Dark Court: The Summons

by Camille Oster

  Looking up into his cold blue eyes, she could tell he was angry. For once, he seemed to show rare emotion as he placed his hands on either sides of her head, trapping her against the wall. The curtains were so heavy they blocked even the sounds of the court.

  "Then tell me what I should think," he said, the warning clear in his voice. Ashra swallowed, feeling the anger rolling off him. "You clearly said it. Openly."

  "Not so openly. I was overcompensating," she said, swallowing hard. Did she really think Lorcan would murder her? The ugly truth was that she wasn't sure. That he was ruthless, she had no doubt.

  He raised an eyebrow, his mouth tightly drawn, his eyes pinning hers with their intensity.

  "I needed to stake my position within my alliance, and ambition seemed a good card to play," she stammered.

  "It would certainly be ambitious." He bit the words sharply as he crowded her, physically intimidating her. It was clear how much larger he was than her, physically stronger, and he wanted her to look him in the eyes, to meet his gaze. "Do you think you can take me?"

  "I expect my alliance to seek to temper my unbridled ambition, to seek an easier target." She wasn't sure he was buying her explanation, his eyes shifting between hers. He was listening, at least. "It is the truth. You told me yourself my position within my alliance was being questioned. It is not anymore. Wierstoke is too cautious to move against you, but he very much likes the idea that I am willing to move against an ambitious target. It makes him even more cautious."

  Roisen gave no indication he believed her; he only watched, his expression cold.

  "But I am worried if Wierstoke has been talking about my ambition to others," she admitted.

  "Have I not told you that there are ears everywhere?"

  "It wasn't him?" she asked.

  "And why should I tell you that?"

  "Why should you? You want me insecure and questioning my alliance. Either way," she said more harshly. "They don't question me now."

  The change was imperceptible, but there was a change, a ratchet down in intensity. "You could be lying through your teeth. You are pretty enough," he said, his thumb stroking down her cheek. It was neither gentle nor aggressive.

  "Do pretty people make good liars?"

  "Pretty people are very distracting."

  "I'm not moving against you," she stated. "I'm not stupid."

  "Or far more cunning than I've given you credit for. Perhaps we are all dancing to your tune."

  Again there was a shift in his eyes and his gaze moved lower. Cupping her face, he reached for her, kissed her. She hadn't expected it and the sensations were pummeling her, his lips firm and demanding, his tongue plunging into her mouth.

  He pulled back slightly. "Don't make me punish you. I would probably enjoy it more than you'd like me to."

  She didn't understand the statement, but it slipped away from her mind when he kissed her again, equally brutally. There was nothing asking about him; he was taking. There was a part of her that knew she should stop this, but she couldn't bring herself to. All the pent up agitation and worry just seemed to melt, leaving nothing but sheer, gripping desire.

  Strong fingers tugged at her neckline, a sweeping curve from shoulder to shoulder, pulling it down until she was exposed. His warm hand cupped her breast, kneading it, the sensation connecting straight to build heat lower inside her, making her insides clench with his demanding ministrations. He squeezed her straining bud between his thumb and forefinger, hard enough to skirt that questionable level between pain and pleasure.

  His ragged breath resonated through her ears, reverberating down her skin. In a way, he was punishing her, showing her how he could take and she couldn't stop him. He was right.

  Alarms sounded in her mind, because part of her wanted to question what was going on, while her mind and body was caught by the desire he rendered in her. "If someone pulls those curtains, we'll be seen," she said, trying to get her mind to consider the dangers here—the immediate of being observed, if not the more pressing one of what his intentions were.

  "Yes," he said unapologetically. His hands pulled up her skirts, revealing her even more. If the curtains parted, she would be completely in flagrante, exposed for all to see.

  Lifting her thighs around him, he pressed to her, flaring the untamed desire that was melting her from the inside. Her whole body was a mess of aching need and he kissed her, firmly and again, unapologetic. Even as he did, she wondered if he was using her desire for him against her.

