Dark One's Bride

by Aldrea Alien

  He sipped from his goblet, staring at her over the rim. The gentle concern on his face fast melted into barely contained distress.

  Clara sucked on her bottom lip, refraining from speaking. Her face burned so intensely that she was certain her cheeks must be glowing like a beacon. Goddess, is it too much to ask you to make the ground swallow me where I stand?

  As always, such a plea went unanswered.

  Just when her face could grow no hotter under the fire of his scrutiny, he took another sip from his goblet. His actions a little too calm and precise. “You’re troubled.” The verdict slipping quietly through his lips came soft and sure. “What is it?”

  Fiddling with the loose curls of her hair, Clara shifted her gaze to the wide archway where the crowd still seemed oblivious to her presence. How she wished Lucias couldn’t hit the truth so easily. Her parents were never this hard to convince.

  A glance back at him revealed he still patiently waited for an answer.

  Might as well tell him the truth. Whatever she said, if it was anything but the truth, he’d catch—or perhaps feel or however the magic let him know—the little lie in her response. She exhaled long and noisily. “I’ve never seen a birthing like that before.”

  Gentle understanding moulded his face. “And it bothered you.”

  That was putting it mildly. “Have you ever seen a woman give birth?”

  His brows merged. He shifted in his seat. “I… have not. As I’m sure you well know.” Lucias spoke slowly, seemingly more concerned with setting his goblet to one side than conversing. “But, from what I’ve heard tonight, it was dreadful.”

  “I don’t—” She ducked her head, plucking at the embroidery on her skirt. “Do you think that’s what’s in store for me?”

  Her gaze lifted in time to see the colour draining from his face. He stared at her for what certainly seemed like forever, his mouth silently opening and closing. “What?” That single, strangled word seemed to be the only thing capable of passing his lips. “I would never let—”

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to imply you would…”

  Her words fell away as Lucias scrambled across the space to kneel at her feet. She cast a surreptitious glance towards those beyond the alcove archway. No one seemed to have noticed their Great Lord’s sudden, ungainly burst of speed.

  He grasped her hands, squeezing her fingers tight as if anchoring her. “You’re always apologising for things you’ve no control over. Stop. Nothing that has happened is your fault.” He drew himself to his feet, leaning over her. Warm air bathed her hairline before his lips brushed her forehead.

  Clara breathed deeply of his scent. She tipped her head forward and burrowed her face into his jacket, trying to banish the tears that threatened to soak the dark cloth. She couldn’t cry now. Not when everything had turned out all right.

  Untangling himself from her grasp, Lucias sank onto the other half of the seat. He wrapped his arms about her shoulders, drawing her close. “I’ve never considered the thought that you might have the same complications as Thalia during the birth of our child. That I might lose you in such a way…” He shook his head, his face strained as he combed back his hair. “None of that has ever occurred to me until now.”

  She pressed her lips together, still fighting to keep them from trembling.

  “Come.” He stood, offering her his hand. “Let us converse further in private.”

  Their passage through the study was one heavy with the gazes of others. Leaving the room wasn’t exactly a frowned upon action, and it was quite late into the night. For the Great Lord to leave with his mistress would be a perfectly normal thing.

  Still, Clara’s stomach twisted. She clung to Lucias and did her level best to match the relaxed attitude in his pace as they sauntered through the corridors. She’d attempted such a feat many times before and had never quite managed that balance of nonchalance and danger.

  The sun had dipped behind the castle walls, throwing the gardens into shadow. A chill breeze nipped at her skin, caressing her face with its icy fingers. She briskly rubbed at her arms in the hopes of staving off the cold before it could burrow into her skin.

  They strolled through the gardens under the cover of smoky lantern light. They wandered by a trio of large windows. Through the dusky panes, she could make out the curious stares of people. Men and women twirled about, clearly enjoying themselves. To think she should’ve been one of them.

