Dark One's Bride

by Aldrea Alien

  Lucias licked his lips, his face reddening. “I do ask before the Goddess and the court for she who already claims my heart to become my wife. I stand here in full acceptance that none shall be above her, for her heart, her love in exchange for mine, shall be all I desire, be it in this life and beyond. I promise to love her completely, never seeking to change her in any way, for she is already perfect and none could convince me otherwise.” He took a deep breath and when he spoke again, there was a definite catch in his voice. “Instead, I vow to be her shield against those who would do her harm and her sword when she cannot stand on her own. These things I swear as true.”

  As he fell silent, the lesser hall overflowed with the susurration of many hands hastily dealing with their tears.

  The priest kept his head down and waited until silence once again fell over the room before leaning her way. “Do you, dear maiden, judge this as fair?”

  With her eyes misting and her throat barely letting her breathe, Clara sniffed back her tears and nodded. “I do.” As if she would rebuff him now.

  Over her shoulder, she heard approving whispers.

  “Then speak as to what you have to offer your intended husband,” the priest said.

  “I—” Her tongue froze. She searched for the words, for the oath Gettie helped her to recite for weeks, the very one she’d recalled perfectly just outside this room, but could not find them. “I…” Her fingers slid down the goblet’s bowl and the surface of the wine rippled. Fresh tears, each one a bitter drop of frustration, filled her vision and trickled down her cheeks.

  She couldn’t remember a single word!

  “Clara?” Lucias drew his head closer. “Don’t start crying,” he whispered over the Goddess’ Cup. “Please? You’re doing fine. Just calm down and repeat after me.”

  She blinked, clearing her vision as best she could without relinquishing the chalice. He knew both vows? Bless the man who can recite a bride’s oath. Clara parroted him as he whispered the vow to her. So engrossed in quoting them precisely, she barely heard the words spilling from her mouth, until her ears caught, “…vow to be his shield…”

  A wave of surprised murmurs rippled through the crowd as she continued. Those weren’t the words she was meant to say. Only the man was to promise safety. She was meant to promise…

  She still couldn’t remember.

  “…and his sword when he cannot stand on his own.” A warm hearth. That was what she was meant to offer. And children.

  Grinning, Lucias continued on as if she hadn’t made the biggest muddle of her vows in the history of weddings. “I, Lucias Dark, swear in the name of the Goddess that I have the right to take the maiden Clarabelle Weaver as my wife.”

  No way to fix what she’d done now. Forward was the only option left to her. “And I, Clarabelle Weaver, accept this man’s claim of being my husband.”

  With his lips pressed into a thin line, the priest placed his hands upon their shoulders. “You are now joined in the Goddess’ eyes and, upon anointing your blood into her vessel, you may at last drink your fill from her cup.”

  Blood? Clara gawped at the priest. No one mentioned blood being involved in this ceremony. Was this another Endlight addition to the usual ritual? Did they expect her to spill it, or perhaps be smeared with it?

  A horrid thought swam through the chaos of her mind. Did she have to drink blood?

  Lucias’ muffled hiss drew her attention. With his jaw clenched, he hooked his thumb over the rim of the cup, allowing a single drop of blood to slide down the curve of the bowl and into the wine.

  Staring at the cup, she suddenly became aware of the spikes adorning either side of the bowl, just above where her fingers sat.

  She pricked the side of her thumb on the sharp point, biting the inside of her lip to limit the volume of her whimper. Mimicking him in hooking the digit over the rim, she pressed her thumb against the cool metal until a drop marred the inside of the chalice bowl. The chalice shook, the motion aiding the blood drop’s descent.

  Clara steadied the Goddess’ Cup, helping Lucias guide it to his mouth. The wine touched his lips. Whilst he tentatively licked the droplets from his skin, he helped her keep the liquid from tipping too far her way as she went to drink.

  Tepid wetness graced her lips. Bitter wine washed over her tongue. She tried not to gag at the thought of what she could be drinking. Sucking on her finger after pricking it was one thing, she’d done it enough whilst learning how to sew. But willingly imbibing another person’s blood? Her stomach churned at the very idea.