  Some shifting and then tearing, his tip of his cock was at her entrance, pushing into her. The assault of sensations made her lose any concept of where she was and a gasp escaped her throat. The heat burned her, the sensation wild and untamed. His palm pressed to her mouth, but she didn't care. The pleasure had a sharp edge and she was captive to it, her world narrowing to the two of them, or rather the feel of him inside her.

  A sharp thrust had him lodged deep inside her, her gasp muffled by his hand. Another sharp thrust. This wasn't pretty; it was dirty and it was rough, and she couldn't stop. Her desire flowed out of every part of her. She needed his lips; she needed his skin, and she needed him inside her. And she also knew that in some way, her own desire was part of her punishment—one she was complicit in.

  Quaking waves of pleasure washed over her, like the most profound drug she had ever known, pulling her down into and submerging her in sheer, exquisite pleasure. The hand on her mouth prevented her from breathing, but she didn't care, still too absorbed and caught in the release that took absolutely everything.

  As he ground to her, the pleasure only extended, stretched in a frozen moment which she didn't ever want to end. Deep groans reverberated through her ears, her teeth seeking something along his cheek, but not finding it. Warm lips returned to hers and in the afterglow, there was finally some softness, some gentility.

  With her still fighting for breath, he released her thighs and her legs sank down to the ground, but she knew they wouldn't support her just yet. Everything had been taken from her, leaving her empty with heaving breath and a mind that failed to restart. Every part of her body felt utterly languid, when she knew she should be on guard.

  Chapter 24:

  * * *

  Not for the first time was Ashra pacing around her apartment due to Roisen Lorcan. The sanest part of her couldn't explain what had just happened, or rather how she'd reacted. In a sense, she'd folded like a wet paper towel, giving into his ministrations without a single objection—even craving what he'd done to her. She'd just wanted him so badly, even as he was essentially exercising control over her.

  If she hadn't thought he was seducing her before, she did now, and she was wrapped around his little finger, it seemed. What had she gotten herself into? She could not allow that to happen again. It was enough; she wasn’t going to play his mind games, even if her body still sang with energy. Somehow, he'd snuck under her skin and was now playing games with her.

  There was always that temptation in the back of her mind, the irrational part that tried to convince her this wasn't some Machiavellian seduction and ploy for power, that this meant something, that he was as caught up in the heat generated between them as she was. But she would be foolish to believe that. That would be like a woman believing a violent man wouldn't be violent again. Lorcan was a political predator, and she was falling into a trap. No more.

  A knock on the door interrupted her and for a moment she feared it was him, as if he'd read her mind or sensed her resolution, but it was a page holding a large box.

  "Delivery, my lady," the page said, holding the box out for her, which she took, thanking him. The white box was heavy and she took it to the hall table, opening it to see a spear inside. The blade itself looked new and shiny, white feathers surrounded the shaft, like some prop from a jungle play. It was a real blade though, with a sharp edge.

  Ashra shuddered staring down at the primitive instrument. This had to mean the hunt was on and Mr. Liesdal had found some way of
creating a Nemean lion. This court full with sharp spears was probably not a good idea, but maybe that was the point. It could be Raufasger wanted them to fear turning their back on each other. There wasn't a single person at this court who she could entirely trust holding a spear.

  However this hunt would turn out, it wouldn't be fun and she expected she would see something she didn't want to. The ideal outcome would be that the lion slays Raufasger, she thought with a snort, but doubted they would have such luck. People like Raufasger never died; they were too stubborn and mean to ever relinquish their hold on power—or life.

  Still, she had the ominous feeling someone would end up dead. Hunts were blood sports, after all.

  *

  They were taken across the valley to the mountains, to a smaller plateau surrounded by steep walls of rock. The perfect killing ground, Ashra thought soberly. Along with others, she was herded to a rock protrusion, which was surrounded by sentries. Grudgingly she carried the spear she'd been given, along with everyone else, not wanting to attract attention by refusing the gift Raufasger had provided. He always looked for such dissent.

