heel, to the amusement of those around them, had renewed the pressure in her pussy, and she saw that he was hard beneath his leathers. She was a disobedient plaything, open to his use and abuse at any time. And it thrilled her.
The servant arrived, carrying a low, wide table, and followed by a lithe, unmasked gentleman in a loose fitting black shirt, open to the waist, and with a touch of grey at the temples.
“My Lord,” the gentleman said with a smile, “I was quite comfortable, you know. Had an excellent view over there.”
Lord Cesare laughed. “I’m going to give you a better view over here, Beltrane.” And he snapped his fingers while tugging on Lucia’s leash, pulling her to stand before the Count.
“Lovely,” said Count Beltrane. “But really—”
With one swift motion, Lord Cesare pulled on the single tie on Lucia’s side, and her dress fell away. She was naked, laid bare to the gaze of any and all. Count Beltrane sucked in his breath.
“Lovely,” he said again.
“Oh, just wait,” Lord Cesare grinned. He made a clicking noise and led Lucia to the edge of the table, which had been positioned in the center of the barge. There was a noticeable lull in the general hum of conversation. They were being watched.
Lucia’s heart beat furiously in her chest. This was what she had wanted. He knew. He knew it would do this to her. She was both terrified and aroused.
“Up,” Lord Cesare said, and patted her ass gently. Lucia obediently clambered up on the table, and stood over the assembled guests, who were now all watching her with interest. She was mortified to see their amused expressions, and her embarrassment only made the muscles in her belly curl tighter. She felt her nipples go hard, and someone laughed.
“Turn around,” Lord Cesare said. “And get on your hands and knees.”
Lucia froze. Surely he knew what view that would give the guests?
“Now,” Lord Cesare said, and snapped his fingers. Lucia blinked, and before she knew it, she had turned around and dropped to all fours. She felt the heat of a furious blush spreading across her skin, but the idea of displeasing Lord Cesare—my master, she thought, my Lord—was terrible. Someone in the crowd clapped.
“Spread your legs.”
Lucia moved first one quivering leg outwards, then the other. She was now completely open, her sex bared for all to see. Totally exposed, except for the mask that covered her face. She felt the fine breeze on her wet flesh, and shivered.
Lord Cesare walked around to her front, and lifted her chin in his hand. He bent down, eyes warm, mouth firm.
“I can see that you like this, Lucia,” he whispered. “Don’t forget your task. Do well for me. Listen for him.”
She nodded, and mercifully he let her head drop down. He ran his hand along her flank as he walked back to face the crowd, letting his hand linger over the soft skin on the backs of her thighs.
“Isn’t she fine?” she heard him say, and he slapped her buttock with an open palm.
Lucia heard Beltrane laugh. How long was she to stay here like this? It was almost unbearable. She remained balanced on the fine edge of humiliation and arousal, driven mad by the knowledge that she could not move, that she could not even let her attention waver…
Conversations had begun to spring back to life all around Lucia’s display table (for that is how she’d come to think of it). This was why she was here. This is why he’d put her here, on display: so that she would become a mere background feature, a piece
of decoration, the sort of thing you didn’t even notice while conversing with your peers. So that she could listen.
Lucia had begun to separate one conversation from the next, to listen to them separately and all together, ever sifting for voices that she recognized—and she found she did recognize a few, including Vintner Clavel and Gaston Grimaldi—when she heard another set of footsteps approach her table. She longed to turn and look, but she had not been given permission to do so.
Strange, how quickly she’d acclimated to this state of submission.
But Lucia didn’t have time to ponder such a thing. Some unknown man was admiring her.
“New?” she heard the unknown man ask.
“Extremely,” came Lord Cesare’s reply. Lucia felt his hand on her back, and exhaled. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath.
“May I?” said the unknown man, and then there was a hand, a strange hand, on the back of her leg. Lucia stiffened. The strange hand trailed up the back of her leg and teased close to her folds, down and up, down and up. “She seems quite tight.”
