by Aldrea Alien
There was a faint tug on her head as she moved. Belatedly, she realised someone had grabbed her hair and pulled it back from the bowl. Turning her head a fraction brought Lucias’ carefully neutral face into view.
Someone on her left touched her shoulder. “Miss? Here.” The woman pressed a cool glass into Clara’s hand. “Just the thing to soothe the stomach, Miss,” the woman added as she grabbed the bowl and swiftly replaced it with an empty one.
Clara sipped at the cloudy liquid half-filling the glass. The sharp tang of ginger hit her tongue, mingling with the acrid taste already in the back of her throat. She shuddered, but took another sip. Did she still look so poorly that the woman thought Clara would repeat the act? She certainly didn’t feel much better.
“Don’t drink too much at once,” Lucias cautioned, handing her a length of cloth that dripped water. “You don’t want it coming back up.”
With her hands still shaking, Clara cleaned herself up between taking carefully measured sips. She took a final swallow of the ginger-tinged water and set it aside. Her legs wobbled anew as they took her weight.
“Come, my dear.” Lucias took up her hand, gently cupping her elbow. “Walk with me a while. Perhaps some fresh air will help ease your stomach.” He guided her to another doorway before she had the wherewithal to nod her agreement, patiently letting her dictate the pace.
The door took them out into a narrow, vacant corridor. Cool air caressed her face and took the edge off the wretched sogginess that had grasped her limbs. Clara breathed deeply as they walked, willing her stomach to stop fluttering and disgusted it wouldn’t obey such a command. It was empty bar a half-cup of liquid. What was left for it to protest?
Lucias ran his hand up and down her back in light, reassuring strokes. The action was somewhat at odds with the concern plastered across his face and the anger evident in the flicker of silvery-blue light in his eyes. Small though they were, the sparks still flashed in the gloom. “How are you feeling now?”
“Still terrible,” she mumbled. Even away from the warmth of the kitchens, the unbearable heat continued to plague her.
He nodded as if expecting that very reply. There was a hitch in his stride as he fumbled with something in a small pouch on his belt. “Here,” he whispered, pressing a slim glass vial into her hand. “Drink this. It should fix that.”
Clara uncorked the vial and downed the brown sludge without a second thought. Her very hair seemed to shudder at the bitterness coating her tongue. She gagged. Her stomach rolled, still deciding on whether to reject this strange concoction. “What was that?” The words barely escaped her without her biting her tongue.
“It’s the antidote for a large variety of poisons.” He took the vial back from her and returned it to the pouch. “I always keep a few on me.”
Heat drained from her face. She wasn’t certain if it was due to the vial’s effects or the implication that… “Someone tried to poison me?” She hadn’t even been here a day. How could there already be people in place to make an attempt on her life? And why hadn’t they gone straight for Lucias?
“Well, it was either that or the food was far too rich for you. But I’d prefer to err on the side of caution when it comes to your wellbeing. I’ll bring a few vials for you in the morning. Right after I send a few of my people to interrogate the kitchen staff.”
Clara silently ran her tongue over her teeth. His people. He had to mean the soulless men who made up the Great Lord’s army. Several such troops would currently be patrolling the castle grounds alongside Endlight’s usual guard.
He rubbed at his chin. “Discretely, I would think. In the meantime, it would probably be best if we keep your food on the blander side until we can determine the culprit. It’ll be far harder for them to mask poison without the help of spices. It might take a few days, though. I hope you don’t mind.”
Clara shook her head, her thoughts still caught up in the reality of someone wanting her dead more than the Great Lord. It had to be one of the neighbouring kingdoms, most likely an order from the Ebony Court at Ne’ermore. “I thought this was supposed to be a safe place,” she murmured.
His lips twisted sourly. “The only place in the kingdom for me, for us, that comes close to being safe is the Citadel.”
