Dark One's Bride

by Aldrea Alien

  Her gaze slid down the table. Farris was chatting with two of his three eldest children, at least those who were in the city, which meant there was the familiar presence of Thad amongst the strange faces. Thalia sat next to her husband, their oldest boy, Leonard, on her other side and next to him… Brenna.

  “So,” Clara said, her mind settling on the only detail it could. “Explain this to me again.” She leant closer to Lucias, pressing her cheek against his shoulder so as to speak without being heard by anyone except him. “Brenna wasn’t meant to marry Farris?”

  She’d heard not long before Lucias’ departure for Endlight of the change in the woman’s engagement. Brenna was no longer destined to become another of the old count’s wives, but rather a Lady of Endlight in the distant future. And considering the obvious swell of her belly—no doubt approaching five months now—had already gone to some length to ensure her future title remained that way.

  Lucias grinned and dipped his head until his breath tickled her nose. “No, she was.”

  Clara tilted to discretely eye the woman from beneath Lucias’ jaw. Brenna seemed quite at ease, obliviously chatting away to an older woman Clara hadn’t been introduced to, smiling and laughing as the stranger spoke. On the surface, Brenna looked no different from when Clara had last seen her. But there was something about her face, the softness of her smile, that had her almost glowing. Was that due to her pregnancy or her recent marriage to Thad’s oldest son?

  Lucias took a sip from his goblet, blocking her view. He twisted to face her a little, resting an elbow on the table for balance and whispered against his shoulder. “It is my understanding that, after how they found them, Farris more or less conceded the girl to his grandson.”

  How they found them. Clara didn’t need any more detail to imagine precisely how they had been discovered. “And I assume that is how she got into her current state?”

  “Mhmm.” His gaze dropped, it was only for a second, but it had definitely rested on her own unfertilized belly.

  The food in her stomach turned leaden, rolling in the most disturbing fashion. She hastened to hide any show of unease on her face by forcing down another mouthful of sweetened carrots. Foolish to think that he wouldn’t wish she was already carrying his child, especially after the attack on his life. Everyone, save for a select few, probably expected her to be pregnant by now, if not as far along as Brenna. “Do you regret not picking her?”

  Lucias straightened in his seat, grinning. “Why would I possibly regret my choice?”

  “You would’ve secured an heir by now.” If he had chosen Brenna instead of Clara—or any of the other women except for Penny, really—then he could already be on his way to fatherhood. And probably without marrying them. Or would the lack of her presence mean he would’ve died during the barbarian’s attack that almost did take his life?

  His head twitched from side to side, his dark eyes rolling slightly back into his head as if he considered the same possibilities. “I suppose that could be true.” He returned his full focus to her and his grin softened. “Except then I wouldn’t be betrothed to such a woman as you. I cannot imagine anyone else having the courage to confront my mother unarmed, let alone that giant she brought with her.”

  Clara’s face grew steadily hotter as he spoke. She flattened a hand on her chest in a vain attempt to steady the sudden wild beat of her heart.

  Lucias brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers, so cool against the inferno of her skin. Tiny spots of silvery-blue light danced in his eyes. He bent close as if to kiss her.

  For one brief moment, the world seemed to blur.

  The cessation of movement caught her eye and Clara turned her head from him. That subtle action set her head spinning. “Not here,” she whispered. “Not in front of all these people.”

  Those with seats closest to the head table had paused in their idle chatter. Men and women alike turned their heads in a casual fashion that spoke of staring without trying to appear as if they did so.

  Lucias’ gaze mimicked her own in inspecting the court before returning to her, his brow scrunched. “No kissing in public?” he murmured. His frown deepened. “You didn’t seem so concerned when you first arrived.”

  Uncertain, and a little embarrassed as to what else she could possibly say, she picked at her food. Yes, she’d done poorly when it came to restraining herself in the courtyard. It’d been a tiring journey and seeing his face again after all those months had been enough to make her forget anyone else in the courtyard even existed. But here? Now? “They’re staring at us.”