  It was mostly women on this rocky platform, which meant the men where somewhere else, or expected to participate in this hunt. Her thoughts immediately stole to Lorcan, and she cursed herself for it. She should probably rejoice if he was ripped to pieces by a mythically ferocious lion.

  Raufasger arrived, looking cruel and regal, his robes catching the cold wind and flaring behind him. His spear looked made of gold and Ashra knew without doubt it was magically imbued. Men surrounded him and she could see Lorcan, standing with his spear. He had a serious expression on his face and she wondered what was going through his mind. Did he fear death? She doubted he trusted Raufasger to keep them safe. A few slayed members of theirs would only add to the spectacle.

  "Release the lion," Raufasger bellowed.

  All attention turned to the gate covering an opening cut into the rock itself. The beast emerged slowly, crouched low as it surveyed the terrain. The low rumble of its growl reverberated off the rocks. It was massive, its mane having almost a golden sheen. It had a face as large as a man's torso and the coldest eyes she'd ever seen—truly the eyes of a predator.

  No, this was all wrong. Why were they doing this? People would get hurt. She saw the men shift uncomfortably down below, infinitely grateful she wasn't asked to be down there hunting it. Apparently, hunting wasn't something Raufasger saw as women's sport.

  A giggle stole her attention and she saw Amethyst and Fiedra whispering and pointing at someone down below. Some apparently found amusement in this—thoroughly inappropriate as their levity was. Someone was about to die, and the best case scenario, it would be only the lion. Still, it was horrendous to kill a beast simply for the bloody joy of it.

  Ashra wished this would all stop and she startled as the beast jumped, taking a boulder in its stride. Crouching, its muscles strained and claws practically cut into the stone itself. A swipe with one of its paws would likely cut a man in half.

  She wished Lorcan would come out of this safely. As much as she dismissed what had happened between them, there was still a part of her that felt a certain loyalty to him. Well, she might wish him all sorts of pain for what he'd done, but she didn't wish him dead.

  His eyes followed the beast, a look of intense focus on his face. He must be scared, she surmised. It would be inhuman not to be. One of the men threw his spear at the beast, which it swatted away with a deep growl of annoyance. Another rushed forward behind it, sinking a spear into its flank and it wailed in rage.

  Somehow they were going to kill this lion. It was unbearable to watch. Or it could be too strong and simply kill all of them. They probably deserved it if that were true. She focused her attention on Lorcan, wondering if he hated everything about this as much as she did. Unlike Raufasger, he didn't look like he relished this, wasn't performing for the audience. That was their purpose up here on the rock, to serve as an audience for Raufasger's bravery and magnificence.

  Something else happened and the crowd winced. Ashra couldn't bear to watch. Another roar of the lion made her cringe.

  "Don't worry, my dear," a woman said appearing next to her. She was elderly and Ashra didn't recall meeting her before. "The lion is as real as the mist you see around the mountains."

  "It seems real enough."

  "One cannot create what was never real. It is an illusion. It's claws probably no more real than mirage."

  Ashra didn't know if that was true; she hoped so. Turning, she regarded the woman. "I am sorry, let me introduce myself, Lady Ashra Greve."

  "I know who you are," the woman said, rheumy but wise eyes studying her. "Dowager Trewegen. Charmed." The woman's hair was gray, but elaborately dressed and she had large pearls hanging from her ears. "The liege seeks to convince us of his prowess," she said rather unimpressed. Ashra hadn't seen anyone so openly disparaging of Raufasger.

  "He is a bit of a showman, I have gathered."

  "A madman, more like," she sniffed. "But we all must dance to his tune."

  The woman was taking a risk being so open with what was a stranger, but perhaps she correctly assumed Ashra would not be passing things on, or the woman didn't care. She could practically see Lorcan warning her to stay away from people who thought little of exposing themselves as they tended to drag their friends down with them.