She frowned, recalling how the Citadel had been breached, and Lucias almost slain, by that giant of a man Lenora brought with her. “So suspect everyone is what you’re saying?” And hope they didn’t have a horde of barbarians to call upon.
Lucias gave a soft chuckle. “Not everyone, you can trust Farris and his family, but on the whole? If you’re the slightest bit uncertain, then yes. Come.” He indicated a high, carved archway leading out into the night. “This way.”
The gardens opened out before her as she stepped through. Torches illuminated an ambling trail through the gloom, throwing strange shadows amongst the stark flowerbeds. The space beyond the flickering light seemed to stretch forever in the dark, yet she sensed the even darker masses of the castle walls looming over them. Guards no doubt prowled such heights, their attention fixated on the sleeping city beyond the stone barrier.
She strolled along the path in silence with Lucias at her side, their every footfall crunching amongst the gravel. Few new plants sought to grow in the cold soil, although a number of shrubs were making a valiant effort in sprouting a handful of tiny leaves in expectation of the coming spring.
Lucias watched her, frowning. “I noticed your mother isn’t amongst the people accompanying you.” His breath misted in the air as he spoke.
Idly rubbing at her bare arms, Clara grimaced. “She didn’t respond.” Not directly, at least. They may not have parted in the most amenable of ways, but the woman was still her mother. They were the only family each other still had and she’d been foolish enough to believe her mother would want to witness Clara’s wedding.
She’d sent her page down to the village to deliver the news to her mother some months back. Poor Tommy. In hindsight, she should’ve expected her mother to take out her anger on the lad, should’ve sent a guard to protect him. She would’ve gone herself had Lucias not already have left for Endlight. She would not make such a mistake again.
“She still hasn’t forgiven you for getting chosen by my people?”
Clara shook her head. Anyone listening to her mother rant on about Clara’s disrespect of her would’ve thought Clara had a choice in entering the Great Lord’s carriage all those months ago.
I can’t believe she’s still bitter over it. Given what her mother had planned, she was fortunate in swapping a marriage she didn’t want for one she’d chosen. Lucias was a far better choice than some cobbler who was old enough to be her grandfather. Even without the trappings of being the Great Lord.
“Perhaps it’s better this way.”
She shrugged and rubbed a little harder at her arms. Perhaps. She would’ve preferred having family here, but if her mother wasn’t prepared to lay aside her poisonous tongue for one day and be happy for her daughter, then maybe Lucias was right.
The longer they lingered in the cold night air, the more it burrowed into her skin. How she regretted not choosing one of the other gowns she’d brought with her. They may not have been as extravagant as the one she currently wore, having far less lace and embroidery than a formal occasion would demand of the soon-to-be Great Lady, but several of the gowns had full-length sleeves. Next time, she would do the prudent thing and bring a stole.
Lucias removed his coat, the shadows turning the dark red of his vest almost black. “Feeling the cold is a good sign,” he said, draping the heavy coat around her shoulders. “I take it that we’re starting to feel better?”
She nodded and drew the coat tighter around her shoulders, the fabric still warm with his body heat. Despite the soft churning in her gut, she was indeed feeling far better than she had whilst under scrutiny in the Great Hall, or even in the kitchen.
They’d almost completed a full circuit of the garden when Lucias cle
ared his throat. “I am sorry… about Farris, that is. He’s never been one to hold his tongue.”
Clara grunted and lengthened her stride, aiming for the small amount of warmth the hallways offered. She’d already surmised such an opinion of the man, but there were far greater things to occupy her mind than what the count had said. Five months was certainly long enough for word of Lucias’ survival, and his impending wedding, to reach Ne’ermore. But to have someone sent into the castle? Someone who would prepare the Great Lord’s meals? “I take it you’ve not divulged the little titbit about us not fully observing Endlight’s customs.”
Lucias scuffed his boot along the path, sending up a spray of pebbles. “No,” he said, sighing. “He’s a bit… set in his ways. I didn’t want to bother him with that bit when he’s been so accommodating about having the wedding here.”