  It’s just a sip. If she was quick, then perhaps there would be naught but wine in the mouthful.

  Having swallowed all she was prepared to drink, they lowered the chalice.

  The priest took it from them and handed Lucias a delicately wrought, silver tiara. Her heart jumped at the sight. She silently cursed herself for not expecting this. Marrying him meant more than going from mistress to wife. She’d become the first Great Lady in the last three centuries, if not longer.

  The tiara settled on her head, its weight barely discernible as the ends slid into her hair. She watched Lucias’ features soften as he fussed with the tresses. Whether through outward pressure or conscious command, his eyes remained free of any silvery-blue light.

  Clara laid a hand upon his chest, feeling the tightness vibrating through his body as she glided her fingers up his waistcoat to rest at the base of his neck.

  His lips curving at her touch, Lucias’ dark gaze dropped from the tiara to her mouth. The sunlight caught his coronet, glittering off the deep red garnet. His fingertips delicately snaked along the curves of her ears, trailing down her jaw where the powder wasn’t so thickly applied to cup her face. He wet his lips, pulled her closer and bent his head as if he meant to kiss her. Then he seemed to think better of it.

  Instead, he wrapped an arm about her waist, gently turning her towards the already chattering crowd. “My lords and ladies,” he said, the words booming over their talk. “I present to you Great Lady Clarabelle, the Great Lord’s Shield.”

  There was a pause, then, starting from the front, a cheer burst forth from man and woman alike, stoking the growing fire in her cheeks.

  Feeling emboldened and a little bit cheated, she leant closer to her husband and whispered against his shoulder, “Is this not the part where you’re meant to be kissing me?” He’d been so eager beforehand. Why the sudden distance?

  His gaze flicked to her face before returning to eye the crowd. Lucias watched them with barely veiled disinterest as the music started up again and the people began to form little groups amongst the whole. The longer he stared wordlessly ahead, the more knotted her stomach became.

  At last, he spoke. “And here I thought you weren’t keen on participating in public displays of affection.” His gentle smile widened. “If I start kissing you now, I fear I wouldn’t be able to stop and, although Endlight’s people are tolerant of much, I think even they would baulk at seeing their Great Lord eternally fused at the lips to his wife.”

  She’d been thinking of something quite a bit more restrained than that. “You would be comfortable being so forward with all of these people watching us?”

  “I’d prefer to think most of them would seek out an alternative place to engage in revelry. As for comfort, I’m pretty sure my mind would be on other things.” He lowered his head until his breath tickled her ear and ignited an irrationally hot thumping throughout her whole body. “Of course, we could leave now if you don’t fancy lingering.”

  Unbidden, her grip tightened on his belt, the sturdy leather biting into her palm. She clung to his waist. To do otherwise was to risk collapse. Her thoughts quickly settled on the room she’d left only hours ago and the bed awaiting them.

  Sudden uncertainty stabbed into her ribs. Naturally, his mind had raced ahead to then, and she didn’t think any less of him for harbouring the thought of coupling with his wife.

  She mutely shook her head. She couldn’t face the
prospect of that yet.

  Lucias pulled back, his lips pressed flat and his brows bunched together in worry. He cupped her cheek. “You’re trembling.” His thumb brushed across her chin. “I misspoke again, didn’t I?” He squeezed his eyes shut and clutched at his forehead with his free hand. “I didn’t mean to suggest you must choose between remaining here and being ravished. If leaving straight away bothers you, we can socialise as long as you want. Or, if you prefer, dance for a while.” His head snapped up, the silvery-blue light in his eyes flashing for one brief moment. “You do still enjoy dancing, don’t you?”

  Clara inclined her head. Perhaps, if they danced long enough, he would be too tired come nightfall. “As long as we stay vertical.”

  One side of his mouth lifted. “You have my word. But, if it’s merely a case of nerves, might I suggest you drink a little more from the Goddess’ Cup? In small doses, tiãpe has been known to have a relaxing effect.”