  Ashra didn't quite know what to do. If this woman was inherently careless, an acquaintance with her could be very harmful.

  "Take care not to be silly," the woman said, as if reflecting her concern. "With the friends you keep."

  "I don't think I understand," Ashra's eyes said, following the woman's gaze to Lorcan.

  "Don't think your interest in him has gone unnoticed. More often than not, your eyes are in that direction." The woman touched her nose. Ashra had always hated that gesture.

  "I can assure you I have no interest," Ashra stated emphatically.

  "Good. The House of Lorcan has done yours enough harm as it is."

  "What do you mean?" Ashra said and the woman sighed.

  "If you were to look for a culprit, everything leads back there."

  "Culprit. Do you mean my husband?"

  "What else?" the woman said as if Ashra was daft.

  "Are you saying Lorcan is responsible for my husband's death?"

  "I am saying you need to be careful of who you make friends with here and what intentions they have." The woman shifted away through the crowd and Ashra had an urge to grab her, demand to know what she meant, what she knew, but that would make a scene and this was neither the time nor place for that.

  Urgently, Ashra tried to recall exactly what the woman had said. The House of Lorcan had done hers enough harm, and in no uncertain terms had it been unrelated to her husband's death. Revulsion and horror washed over her, making her stomach turn. Had Lorcan killed Torunn and then seduced her? Was this all some scheme, one she had fallen right into?

  Ashra had to find that woman, get her to reveal what she knew. This had to be uncovered—the duplicity, the carelessness. It was unbearable to think it could be true. Yet someone had killed Torunn. The initial explanation that he'd simply died had never held stock. People don't simply die. Torunn had been in the best of health.

  Chapter 25:

  * * *

  Ashra hadn't watched the victorious defeat of the lion that had achieved so much cheer and relief. She hoped the woman, Dowager Trewegen, had been right about the lion, but then she was some woman Ashra had never met before, who apparently didn't care what she said freely. Could a person like that be trusted? What agenda did she have in coming over?

  Pacing in front of her windows, she tried to think through what she knew, what she believed and what was being pushed at her. Hearing Lorcan was responsible for Torunn’s death had been an utter shock. She'd been repulsed down to her very bones for a moment, because her initial reaction had been to believe it. Did that say something, that she, for that initial
second, didn't doubt what that woman stated was true?

  As moments passed, she had to ask herself why? Why would he kill Torunn? He didn't gain anything from it, unless he saw Torunn as an obstacle, and dealing with his widow would be easier. But then also this woman, why had she cared? Was it out of concern or did she have some ulterior motive? If Ashra had seen a woman being seduced by her husband's killer, she would do the same, but Ashra had learned not to depend on people acting rationally or honorably here.

  Taking a breath, she sat down on one of the sofas and stared out the window. As per usual, it was gray and windy outside. The weather didn't seem to alter that much, as if it was unenthusiastic about what it saw down here. She couldn't blame it. Raufasger's world was nothing to be proud of.

  What she had to do now was establish what was true and what not. Charging over to Dowager Trewegen's apartments and demanding answers might not be the best course of action. Maybe it would serve her better to gather a bit of information about this woman's past and integrity to see what kind of games she engaged in. If she was a game player, and the majority of people were, Ashra wasn't going to play. Then again, even if playing games, her accusation may well be true.

  Demanding an answer from Lorcan would probably be equally useless. He would say no irrespective of what the true answer was. But perhaps she would let him know that the allegation had been cast and see how he reacted. She wasn't ready yet and would keep this under her hat until she knew how to proceed.

  She hated that she had become just like them, twisting and using information to get what she wanted. But what was it she wanted? Her acquiescence with Lorcan had put a big stroke of confusion through her whole psyche, and for some reason, she had allowed that. She knew why. Because there was something about him that made her weak at the knees. But this was not the place or the company she could afford to be weak with. What she needed to do was find out who had killed Torunn. That was her mission.