  He shrugged, which was about what she should’ve expected from him. “Let them.” Lucias drew her closer and tilted her head to one side. His breath tickled her ear, sending a pleasant shiver down her back. “Would it help if I told you what they’re thinking?”

  Clara twisted out of his grasp. “You can read minds, now?” Or was that just another facet of his magic that he’d neglected to inform her of?

  Lucias chuckled. “Thank the Goddess I’ve no such power. Granted, it would be advantageous in certain situations, but I do believe that alone would be enough to drive a man mad.” He leant back, steepling his fingers on the table. “But I can tell you they are curious about you.”

  “You don’t say?” she muttered under her breath. She was the first woman in seven successions to become a wife instead of remaining as a mistress. Of course they were curious.

  A faint smirk tweaked his lips. “Is there any doubt?” His eyes left her face for a split second to take in the room. “They sit there, their heads full of stories about this woman who saved their Great Lord from our murderous neighbours and still they wonder what’s so special about her.” He clasped her hand beneath the table. “Don’t concern yourself with them. Better yet, show them that fire I fell in love with.”

  A part of her wanted to forget about those watching them and comply, for the rumours certainly had her doing far more than kissing. They’d the better part of a week until the wedding, then she would be required to kiss Lucias before the altar to seal their vows, in front of these very same men and women.

  “I…” Clara wet her suddenly dry lips. Married before all these people; taking vows she’d rehearsed until her throat was sore. What if I get them wrong? Her already churning stomach clenched at the thought. How she wished Gettie was here instead of back at the Citadel. The old woman always seemed to know exactly what to say to calm Clara’s nerves.

  Lucias gave her hand a reassuring pat before returning to his meal, the absence of his fingers leaving her skin chill. He stared straight out at the crowd, his jaw twitching. One brow jerked upwards in her direction. Concern flickered across his face. The silvery-blue specks in his eyes had grown, twirling in the centres. Not quite one spinning glow, but close. “Clara? Are you all right?”

  She’d barely opened her mouth when someone rapped their knuckles on the table.

  “I request a quieting of the tables,” Farris demanded of the room.

  Clara glanced past her betrothed to find the old count on his feet with his goblet lifted high in the air. What was this? Her gaze flicked to Lucias, who seemed a little apprehensive of the man’s movements, but vastly more interested in hers.

  Lucias’ hand alighted on her wrist. With one finger, he discretely pulled her glove down enough to expose her skin. He stared at her, his eyes almost white with light.

  Her heart hammered faster. Was something wrong?

  The collective chatter along the tables quietened and then died. Every face turned towards the head table. She took a deep breath, struggling against the urge to fan her uncomfortably warm cheeks. Nothing left to do but to remain aloof, show them that nothing could faze her. That was how the nobility handled these situations, wasn’t it?

  With the room silent, Farris continued, “It is our custom for a groom’s father to address the clan before his son’s wedding, to speak of his deeds and declare him as a suitable warrior for any woman. But, my lords and ladies, t
his right of our forefathers is not possible for our Great Lord.” Farris tipped his goblet in Lucias’ direction. “He has gifted me with the privilege of taking his father’s place.” He held the chalice to his chest and bowed his head.

  Most of the men and women in the other tables mimicked him.

  Clara watched on, puzzled and all too aware of Lucias’ unwavering scrutiny in her. By the look in his face, he expected her to faint at any moment.

  That wasn’t an entirely foolish thought. She certainly felt hot enough. It had to be all the people crammed into one room. One enormous room. Her gaze rolled to the candles and the fireplaces flanking the tables.

  Discretely unfastening the top button of her gown, Clara turned her attention to Farris. She’d expected the count to adhere to his people’s customs, but not for a speech to come so soon. Was she also meant to be doing as they all did?

  She went to follow and was stopped from lifting her arm by a faint pressure on her wrist. Beneath the table, Lucias clasped her hand. He shook his head, a small bemused smile tweaking his lips. At least he’d stopped his unnerving studying of her and his eyes had returned to their normal dark colour.

