The Traitor's Daughter (Complete)

Part 19-In The Gazebo

Zena felt a shiver of terrible dread as she stared at the man sprawled on the bed, his stance arrogant, his smile, one of the devil himself.

"Pr....price?" she whispered, her throat choking up with fear. This did not bode well for her, she was sure.

"Yes, a price. The cost of coming out of the dungeon and the death row."

"What?" she whispered, knowing that she would not like what was to come.

Luke sat up, leaning on the pillows, surveying her trembling form with a scornful look. He neither asked her to sit nor did he rise himself.

"However much I hate you," he started, his lips twisting mockingly, "I do desire your body. I don't like this, but that's the unfortunate truth."

Zena took in a shaky breath. He was surveying her as if she was a merchandise, he did not particularly like, but had found a use for. It was demeaning, and a silent rage filled her heart.

"I want you as my mistress, my woman, exclusively. To be at my beck and call day and night, until I tire of you, which, let me tell you, you'll pray for," he laughed, a deprecating laugh, full of contempt.

"Why are you doing this, Luke? You know how degrading it would be for a lady...." she pleaded.

"Lady? Do you think of yourself as one? Believe me, a traitor's daughter can be anything but. What are you afraid of? Social scandal? You, Zena, have no reputation left in high society circles after what your scum of a father has done."

There was no way that she would survive the shame of what he was suggesting. What if her father returned and proved his innocence? She would be totally destroyed by then, unable to look anyone in the eye. There had always been royal mistresses, but they were courtesans, unconcerned about their reputation. Of course, she had lain with Luke before he knew the truth, but she had been in love with him and believed that he was too. He had acted like a man smitten with her, all tender and caring. There was no shame attached to it, but to be his mistress, to acknowledge the degrading relationship openly, to be taken by him, with hateful contempt, was worse than dying on the gallows.

Slowly, Zena sank down on the floor, kneeling in front of him.

"Don't do this, Luke...." she begged, tears slipping down her cheeks.

In reply, he just got up, then shrugged out of his robe, reaching for her and without ado, tearing the flimsy one she had been made to wear.

Once he was done with her, he stared down at her lifeless eyes, too far gone even to shed a tear. The devastation was too great for tears.

"Get out," he commanded, walking over and pouring himself a drink from the decanter.

"I'll take great pleasure in destroying you, Zena," he threw at her, as she gathered the ruined dress, somehow covering herself with it and leaving the royal bedchamber.

Luke watched her leave, her shoulders stooped in defeat, her body bruised from his lustful rage. He should be happy for having done that to Martin's daughter. Why then, did the sight make him sick to his stomach?

He took a sip of the scotch, then really felt nauseous. Clamping a hand to his mouth, he looked for and then, bent over the chamber pot, his stomach heaving.

Zena lay curled on the bed, her whole body aching from Luke's possession. She had washed her body with the water in the ewer, feeling filthy from his touch, the same touch which she had reveled in once, but then how different, how gentle he had been then. Was being her father's daughter such a huge sin? She could not believe that. There was bound to be something else, some other reason, for Luke's revenge on her. For revenge it was. He was hell-bent on destroying her. She wished someone would tell her the truth, the real reason for his hatred of her.

Whatever it be, she would not let him break her, she decided. She had been raised to be fearless and courageous. She would bide her time, before escaping from the palace. She would find her father and unravel the whole ugly conspiracy behind this.

For now, she would have to endure Luke's possession, but she would let him know that she abhorred him for it.

Only a few candles lit the chamber, throwing shadows over the room. The fire in the grate had almost died down, but Luke still sat on the winged chair, a glass in his hand, his mind going back to the time, he had been nine years old.

He had been playing in the garden of the palace. It was evening and his maid was looking for him, but he was hiding from her, for he did not wish to be put to bed. The box maze, with the gazebo in the center, was the perfect place to lead the maid into a merry dance.

The hedges were much higher than him, hiding him from sight. Of course, he knew the maze inside out. It was his favorite place. He had run to the very middle of it before he heard the voices. He peeped out from behind a hedge, recognizing the couple standing inside the gazebo in the darkening evening.

What was his mother doing with Lord Martin? He had seen that tall, golden-haired man often in the palace. He had even talked to him a few times. The man always made a point to smile at him when they met. His mother seemed so petite in contrast. She was a delicate, brunette, with dark soulful eyes, and a gentle disposition. He had often seen her shed a tear or two while sitting in her room, glancing out of the window into the distance, or lying listlessly on the couch, a book in hand, a melancholy look on her face.

She hadn't always been like that. Once, she had loved playing hide and seek with him or telling him stories of princes and fair maidens, or just reading to him out of her books of poetry, while he listened entranced to her lilting voice.

"Don't go, Victor," she said now, pleading with the man while holding his arm.

"What you wish for, Sophia, can never be," Martin replied rudely to his mother, and Luke felt a wave of anger course through him. How dare he talk to his mother in that tone?

"But....but....I love you, Victor. I love you more than I love anyone else," Sophia said, rising on tiptoe and kissing him on the mouth.

With a groan, Martin bent and returned the kiss, and Luke watched their shadows merge. Feeling sick, he could no longer stay there. He ran back to his room, and straight to his bed, forgetting even his dinner.

Tears streamed down his face. His mother did not love him. She loved that horrible man. How could she do that? Maybe, that was the reason that his parents fought so much and his father always seemed to be surrounded by beautiful women. It was all that man's fault, Martin's fault, and he wanted to take his little sword and kill him that very moment.

Luke returned to the present with a jerk as the glass shattered in his hand, the shards embedding in his flesh and blood pouring out, but it did not hurt him so much as the bitter memories which plagued him. He would punish Zena until he could wipe out those memories with new ones of her suffering, he decided. She would pay for what Martin had done.