“Barely broken in.”
Lord Cesare rubbed her back soothingly. The strange hand traveled back up the inside her leg, and this time it didn’t stop, but cupped her sex. “Feel the heat,” the voice murmured, and dipped a finger inside her.
Lucia’s eyes flew open, but Lord Cesare’s hand was there on her back, holding her steady. He wanted this from her. He was showing her off. She felt herself gush into the stranger’s hand at the thought, and her embarrassment again intensified her arousal.
“Incredible,” the stranger said, still moving his finger inside her.
Lucia mewled softly, just enough for Lord Cesare to hear. “Easy, now,” he quietly said to her, and patted her on the back. “Don’t forget your task.”
With great effort, Lucia remembered what her task was. The voice. The man with a lisp. She closed her eyes and opened her mind again to the sounds of the celebration, louder now, as the guests all drank more of the rich amberwine, and did her best to focus while the stranger tested her with another finger.
Lucia panted as she felt her muscles contract in preparation for a climax. She closed her eyes as she tried to listen. There were so many voices!
Vintner Clavel, again…
Roberto Ramora…
Count Beltrane…
Gaston Grimaldi…
“Do you think I might have a proper turn, my Lord?” the stranger asked, his fingers moving inside her. Lucia almost lost it, almost lost her discipline and moved, but right at that moment, she heard it: the lisp.
She jerked her head, eyes wide open. There, from amidst the group with Clavel and Grimaldi, hidden from view, came the lisping voice of the man who had threatened her father.
CHAPTER 10
“Enough, Diamonte,” Cesare said, swatting the man’s hand away from Lucia and momentarily allowing his irritation to show. Cesare’s excitement at showing Lucia off had quickly begun to give way to an angry sort of jealousy, especially when he began to smell her arousal. “She belongs only to me.”
Diamonte pouted and looked about to protest when Cesare silenced him with a raised hand. Lucia was craning her neck, as if to make out one particular voice among the chorus of conversation.
The voice, he thought.
“Be gone Diamonte,” he said. “Now.”
Cesare did not have to look to know that the man would flee. He was getting used to people fleeing when he used that tone.
Lucia had not moved from her place, and Cesare did his best to ignore how her iron obedience made him feel. There would be time enough for that later. Instead he bent down to whisper in her ear.
“You heard him—the man from your still?” he said. She nodded. “Where? Tell me where.”
She shook her head, “It’s gone, it was just a moment—”
“Get up.”
She rose unsteadily, and almost made a move to cover herself, as though movement made her newly aware of her nakedness. Cesare quickly helped her into her complicated dress, and, when it was done, he bent down and kissed her fiercely. It seemed the only way to tell her how urgent he felt.
“Go find him,” he said, wrenching himself away. Neither of them could afford to get lost in each other. “Go. I will follow. No one will notice you, but I draw attention everywhere.”
He reached up, and unhooked the leash from her collar. Her look of disappointment when he did so was something he would always remember.
“Go. That is an order,” he said.
For a terrible moment, Lucia seemed so frightened, so uncertain, and all Cesare wanted was to reassure her that she could do this, even in such unfamiliar circumstances, even with all that was at risk. But before he could speak, he watched her expression quicken to one of resolve, determination, and courage.
Cesare’s rational mind knew that he should still be suspicious of Lucia, that nothing was proven, that her innocence was still very much in doubt. But in that moment, no other part of him cared.
“Yes, my Lord,” she whispered, and with a quick touch to his hand, she slipped off into the crowd.
Cesare’s legs felt weak, for some reason. He took a seat on the low table and a proffered glass of amberwine, and grimly decided to count to sixty before he followed her.
Maybe only thirty, he thought.
He made it to ten.
