THE INSTANT I had become aware of my consciousness, I wrenched my eyes open and tore the covers off of my body. I jerked around, expecting to find my husband lying beside me on the mattress.
He was not there. His side of the bed was empty and cold as though he had departed hours before I had awoken. In his place were my three daggers, lying equidistant from each other and their pommels towards me.
A grin tugged its way onto my lips and my fingers grasped onto the knives. They were intact, sturdy and sharp. Did he think to pay me for...last night? My cheeks heated, traitorous memories consuming my mind. The sensation of his arms encircling me, the graze of his lips along my jaw, the sturdy sound of his chest beating against my back, the whisper of his voice in my ear...his reaction when I commanded him to leave my rooms. I rubbed the base of my neck, soothing the skin that burned with the memory of his touch.
With a deep breath, I violently shook my head and distracted myself with the knives he had left me. Surely, he was aware that I would use them on him? Only a fool would return knives to a woman that intends to stab him.
Once the heat in my cheeks subsided, I untangled my legs from the sheets and hurried to the vanity table. My fingers rushed to open the coffer, which held various trinkets supplied to me as the lord's bride. I dug through the hairpins and clips until my fingertips slid against satin ribbons. Slowly, I pulled the red strips from the box and later knotted a strip to the ends of each of my knives.
I had later dressed in a slender, red gown cinched at the waist with a leather belt. With deft fingers, I attached the ribbons to my belt so that the knives dangled beside my hip. The trenchant blades were on for display, a clear warning not to touch me. It was a giddy sensation, one that resembled the first time I had brandished my newly acquired weapons.
The maidservants that attended my quarters had all took notice of my change in demeanor, each of them vaguely mentioning my husband. Vaguely, that is until one of them said, "Do you suppose it is because he spent the entirety of last night...pleasuring her?"
I nearly choked on my own spit.
"Of course not, you idiot," another unfamiliar voice replied, with no care for how loud she said it. "She would sooner stab him—with those knives he so stupidly returned to her."
"Girls," Madame Dubois called out, shushing their voices. "Her ladyship is disturbed by your speaking. Hush now and send for someone else to attend to her tonight." She added, "Someone that will not carry gossip back to your quarters."
They deserted the room with a chirp of giggles—something about a certain man keeping me good company for the entirety of last night.
"The moment they leave this room," I told Madame Dubois, my words aimed in the direction I thought her to be standing, "the fact that his lordship spent last night in my bedchamber will be spread through every floor and crack in this castle."
"Last night," she told me, the hint of joy flitting about her voice, "and likely very many more."
She was no better than the maids she sent off—mon Dieu, have mercy.
"The only additional night he spends here will be with him lying on the floor, dead," I mumbled, not at all as fiercely as I intended. I left the room before she could damper my spirits with more of her or her nonsense.
Yoann stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall to my left. He appeared concerned about something, for his brows were drawn together and his eyes narrowed. He wiped the expression away when he noticed me.
"Good morning, your ladyship," he said with the nod of his head. "You appear to be in a good mood—have you found pleasure in becoming his wife?"
I hacked a cough, setting a hand over my chest as to stiffle the thumping of my traitorus heart. "Is that your idea of a greeting, Yoann? And I am not his wife."
"After he had spent the entire night with you?" The scar across his brow wrinkled—a show of disbelief. "I had thought you were one to know when lying is pointless."
I fought not to flinch and instead forced myself to meet his unsettling gaze. "What are you trying for?"
"You know exactly what," he pushed, sounding no better than my maids. Except his tone was not at all humorous. There was a flame smoking beneath his words. "You are in a good mood after his visit."
"And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?" I prodded further, returning his fire.
"Have you become his loyal little wife now that he has bedded you?" He stepped closer, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned toward my ear for the sake of taunting me. "Did you lose sense when he gave you a promise of release?" His upper lip twitched in annoyance.
"Do not be vulgar!" The urge to hit him has never been stronger. "How dare you insinuate that?" I gritted.