  Clara squeezed his fingers, smiling when he replied in kind.

  Farris cleared his throat. “I know some of you are here only to become a part of history, to watch our Great Lord take the forever vows with his mistress, but I am here for a higher reason.” He held up his hand as troubled murmurs rose through the crowd. “I have watched this boy grow into a man. It is no secret that he spent many years here, training on the front lines.”

  “He trained on our borderline too, my old friend,” a man called out from somewhere in the crowd.

  “That he did,” Farris conceded. “Fought long and hard. Unflinching like a true warrior of the moors.” He jabbed a finger at the now enthralled audience. It somewhat reminded Clara of the old man back on the streets of Everdark who’d tried to warn the village of what the previous Great Lord’s death would mean to them. “I stand here before you all to declare I have seen our Great Lord’s worth and judge this man as being no less a warrior than one of my own sons.” He clapped a hand on Thad’s shoulder, whose whole face was flushed red. “Who among you would dare to say the same?”

  “I would dare!” a different man yelled from somewhere towards the far end of the room. “He single-handedly kept the savages at bay when our outer defences fell last winter.”

  “As would I.” A woman, bedecked in a wealth of pale blue silk and sitting at the front of the tables, jumped to her feet. “Instead of diverting his men from their rounds, he tracked down the bandits responsible for the attack on my carriage.” Her chin lifted. “By himself.”

  More cries followed the pair. Some just shouted their declaration, whilst others revealed what Lucias had done to protect their part of the kingdom.

  Clara dared another glance at her betrothed, surprised to find Lucias seemed rather embarrassed by the display. He’d never mentioned any of this before. Oh, he would regale her with tales of the places he’d been to and of the sights he longed to show her. But what he did there?

  Well, according to him, he trained and patrolled like any guard. Not once had he talked about stopping an invasion or hunting down bandits single-handedly.

  Lucias caught her staring and grimaced. “I see Farris has had too much wine already.” He got to his feet and raised his hands along with his voice. “People, please.”

  The cries of the crowd died.

  “These words are not necessary. It is my duty to keep our kingdom safe, whether the enemy comes from beyond our borders or within our very lands.” He smiled down at her and she knew her cheeks matched his in redness. “Think of these coming days as history if you wish. To me, it is simply an affirmation of how I feel for my dear Clarabelle, who I’m sure you’ve just overwhelmed.”

  Clara stared incredulously up at him. After everything she’d been through, he dared to claim a few dozen proclamations of his past actions would overwhelm her?

  She stood, her palms slapping against the table. Her legs shook as they took her weight, causing the room to spin. Wrapping her arm about his waist helped steady her, but it did nothing to still the room.

  Lucias twisted in her hold and she grabbed his cravat, pulling his mouth within reach whilst he was ensnared by shock. Their lips touched and he instantly pulled her tighter into his embrace. There wasn’t the same tingly magic of the kiss they’d shared in the courtyard, but with the thrill of knowing everyone watched on—a few cheering as Lucias tipped her back and deepened the kiss—it came surprisingly close.

  Hauling her upright, he parted them enough to breathe and allowed her to regain her footing. “I thought we weren’t up to public kisses?” He gently brushed the hair from her face. “Was it something I said?” His grin widened. “If so, please do tell me what it was and I’ll keep on saying it.”

  Clara leant against him and laughed breathlessly, stopping as the room gave a little twirl. Oh no. Was this the wine’s doing? But she’d been so careful, indulging only in a single goblet-full and half of that still sat on the table. It had to be the lack of food. She probably shouldn’t have drunk so much on a near-empty stomach.

  Still feeling lightheaded, she pressed their foreheads together. “I don’t feel so good,” she whispered. She’d thought the breathless feeling had come from their kiss, but her heart still beat like her mother’s sewing machine working at full pace and her chest heaved with each shuddering breath. “Get me out of here.”