“My Lord Cesare,” came the familiar greeting. Cesare looked up in alarm—Jovan’s was always a welcome presence, although perhaps less so at this particular moment than at others, but the bureaucrat’s voice was worried. And urgent. And he went unmasked, and wore only an ordinary coat and shirt—he’d obviously just come from his offices.
“Jovan,” Cesare said, rising. “Do I take it I should do my best to appear happy and relaxed while you tell me whatever it is that you’ve come here to tell me?”
“You suppose correctly, my Lord, as usual,” Jovan said, waving a waiter away. “Though I’m afraid my casual dress might have given away the urgency of my message.”
“What is it?”
“I’ve discovered where Vintner Lyselle is being held.”
“And?” Cesare looked for Lucia’s bright red figure, but the barge was already at full capacity, and the place was quickly devolving into an orgiastic mess of drunken revelers and ambitious performers, seemingly all of them coupling, spitting fire, juggling, or otherwise getting in the way.
“Technically the jailer did not lie to you,” Jovan said carefully. “Vintner Lyselle is in the deepest set of cells, below the Duke’s Dungeon.”
Cesare stared at his friend.
“That’s where the condemned are held prior to execution, Jovan.”
Jovan shifted uncomfortably. “Captain Rickle has been recommending such a course of action, yes.”
A distressed popping sound came from the metal goblet that held Cesare’s amberwine. His giant hand was slowly closing into a fist, goblet or no. The rage that he feared could consume him had awakened like a swarm of disturbed bees, and Lucia, the one person who could calm him, was nowhere in sight.
“Explain,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Rickle is presuming guilt. He says the evidence—the letter, and the fact that they cannot find the amberwine in question—is overwhelming.”
“And what do you think?”
“Lyselle claims total innocence and ignorance. Claims he did not even know his debt had been sold. My Lord, the man is not cogent. He keeps asking if they will bring his still to him, since he has ideas for a new blend that he’s sure will please the Duke. He is not always…fully aware of his situation.” Jovan was always delicate.
“An unlikely candidate for the mastermind of an assassination plot, then.”
“Yes.”
“But a pawn?”
Jovan shrugged. They’d both swam in the filthy waters of politics long enough to know the answer to that.
“There is one more thing, my Lord,” Jovan said, and cleared hi
s throat. “Rickle is recommending that both executions be carried out post haste.”
The entire world fell away. Cesare saw nothing, heard nothing, but what his friend had said. Slowly he said, “Both?”
“They are assuming Lucia Lyselle’s guilt because of her disappearance,” Jovan said. The old man looked miserable, the weight of responsibility hanging on his aging face. “It is a rush to judgment, my Lord, but one your father appears to be in the mood to indulge. He’s ordered it done if they cannot prove their innocence by the Finale Feast.”
“That’s in two days!” Cesare exploded. Nosy guests looked around only until they saw who it was in such a rage, and then they simply studied their drinks.
“That’s why I rushed here,” Jovan explained. “Avignon sent me from the townhouse. They are looking for her, my Lord. Rickle won’t let it go, and if your father knew of your personal interest—”
Cesare stopped him short. “How do you know of my personal interest?”
Jovan looked at him and smiled softly. Cesare felt the patience and kindness radiating from his old friend in slow, gentle waves, and it occurred to him that it felt so familiar because Jovan had always been there, and he’d always been kind, and he’d always been patient.
“I’ve known you a long time, Cesare. I know when you love something.”
Cesare wouldn’t have known how to put into words how this made him feel, but he didn’t have the time to ponder it, nor the time to properly thank the only man in the world who had ever seemed to love him like a father, because Jovan had one more thing to tell him.
“And I know what your father does to the things you love,” Jovan said softly.
Cesare turned and ran after Lucia.
~ ~ ~
Cesare’s heart thudded in his chest with painful force, and the pressure in his veins felt like it would kill him if he didn’t let it out in some cataclysmic rage of violence. He had to find Lucia. Not just for her sake, but for the sake of everyone present. The beast was nearly out.