"If his lady wife so desires," he derided scornfully, mockingly, an edge to his voice. His head tilted, studying me with discomforting interest.
"I am not his wife by his definition," I bit out. "And why are you pent up on the implication of me consummating to my marriage? He is my husband!"
With a considerably less aggravated voice, he whispered, "Would you fight him if he were to grab you by the knees and pull your legs apart so that he could have his way with you? Or would you willingly and eagerly make love with him?" His brows arched, prompting me.
"Of course not." I folded my arms. He had likely stood outside my chambers for the most of last night—likely listened to the entire ordeal and to the maid's chirping. He must have come to the wrong conclusion. My fingers rolled into fists.
"I had more faith in you—a bride that dared to kiss someone other than her husband." He seemed...disappointed. "Have you gone soft? Have you forgotten why you had married him?"
"To free our lands from his torment. I will use any means I have to do exactly that," I snapped, stabbing a finger into his chest.
He scoffed, a hand gently closing around my wrist as he pushed my finger away. "You should keep it in mind that every woman who let her guard down and let him into her bed has died. And if you actually want to get rid of him, then you will make it a point to remember that."
"I am aware of that," I retorted, annoyance rising within me. "You act as if by sleeping beside my husband, I have not only damned myself but somehow brought damnation to you."
"Not at all," he reassured me. "I welcome your act—you can always find an ally in me. However, I find myself unconvinced by the intentions you claim to have had in laying with him." His gaze met mine, a hint of amusement drifting about. "Ismae, if you so desperately wanted a man to warm your bed, you need not spread your legs for him."
"It is not a matter of wanting a man between my legs," I hissed. "Do not assume that I had lain with him last night for a reason such as that."
He only grunted, drawing attention to the suppressed curve in his lips. My brows drew together—was he intentionally agitating me?
He leaned against the wall. "What else am I to assume, after hearing what went on?"
"Assume what you want." I pressed my lips together, observing his expression. "What you decide to believe is of no matter to me."
"I think that is a lie. You care about what I have to say," he murmured, a slow smile creeping to his lips. "No man is impervious to temptation. If you had been half so feisty with his lordship, I would feel inclined to believe the recent rumors. And the fact that he has given you those—" he jerked his chin toward my hip "—seals my conclusions."
I rolled my eyes, a hand drifting to the knives he gestured at. "Perhaps I should beckon him between my legs and be showered with all the weapons his armies have to offer."
His lips finally formed a grin. "That certainly will assist you, but I believe your feistiness is sufficient enough—those knives are proof of that."
"Knives that I may use to carve that stupid expression from your face," I muttered.
He huffed a laugh. "I do not know what will betray you first—that tongue of yours or how easily you are riled." His hand extended, taking one of the knives in his palm. He turned the blade over, studying the intricate swirls of roses. "This looks better suited to be a necklace."
I pried the knife from his fingers. "It looks better suited as a hairpin, I think."
"With the blade buried into the base of a man's skull?"
"I see that you are making a show of that," my husband drawled out, his voice emerging from behind me. I twisted, peering into the darkened room I had found myself in once again. "The opening is yet to form."
I fingered my knives. "Only to remind you not to touch me, dear husband."
"I am not threatened by the mere promise of nicked skin," he stated as a sliver of light came to view.
I stepped forward, entering the blindingly bright dining room. I made no move to sit. "I assure you that it will not be a nick that I deliver to you. I will unman you if it comes to it."
He laughed, the sound odd and I dare say, worried. "It had never occurred to me that you would one day refer to your lord husband's groin."
"Not in the manner you would want," I replied, crossing my arms as I turned to face him. We stood between two pillars, facing one another. He slowly crept toward me, nearing me in the same manner that a predator closed in on its victim. I grasped a knife, contemplating whether I should strike his masked face with the pommel of my dagger.
"On the contrary," he murmured, the sound similar to the hoarseness he had spoken with last night. I clenched my hands—I did not need that memory clouding my mind. "I would love to hear any and every word my dear lady bride thinks of me, regardless of the manner in which she speaks it."