  “Where are our children?” Lucias asked, his voice light

  Clara smiled at his attempt at small talk. Never mind she had wondered the same thing once other thoughts were able to return from the calamity of the solarium. Every single child had been bundled out of the room once the midwife arrived. To where, she’d not known until she’d stumbled upon them in the gardens, practising swordplay with sticks alongside the noble children. “I sent them off to bed.”

  “Prudent.”

  She slipped free of his touch to lower herself onto a bench surrounded by the sleeping buds of roses. Not looking up at him, she fussed with arranging her skirts to fall just so. This would not affect her. She couldn’t let it. “I suppose this is where you’re going to tell me that there are a million differences between Thalia and myself. That I shouldn’t worry.” It’d been easy to tell herself those very words that morning, but now he stood before her, she couldn’t bring herself to lift her head, to look into his eyes without wondering.

  “There are and you shouldn’t worry. You’ve no reason to. But I am picking that reason and logic fled some time back.” He plucked the handkerchief from his jacket pocket and offered it up.

  Clara accepted the handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes with a corner. “What if I decide I don’t want children? Ones I’ve carried and given birth to, I mean.”

  In the soft lantern light, she barely made out the flattening of his lips. “You know I need an heir.” He sank to one knee before her. His head tilted to one side in an obvious attempt to see her expression. Concern creased his brow. “You know why.”

  “But the child doesn’t have to be mine.” Lucias might seem confident that she would be the one to give him his first child, but who was to say he hadn’t already unwittingly impregnated someone like Marie? “There’s nothing special about me.”

  “That is…” Lucias frowned, his gaze sliding to one side. “…technically true, I suppose. Although it’s a point that could lend itself to some heavy debates.”

  Clara sat in silence, picking at the handkerchief’s deep red embroidery—rows of stylised fires she’d stitched into the dark silk three months ago. None of what he’d said came close to an answer.

  “I…” Sighing, Lucias clambered onto the bench and buried his face into his hands. He remained silent for some time before wiping his face and staring vacantly out at a vine-covered trellis shielding them from the wind. “I don’t know what you expect me to do. Obviously, no one is asking you to carry a child before you’re ready.”

  Clara peered at him through her lashes, trying to decipher whether he spoke the truth. “I’m quite certain there are a fair number who expect news of a child right away.”

  Lucias wrinkled his nose, amplifying the hook-like angle. “They can sod off with their expectations. Forcing someone to carry my heir was never an option I felt at all comfortable with taking. I am certainly not about to change my mind on that. I can wait.”

  “But can the people? Is it not selfish of me to demand you risk every life in the entire kingdom just because I have reservations?” She tugged at her sleeves, vainly trying to cover more skin than they’d been cut to manage. No matter how hard she tugged, the great swathes of red and black fabric just didn’t seem decent enough. “You can’t hold off producing an heir forever.”

  “If the assassination attempt rattled you, I am more than capable of ensuring you come to no harm.” He fingered a lock of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “My love, I will do everything that’s in my power to ensure your wellbeing
. If that means waiting until such a time that you’ve allayed your fears, then so be it.”

  “But that’s just it, isn’t it?” she blurted. “You could protect me from any number of attempts on my life. What if something goes wrong that you can’t fix?” she pressed, falling back to picking at the handkerchief. “Yes, your magic was powerful enough to bring you back from the brink of death, but it’s not endless.”

  She’d learnt of the limitations behind the healing glyphs ringing the Citadel’s training grounds, of why such magic was kept to one tiny section of the kingdom. If a person was to place enough mortally injured people within the glyphs boundaries, the magic would tear the life from him whilst trying to mend them.

  Lucias grew very still and silently stared at her for some time, his eyes black in the shadows. “It’ll be enough. I’ll make sure that it is.”