Of course he would be willing to assist, you’re their Great Lord. Sometimes, she wondered if Lucias had actually forgotten he ruled these people. Or was it more a case of him preferring to forget that he did? “Won’t everyone realise when you don’t spirit me from my chambers on the eve of our wedding?”
Lucias smiled and wrapped an arm companionably around her shoulders.
Clara peered at him. There was something about the way his mouth twitched that gave her pause. “Except you are intending on doing just that, aren’t you?” She shook her head, softly chiding herself. How had she not anticipated such an answer sooner?
“Do I plan to spirit you off to my quarters? No. But, I did promise to teach you a few things before we were married. Besides, if it looks like we’re adhering to Endlight’s custom, then everyone will believe—”
“—that we had sex?” She pulled free of his grip, tugging the coat tighter about her as a different sort of chill settled in her stomach. He sought to stoke the fires of rumour rather than let the embers die?
All those eyes. The way they watched her, waiting for her to do something to feed their gossip. Well, she’d certainly given them that. And then some. And once word got out of her display in the kitchen. They’d probably believed her to be deathly ill or…
Pregnant.
Clara slowed. Five months had passed since Lenora failed to kill her son. That was plenty of time for something to happen. No one would believe they hadn’t been intimate months before the eve of their wedding. Lucias had warned her often enough of what people would think, more times than she wished to count. He likely found all the whispers flying about amusing.
Well, she’d come to accept that changing their thoughts on such a matter was simply not within her power.
“You wish to deceive everyone rather than let them know the truth?” Whether or not she deliberately allowed the truth to be warped in such a way was the only thing she’d some measure of control over. “I’m not sure I could—”
“We’ve been over this,” Lucias said. “I’m not asking for you to change your wish, nor do I seek to break my promise that you will go before the altar a virgin. Simply that none of them will believe me if I told them we’d never been intimate. Thad barely believed it and he has no reason to doubt my words. I see little harm in us sharing a room for the night; it’s not as if we won’t become husband and wife the next day. If anything, it would ease my concerns regarding your safety.”
Clara crossed her arms, trying to hide it in tugging the coat tighter around her. She’d not begun to think about what manner of harm could come whilst she was abed. Until now.
He frowned, the wavering torchlight throwing odd shadows across his face. “But my being there’s not what’s worrying you, is it?” Lucias shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why does it matter to you what they think?”
She stared out at the garden hiding in the darkness beyond the light, her eyes adjusting to the gloom until she made out the trees huddled against the walls. Her mother may not have put much faith in gossip, but if Clara ever had a chance to control even a fraction of the rumours, she’d rather be known as the woman who bullied their Great Lord into marriage before sex instead of the one who begged to become his wife after the act. “It doesn’t matter what they think,” she whispered.
“Not to me but, clearly, you care.”
She whirled on him. “You don’t?” Her gaze dropped as she grabbed great fistfuls of her skirt. “Or are you telling me you are fine with what they think of me?” Hearing the current rumours of what they supposedly did behind closed doors was bad enough, but who knew what else they thought of them that the people didn’t voice.
Lucias grasped her hands, his calloused fingers gently prying her skirts free of her grip. “The worst they will think of you is that we’ve made love before our wedding. Most of them will have done the exact same thing, sometimes with those they’re not even destined to marry. And a handful of those people will currently be cheating on their husband or wife. So, no, I don’t see the point in distressing myself with what they’ll think of us.” His grip loosened. One hand caressed her cheek. “I am more concerned with your thoughts.”
She cocked her head, prolonging the touch. “My thoughts?”
“Yes, yours.” He released her other hand to pace before her, his boots pounding across the gravel in deep, murderous strides. “Is this your way of saying you’ve changed your mind? I know I shouldn’t have left you alone at the Citadel, but if I’d stayed…” He raked his fingers through his hair, pulling several strands free of where it was tied at the neck. “Well… if my mother had returned, I would’ve felt better knowing she couldn’t get hold of you so easily. Leaving was the only way I could possibly keep my promise to protect you.”