"Or perhaps you simply would like a warning." I gave him a pointed glance. "I am perplexed by your actions, your lordship." My palms pressed into the pillar behind me. I leaned against the uneven gildings and allowed the cold marble calm the warmth surging through me. "Why have you left me my knives?"
"They will not harm me," he reasoned, his voice reverberating throughout the room. "And they give my dear bride comfort."
"Does it bring you comfort to know that I will use them on you if you try to climb into my bed again?" He began to circle me and I found myself taking a step to the side. I kept my back protected against the pillar.
"More than you think," he whispered, pausing so that his voice crept against the shell of my ear. "You have lain beneath me and accepted my touch without the comfort of your knives. I wonder, dear," he mused, "what would you let me do with them in your possession?"
I held the entirety of the knifes' pommel, raising it so that the knife stood between us. He shifted back a little, understanding the warning for what it was. However, he kept on with his promenade, leisurely gesturing for me to lower my weapon. I did not. "You will never have me as a wife."
"You will be mine one day, dear." His gaze was on me. "No man leaves his woman's bed empty for so long."
I stepped around, shuffling my feet so that I continued to face him. My back remained pressed to the pillar as I turned with him, my eyes fixed on him. Suddenly, his hand shot out and captured my wrist, forcing it down. "Wh—"
His chest pressed into me, pinning me between the pillar and his body. He picked up where we left off last night, planting warm kisses along my collarbone. My hand twitched to stab him but try as I might, I could not move an inch.
He nuzzled my neck, kissing me from throat to jaw—avoiding my lips, just as he had last night. Yet, with every damned graze of his teeth, I felt the fingers of my left hand fist and ease apart in tune with the hitching of my breath.
"You have lain in my bed only last night," I whispered, my words coming out in harsh trembles. I knew that it brought him immense pleasure to know that I fought to suppress my reactions. "That should earn me a break before any more visits."
My body went shuddering with every brush of his lips—on my throat, delving lower. My toes curled and I nearly tilted my head back as to encourage his advances. And I considered, for a moment, of attempting to seduce him as I had done so many nights ago. However, when I caught a glance of the hunger-driven expression his lips wore and the determined manner in which he moved, I thought better of it.
"Only after I have taken you," he whispered, teeth dragging along my skin. I went rigid as he leaned his head into the crook of my neck and shoulder. "I am a man of my words, Ismae," he murmured, his breath warm and tingly. "You will be very willing."
"Then you will take your hands off me?" I gritted, itching to rub away the sensation of his mouth along my skin.
"And risk giving you the opportunity to stab me?" he inquired. "I think not."
"Then kiss me."
He did not hesitate, his mouth coming down on mine without wasting another second. I bit down on his lower lip, hard, hoping it would bleed and perhaps even tear.
He only laughed into my mouth, seeming not to think much of it. The taste of blood met my tongue but I ignored it and continued. If I was lucky, he would have a nice wound to care for afterward. He pulled away, dragging his lip from between my clenched teeth.
I spat into his masked face, the slaver a mix of spit and his blood. He only laughed, not with a single care. When he leaned in again, I pressed my lips together and turned my head. "No," I protested. "That is quite enough."
He kissed my cheek instead and I knew an imprint was left from his bloodied lips. I ignored it, loathing the thought that I was now to sit before him and dine in his company.
His lips brushed along the shell of my ear as he whispered, "Ismae LaBelle, do you wish to guess how many years I have lived?"
"I would sooner set fire to my clothes before I ever do that."
He chuckled.
"Are you leaving?"
"Yes," he said, the word a mere breath warming my neck. I tilted my head back and met his gaze, noting that he made no move to distance himself. "I am afraid that you will have to dine on your own, my dear."
"Excellent," I breathed, my lips pulling into a grin. It was not a smile I forced my lips to form, rather something out of my control. "Where are you headed to?"