  She didn’t waste her breath on asking how. He’d never tell her. She took a deep breath and spoke in a rush. “What if the bleeding won’t stop? What if the baby gets stuck? Or it takes too long and suffocates? Or the cord strangles him?” She could almost feel something wrapping around her own neck at the thought. There were so many ways a birth could go wrong. She’d never seen any complications before Thalia but she’d heard of plenty. “Or… or—”

  He clasped her hands, drawing them to his lips. Concern creased his face and lit the dark depths of his eyes. “Or maybe nothing bad will happen at all.” He ran his thumb over her cheek, wiping the dampness from her skin, before drawing her close. “You’re letting fear run away with you, my dear. Don’t allow it an inch.”

  Clara glared at the ground, unable to bring herself to pull away and face him. Her eyes burned with the desire to resume spilling a thousand angry tears. How easy it was for him to say when he wasn’t the one expected to carry and bear the next Great Lord. “It’s not that simple,” she mumbled.

  “Then let me attempt to allay your fears.” His breath warmed her ear. “We’ll be back at the Citadel when the time comes, I’ll make sure of that. Gettie has ample experience with midwifery; she helped deliver both my father and myself, amongst others, and my mother certainly didn’t make things easy for her.”

  “I bet.” After trying to kill herself, Lenora likely found the idea of dying in childbirth and taking the heir of her kingdom’s enemy with her an acceptable option. “You won’t push me, then? I’ll be given time to come to terms with what I saw?”

  “We’ve all the time you could possibly desire, far more than I did when we first met. You gave me that, how could I not reply in kind? We’ll have a baby when you’re ready to and no sooner.”

  She blinked furiously for a second, just to convince herself that her eyes hadn’t bulged out of their sockets. “What if I’m never ready?” she whispered. “You can’t wait forever.”

  His brows lowered in thought, his lips thinning as he pressed them together. “We don’t have to come up with that answer now. And whether there’s a child in the near future or not, I still want you as my wife.”

  “And that…” She sniffed back a few tears. “That means I’ll need you to stay healthy for me. You can’t needlessly endanger yourself.” She poked his vest. “No running off to join the guards or patrol the borders. The Great Lord can’t afford to be so irresponsible with his life. I know you like to taunt the assassins, but it’ll only take one stroke of luck on their part to throw the land into chaos.”

  His mouth twisted, failing to contain his mirth. “I think I can restrain myself there.”

  “You had better. I don’t want to become a widow anytime soon.”

  Lucias bowed his head, effortlessly mimicking the stance of a scolded boy. “I swear, I shall endeavour not to die.” He caressed her cheek, his calloused thumb cool against her flushed skin. “You’re right, though, it is selfish to wait.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. Irrational fear welled in her chest for a breath before deflating under the pressure of logic.

  “But I’ve waited so long already. You were also right in that I cannot hold off forever, but a month? A year? Two? Why would I chafe at that passing of time when I have you to share it?” There was a twinkle in his eye as he glanced up. “I can also put up the same glyphs as those in the training grounds in whatever room in the Citadel you desire, for when you are ready.”

  “If,” Clara stressed. “As far as either of us knows right now, it may be never.”

  “I am aware. Forgive me for misspeaking. If,” Lucias echoed. “But the hour is getting late and we both have a busy day ahead of us.” He bounced to his feet before she could begin to formulate a response and offered her his hand. “May I escort you to your chambers?”

  She took hold of Lucias’ hand and let him hoist her to her feet. She may very well change her mind after a few months of marriage or a year. Or more. There were so many years ahead of them, likely more than any other Great Lady. How many had ascended to their titles at seventeen years of age? None.

  And as long as she was given the time to consider the idea, she could face the world at Lucias’ side.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The imperious banging on her door jolted Clara from her sleep. She’d dozed fitfully throughout the night, her dreams a mess of memories and nightmares all stitched together at the wrong angles. She recalled staying with the children until their eyes just couldn’t remain open, which had her retiring to her own bed quite late.

  How long had she slept?