  I bet it does. She crossed her arms. “Is that your way of tricking me into drinking your blood?” She was pretty certain no married couple in Everdark had ever been required to do such a thing. And who knew what the magic infused in his body would do to her.

  His shoulders shook with deep, sad laughter. “Believe me, it would be worse the other way around.” He took hold of her hand, gently resting it in the crook of his elbow. “Come, we’ve tarried long enough. If you wish to stay, then there are formalities we must attend to before the people grow impatient.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Clara walked beside her husband in a daze as he escorted her to various factions around the room. She smiled and nodded at all the right social cues, leaving Lucias to do all the talking.

  Her mind simply refused to stop focusing on what he’d said back on the dais. How would it have been worse for him to drink her blood instead of the other way around? She desperately wanted to ask him, but in private.

  Yet if she sought that privacy, she wouldn’t be able to return to the revelry without sparking more rumours. It wasn’t as if she’d heard even a whisper about the Great Lords of the past using blood to augment their power or anything of the like.

  “There’s the happy couple!” Farris boomed, pulling her full attention back to the room. The old count strode through the parting crowd to embrace his lord, giving Lucias’ back a hearty pat. “Come now, lad, don’t be shy. No point in hiding her amongst the low nobility, trot her out.”

  “Trot?” Lucias bit the corner of his mouth, the other side already on its way into a grin. “She’s my wife, not a prized filly.”

  The count clapped his hands onto her shoulders. “No, she’s a fine woman. One, I might add, I haven’t seen you kiss.” He bent close to Lucias as if to whisper, but the words came louder than ever. “If you won’t, someone will have to.” With that declaration, he kissed her cheeks multiple times before relinquishing her. “Couldn’t help but notice a little flaw in your vows there, my lady.” Farris elbowed his lord in the ribs. “You’ll regret not having her promise you a warm hearth when you get older.”

  The soft smile Lucias gave was one she knew came from thinking on his own mortality. “I think her sword and shield will serve me just as well in the future as it has done in the past.”

  Farris scrubbed at his chin. “You’ve men aplenty for protection and retaliation.”

  “I’d rather have her.”

  The count shook his head and laughed. “It gladdens my heart to hear you say that, lad. Reminds me of myself with my dear Jen.” He clapped an arm around Lucias’ shoulders, hugging him tightly. “But you must come mingle with the other lads. Let your woman have a moment with the high-born ladies.”

  Lucias untangled himself from the count’s grasp. “I’ll be along shortly.” Sending Farris off with a gentle shove, he waited until they were alone once again before turning his full attention to her. “It seems they seek to part us for a while.”

  “Not too long, I hope.” The music grew louder, not quite masking the bustle coming from the nearby room. There would be feasting soon, and dancing. She snuggled into his embrace, letting him rock her from side to side. “You promised me a dance.”

  “Did I?” Smiling, he brushed his lips across the tip of her nose. “Then I’ll make sure to return as soon as I am able.”

  “Lucias darling,” a woman called as he went to follow Farris.

  He froze, his brows merging in horrified bewilderment. His gaze darted over Clara’s shoulder and his whole face paled. “Marie?”

  Curious, Clara swung about to find the dark-haired woman with the full rosy lips standing there. Her gaze swept over the woman’s low-cut neckline and split skirt. She dares? Even without flaunting a style that would’ve looked more appropriate in a private setting, the gown was in shades very close to the Great Lord’s colours of black and dark red.

  Marie sashayed over to Lucias’ side, trying in vain to drape herself on his arm. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  Clara bit her tongue, diverting her focus to keeping her expression neutral and discreetly balling her hands lest they flew to the woman’s throat of their own volition. How dare she! Clara stood right there and the woman practically purred! I am not going to do a thing. She refused to start the first few hours of their marriage by getting jealous over some tart’s flirting. With my husband. He belonged to her, not Marie.

  Mine. All mine.

  “A pleasure?” Lucias mumbled, jerking back from the woman and drawing Clara closer in the same move. “Is it?” His gaze shot to Thad and his face doubled its effort in regaining its colour. His grip on Clara’s waist tightened, the press of his fingers verging on painful. “I suggest you cease with this display of familiarity and remove yourself from this court immediately before I have you dragged out.”