"I will tell you," he murmured, "if you give your lord husband a kiss for goodbye."
He did not need to say it twice.
I stepped onto my toes and slanted my head, allowing my lips to settle against his. My kiss was intended to be slow and gentle but he would not have that, so I moved in accordance to his mouth. He nudged for me to open my jaw so that he could deepen the kiss.
I did not fight him. I let him do what he wanted, only moving my lips against his as he continued to intensify the kiss. His lips were wet with blood, warm and suprisingly pleasant. It was tempting to give in to that touch, to forget why I was kissing him and act as a wife would. I pushed the thought from my head and felt his arms as they slackened around me, shifting to hold me close.
Unthinking, I raised my hands to hold his jaw to mine, stepping further onto my toes as my fingers pressed into the cold metal. He raised his own hand to cup the side of my face, the lace cuffing of his shirt brushing against my skin. He had always worn sleeves that were cuffed and spilled past his wrist, down to his knuckles. The fabric brushed along my cheek as he urged me closer, kissing me harder.
I took half breaths with each partition of our mouths, returning the vigor he exhibited. As he pulled away, he gently took my swollen lower lip between his teeth, drawing the moan buried in the depths of my throat. He hummed his content at the sound, his callused thumb brushing circles at the corner of my jaw. My fingers curled around his shoulders.
He eased back, just enough that I could see the rawness of his mouth. My own lips were parted, my breathing quick and exhilarated. He slowly leaned forward. "No," I taunted him shakily. "Your end of the deal?"
He sighed lifting his head heavenwards. "You are no fun, dear."
I chose not to pay attention to his words and instead brushed a finger along my aching lips. I kept a hand on his shoulder, making sure he would not attempt anything more. "Where are you going?"
"I have lands to tend to in the east," he replied plainly.
"How long will you be gone?" I asked.
"Not long enough for you to miss me," he said with a coy smile. He tilted his head as if examining me.
"I would never miss you." He would have to be daft to think otherwise.
"So you claim," he murmured. "Does my dear have any final requests to make before I depart?"
"Release me," I replied immediately. When he fell silent, I added, "And allow me to send letters to my family—or let them visit me. Or, better yet, stay at those lands forever and dismiss me from my duties as a bride. Perhaps you could vanish and act as if you are dead."
He scoffed. "Unfortunately, I feel rather inclined to return. I would miss our little conversations too much. And I rather like kissing you. As for the rest..." He pressed his uninvited lips to my forehead. "I will consider it."
The moment his arms loosened, my hand flew and I slapped the side of his mask, turning my own palm red. The sound of the blow reverberated along the walls, taunting me. A smile slowly crept to his lips, amusement and surprise dripping from the expression.
I scowled. "If you dare kiss me one more ti-nmph—"
His mouth slammed against mine, muffling each and every sound I made. He caught my jaw and wove his fingers into my hair, keeping my lips in place for a moment longer. His arms tightened around me, firm and unyielding. My fingers curled around one of my knives.
When the pressure of his touch fell away, I whipped my arm out and blindly slashed at him. I was rewarded with the red that seeped through his sleeve, blooming just above his elbow. The sight nearly made me grin. He was wise enough to stand back, leaving a safe distance between us. I glowered in his direction, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.
He bowed swiftly, bending at the waist and hiding the smile he wore. "Try not to miss me too much, my dear bride. I think it best that I leave you to the tender mercies of this castle."
I made an obscene gesture with my hand, earning a deep chuckle from him as he fled.
I scoffed and muttered some half-hearted, nonsensical insult after him. My fingers drifted back towards my lips, sore and tender. That kiss. I pressed a hand to my cheek, annoyed that they were likely as red as they were warm.
And then, I heard the slow and sardonic claps echoing in the dining room.
Author's nonsense
A bonus update for the New Year--it certainly has nothing to do with all the votes/comments/follows in the past week. :]
Thank you for an amazing end to 2018! I appreciate all the support and kind words you give to me and this manuscript. Have a happy New Year!