  A quick roll of her head to one side gave her enough of a view of the windows to know the inky darkness of a late morning still lurked beyond the curtains. Only a short time, then. Her head pounded along with the thumping on the door. Had she not known otherwise, she would’ve claimed it to be too much wine. But her tongue hadn’t tasted a single drop during the scant meal she’d woodenly eaten last night.

  “My lady?” a man called from the other side of the door, the voice unfamiliar and desperate.

  As much as she wished it was, ignoring the stealer of her sleep clearly wasn’t going to be an option. This had better be important. If she was to avoid tripping over her tongue when it came to her marriage vows tomorrow, then she needed her sleep now.

  Clara stretched, her hands slipping beneath the pillow to grasp the dagger lying there. A part of her chided how such a weapon was unnecessary, but after the attempt on her life, little seemed ridiculous. “Coming,” she called out. Clutching the crosspiece so that the naked blade laid flat against her forearm, she padded across the room to open the door a crack.

  A man stood in the hallway. He straightened, snapping her a salute. The rattle beneath the thump of his fist suggested chain mail hidden under the green and golds of his livery. A guard in service to the castle rather than a servant. “The Great Lord wishes to see you, my lady. In the gardens. Said it was a matter of some importance.”

  Clara frowned. He seemed familiar, but she couldn’t recall where from. Her gaze flicked down. Only now did she register the man’s sword. There was something in the way he gripped the hilt, his fingers flexing as if restraining an urge to use the weapon.

  It roused a nagging suspicion in the back of her mind. She inched the door closed a little more. If there was danger to be had, Lucias wouldn’t call her towards it. “One moment, if you please?” She eyed the doors opposite hers. Neither one was open. “I am in a frightful state of undress. If you will allow me a moment to make myself presentable?” She swung the door, jumping as the oak panel connected with his booted foot and went no further.

  That nagging thought rushed to the fore, screaming at her. She wet her lips, resisting the urge to scream for her page. There was nothing Tommy could do against an armed man except get himself killed. Or the children, should they seek to exit their rooms.

  The guard’s thin lips curved upwards. She’d always been of the opinion that nothing could be creepier than the glassy smiles of the soulless army under Lucias’ command. Being proven wrong wasn’t any better. “Excuse me, my lady, but he was most ins
istent that you come now.”

  “Come where?” Tommy’s voice echoed down the otherwise silent corridor.

  Grimacing at the sound, Clara opened the door far enough to confirm Tommy was indeed in the hallway. She should’ve known someone banging on her door would wake her page as the boy had always been a light sleeper.

  And it appeared to have woken not only Tommy, for Derek stood behind the older boy, crowding the open doorway to their room. Both seemed to be in varying states of dress, with Tommy clearly missing a jacket and Derek still half in his nightwear. Whether the rest of the boys were awake, she couldn’t tell.

  The guard turned towards the two boys, one side of his face twitching.

  “Lucias has asked for my presence, that’s all,” Clara replied before the guard could react. “Pop back to bed.” Smiling sweetly, she turned her attention to the guard. A brush of her fingers on his forearm him focusing on her. “I shall just be a moment. My future husband wouldn’t want me wandering the halls in just my nightgown.” She barely waited for the twitch of the man’s head in acceptance before scuttling back through the doorway.

  The door still refused to shut fully. A glance at the floor confirmed that the toe of the guard’s boot remained in the gap.

  Clara backed away, aiming for the sword propped against the bedside table. Her dressing gown hung not far from it, giving her an excuse should the man choose to burst into the room. She swiftly donned her dressing gown, eyeing the door and keeping one ear out for the smallest creak of dried door hinges.

  Tucking her now-sheathed dagger beneath the additional layer of clothing was a simple matter, but she would need to close with the guard to use it. And if he managed to draw his weapon first…?

  She needed a longer blade.

  Her gaze settled on her sword. The garnet set into the top shone balefully back at her. Should she dare attempt its concealment? No. The very folds of fabric that would shield the sword’s shape would also hinder its drawing.