  Marie stepped back, the smoky-grey dust on her lids serving to make her wide-eyed stare seem bigger. “My lord? I—” She laid a hand atop the bare upper half of her bosom. “I do not understand. Have I done something to displease you? You’ve always been so happy to see me in the past.”

  Lucias’ face darkened. Silvery-blue light blossomed in the centre of his eyes. “No,” he whispered, the word akin to the distant rumble of an approaching storm. He pulled Marie to him, close enough to whisper in her ear. Like the time an Endlight guard had assaulted Clara back in the Citadel, the words weren’t loud enough for her to make out. All the same, they pulled at something within her.

  When Lucias finally stepped back, the woman’s dark eyes had taken on the unearthly glow.

  In the same low tone, Lucias continued to order the woman, “You have no business being here, certainly not at my wedding. You will depart immediately and not return to this place until we have left. Understood?”

  Marie nodded, unable to resist the compulsion spell Lucias laid upon her. She bowed to them and slowly made her way out of the room.

  “I thought compulsion only lasted a few hours,” Clara said, unable to take her eyes off Marie until the crowd blocked all hint of her. Lucias had never given her a precise timeframe—too many variables, he had claimed—but she knew it was long enough for a man to march up the steps of the tallest tower in the Citadel and defenestrate himself.

  “She’ll have shaken the spell by the time she returns home. I’m just hoping she’ll also have the sense to heed my words.” He slowly relinquished his hold on her. “If you’ll excuse me, I must speak with Thad. I’d rather not have any more unwanted surprises.” With that, he slipped into the crowd.

  Clara followed his path to where the Endlight lord now stood with a cluster of men around the same age near the lesser hall’s north-facing wall. The group chatted and laughed amongst themselves, stilling only as Lucias stalked up to drag his friend from their midst before redoubling all talk.

  Try as she might, Clara lost sight of the pair after that little display. She wove through the crowd, bowing her head to those who acknowledged her presence and accepting their good wishes with what little grace she could
muster as her cheeks burned brilliantly beneath the makeup.

  “Mummy!” a small, and somewhat distinctive, voice rang out across the hall.

  She turned, certain she knew the voice’s owner. Poppet?

  Sure enough, the small child Clara had taken off the street raced towards her as if they’d known each other all their lives. The girl flitted through the gaps between skirts and trousers, dodging startled people with all the expertise of a gambling puppy through the market square.

  Clara knelt, scooping the bony child into her arms.

  “You look like a princess from one of Derek’s stories,” Poppet gushed.

  With Poppet settled snugly on Clara’s hip, she wove through the crowd in the direction the girl had come from, searching for any sign of the other children. None seemed to appear in the immediate vicinity. “Where are your brothers and sisters?” Surely if the smallest of their group was wandering amongst the court, then the rest had to be nearby.

  “They’ve all gone to eat. I’m not hungry.” She puffed out her chest. “I was, and I tried eating some of this bird. It tasted weird, though. Trubs said it was because the bird had eaten nothing except oranges, but I don’t think that was true.”

  “That does sound a little implausible.” Although, having seen some of the meals the castle kitchen wheeled out, she wouldn’t be entirely shocked.

  “Then I heard there was dancing and Derek said I couldn’t dance on a full belly, which I thought sounded a little silly. You dance on the floor, not a belly.”

  Repressing the urge to laugh, she gave Poppet the most serious face she could manage. “I suppose if you’d really tiny feet, you could.” Clara hopped briefly onto her tiptoes and scanned the room, but true to the girl’s word, none of the other children were nearby.

  Poppet bounced in her arms. “Like that time the baker’s dog jumped all over the fat man in the street. Although, Derek said I shouldn’t call him fat, but Woden started it so it’s not my fault. I thought he was pregnant at first, but Sweetie told me men can’t get pregnant, but I think she might be wrong, because he was really big. Like this.” She extended her hands as if clutching an apple basket and puffed out her cheeks.