She rolled her eyes. He’d made the same claim before leaving her with only a handful of the soulless servants and her page for company.
Lucias grabbed her shoulders, nearly lifting her off the ground in his urgency. “If—” His throat constricted with a faint gulp. Silvery-blue light danced in the centre of his eyes, then vanished. “If you are having reservations about marrying me—about anything at all—then please, don’t wait until we’re before the altar to let me know. Tell me now.”
She caressed his cheek, felt the tightness of his jaw. He was fully prepared for her answer to be an unfavourable one. And why not? He’d been raised to believe that the love of another was something he’d never know. That securing an heir was meant to precede everything else, even if it also meant giving up on what he craved the most.
What you want, you simply cannot hope to possess. Her face heated at the memory. It seemed like a lifetime since she’d last spoken those words, lashing out like a child seeking to hurt out of spite and fear. What did it matter that for most of his life it had been all too true?
On the other hand, everyone was in agreement that the Great Lords went mad in the end. Lucias had been the one to tell her that the last Great Lord to marry had killed his own wife, and that man’s son had gone on to be the first one labelled as a Dark Lord by the other kingdoms. It seemed to her that the descendants had only embraced the title.
Yet, staring up into Lucias’ eyes, dark without the silvery-blue specks of light… No madness lurked in their depths. Fear, yes. The terror of losing what he’d only begun to accept he could gain. But also love and unending patience.
Clara flung herself against him, readjusting herself as his sword hilt dug into her side. “You’re a fool,” she mumbled into his shoulder, her arms encircling his chest. My fool. How remarkable it was to watch a man who possessed the power to destroy a city become so timid in her arms.
He tentatively wrapped his arms around her. “Does that mean you haven’t changed your mind? Because I can have a carriage prepared for you within the hour. You could go wherever you desire.”
“Tempting,” she teased. “But I’d much rather wait until after the wedding to travel the kingdom.”
“Our kingdom,” he murmured. His arms tightened, all but crushing her. Only the stiff panels of her corset saved her from the full force of his embrace. “You swear?”
/> Clara wriggled in the small space left to her, gaining enough room to thread her fingers into his hair. With very little coaxing, he dropped the inch she needed to be level with him. She looked him straight in the eye. “I swear,” she whispered.
His eyes closed and a small relieved sigh gusted out his mouth. He pressed his lips against her temple and, as they stood there in the cool torch-lit gloom of the garden, she swore his mouth twitched into a smile.
Chapter Five
The chime of the temple bells filled the air. Their tuneless song hammered in Clara’s head. Wincing, she turned from the wardrobe, temporarily abandoning her search for a respectable daytime gown. She parted the heavy window curtains just enough to let in the first fingers of sunlight.
The sun was barely high enough to illuminate the city rooftops. Even with the journey here and the sickness of last night taxing her, she couldn’t sleep much beyond dawn.
From up here, Endlight didn’t look any different to her village. The same roofs, tile or thatch depending on the wealth of the owners. The styles barely differed from home, the roofs might’ve been a little steeper and the chimney tops were bulkier, but it was the same wood, stone and plaster walls. Nothing to really denote a change in places.
She leant on the window frame and glowered at the sight. I can’t believe I slept in. Her mother would’ve switched her for the very audacity of her idleness. Down there, people would be beginning their day. Some would’ve already started it before the sun was even up, much like she’d done when still living with her mother.
The temple bells chimed again and she rubbed her forehead until the dreadful clanging stopped. Her throbbing head was bearable as long as quiet reigned. She took a small amount of comfort in knowing that she at least didn’t share the malady of those who had heavily indulged during dinner and were unfortunate enough to greet this morning with a head sore from wine.