  The drag of his brows against her skin spoke of a frown. He pulled back. “You do seem to be getting paler. Do you want me to call for a doctor?”

  Clara shook her head, instantly regretting it. Not here. She couldn’t possibly linger here, underneath the keen stares of the court, for more than a couple of minutes. She rocked back on her heels. How odd that her head had seemed perfectly fine when she was seated. “To be honest, I’m just a little lightheaded.”

  His face creased with concern and his gaze flicked down to the table. What thoughts crossed his mind? This was merely a case of mild drunkenness. “Maybe you just need some fresh air.” Lucias grasped her elbow, steadying her. “Come, we’ll take a stroll around the gardens. You’ll love them.”

  The servants, as if responding to some command Clara hadn’t seen him give, scurried up to move the heavy chairs out of the way.

  “My lord?” Farris called out as they went to leave the table. “Do you retire so soon? There is still more to be had.”

  In one smooth motion, Lucias guided her off the dais and gave the count a bow. “My apologies, Farris. It is late and my lady did only arrive today.”

  “But of course.” Farris waved his hand in the air, brushing aside the apology as if it hadn’t needed to be said. “I forget how weary travel can make a person not used to it and she’ll need all the rest she can get, eh?” His polite smile twisted suggestively and he gave a meaningful chuckle as Lucias led her away.

  Clara silently cursed her heating cheeks for burning so readily at the count’s notion of what was to happen this coming week. A dead man could tell he spoke of the night before her wedding, when Lucias was meant to come to her room and steal her away or, at least, lie with her. Few knew that would not be so and it seemed Farris was not one of them.

  Whispers flew in their wake, just as they’d done earlier whenever she set foot outside her chambers. The words they spoke need not be heard, for the faces they came from could’ve filled volumes no matter how hard those very people tried to conceal their thoughts behind a facade of politely worried smiles.

  No doubt they believed their Great Lord planned to retire to his bed for the night, dragging her along with him. The very idea of them coming to such a conclusion was an unsettling one. But why wouldn’t they? She was leaving in the presence of her betrothed after having initiated a public kiss. Rumour alone had made her far more scandalous than she’d ever dare to be.

  Lucias’ expression remained
unchanged as he slowly aimed her towards the closest door. That had to mean they were headed for the kitchens.

  She shrunk from the thought of entering a place blazing with more heat. Already, what had originally been a cosy warmth was too much. She opened her mouth, the suggestion of an alternative route already on her tongue, when the churning of her stomach returned. It grew stronger the longer they walked. More rebellious.

  Clara lengthened her steps. The last thing she was prepared to let happen was vomit in front of the whole court. Not for anything.

  Chapter Four

  They wove through the crowd of servants, both those in the room and others waiting on the far side of the doors. The rattle and jumbled chatter of a busy kitchen hit her. Clara winced at the noise, shrinking into Lucias’ arms. He rubbed her shoulder, gently guiding her onwards. She stifled a groan. Forward meant heading towards the growing heat of the ovens.

  “It’s just a little further,” Lucias murmured in her ear.

  Sweat sprung across her forehead. Her stomach clenched. Bile slid up her throat, gagging her as she fought to keep it down. Tears increased their flow, turning the world into shimmering light. It didn’t matter how far away the gardens were, she wasn’t going to make it.

  She pushed Lucias aside, stumbling blindly in search of a bucket… a bowl… anything.

  Her fingers latched onto the rim of something round.

  Liquid and chewed chunks of food poured out her mouth the very second she bent her head. Her whole body shuddered in its efforts to expel everything she’d eaten for the night. And possibly the previous night’s meal as well.

  Then it was over, leaving her wrung out.

  Her legs shook. Faced with the prospect of being dumped onto the floor, she bent over the table. It required pushing aside the bowl before her. That was what she’d grasped, a big metal bowl similar to the one the Citadel cooks used for mixing bread dough. Mercifully empty before she’d gotten hold of it.