Dark One's Bride Read online

  Not that being possibly poisoned was any better.

  She sauntered back to the wardrobe, her boot heels clacking against the bare floor, and continued her endeavour of dressing. A little thrill shivered down her back as her fingers brushed the soft linen of her travel dress. She’d spent much of her time in the dark, nondescript gown. It had little in the way of adornments, no lace, barely any form… Just the thing for travelling across the land without drawing too much notice.

  Sighing, she pushed the outfit aside for another. With its fair share of embroidery along the apron skirts and the bodice sleeves, the red and black fabric might not leave her as easily hidden in the crowd, but it was no less comfortable. More importantly, it was an outfit befitting the Great Lady.

  Sadly, dressing in it took a little more time than usual. Unlike in the Citadel, no one had come to check on her. It was possible the servants had been given orders not to disturb the Great Lord’s mistress or, more likely, no one thought she’d be awake this early. Whatever the reason, it’d left her with the option of tightening the laces of her corset on her own or remaining here until someone showed up.

  The opportunity to dress in solitude had become an increasingly rare one since Lucias’ departure from the Citadel. The women there treated her like a wealthy child’s doll, all but dressing her each morning despite her numerous protests. Never had she considered that she might actually want their help but, whilst caught in the midst of a brief battle with the laces of her corset, she did wish there was someone to aid with the back.

  It took quite a bit of grumbling and fussing as she peeked over her shoulder at the full-length mirror. She’d only recently started to come to terms with the idea of such fashion and, usually, she would forgo the corset if she could for the comfortable familiarity of a bodiced petticoat. That garment had the added bonus of lacing at the sides, too. But this wasn’t the Citadel and her wedding gown required such an item to be presentable. She might as well start getting accustomed to the blasted thing.

  Her skirts and bodice were far easier to manage, even with the fiddly buttons. Although, she did forgo the silly bustle cage that the Citadel women insisted she pack. What did she care that it was coming into fashion? The ruffles of her petticoat and apron skirt already had her backside looking big enough. She didn’t need any more help there.

  She fastened the last of her jacket’s little buttons and took in her reflection, twisting every which way to ensure she wasn’t flashing her petticoat. The skirt tail dragged slightly with each swish, but everything seemed to be in place. Finally. It must’ve taken a good half-hour. She was definitely losing touch with her technique if she couldn’t do something as simple as dressing herself.

  Still, the next time she travelled, it wouldn’t hurt to have one—just one—of the servants nearby to help her. Maybe… Clara frowned. What was the woman’s name? The brunette from the Citadel kitchen. Gettie called her…

  Clara huffed. She knew the woman’s face, could picture it clearly as if the woman stood before her, but the name continued to elude her thoughts.

  Grumbling under her breath, she plonked herself before the vanity and set about taming the mess that a night of restless sleep had made of her hair. The woman’s name was going to bug her. But surely she couldn’t be expected to know the name of every servant that came through the Citadel, could she?

  She tugged viciously at her hair, forcing the knots out and gritting against the pain. I should know. She was not going to become one of those snobbish nobles everyone in the village despised. She would learn as many names as she could. It didn’t matter that those serving in the Citadel no longer had their souls, they were still people.

  Dressed and groomed, she belted on her dagger and secured it beneath the voluminous, satin folds of her apron. The castle had already proven itself less safe than the Citadel, she was not about to wander the halls without some form of defence.

  She opened the door leading out into the corridor.

  Lucias stood in the hallway, his hand poised to knock. Rare were the chances she got to see anything other than carefully controlled emotion adorn his face, but the mildly surprised expression could hardly be contrived.

  His shock wasn’t there for long before his lips swiftly curved into that delightfully cocky smile she’d begun to miss. “Good morning, love.” In one smooth motion, he stepped away from the door and swept her into the hallway. “You’re up earlier than I was anticipating. I trust you are well?”

  She nodded. Although her head still faintly throbbed, little else ailed her. “I couldn’t sleep another second,” she confessed, deliberately omitting that her restlessness state was due to the after-effects of last night. If she had been poisoned, then the little vial of antidote seemed to have done its job.

  Instead, she grasped his arm, taking almost possessive hold of the limb, and allowed him to steer her along the corridors. “It’s the first city I’ve ever visited.”

  Lucias’ shoulders trembled with silent laughter. He smiled fondly. “I’ve been here so many times, seen everything this place has to offer, that I forget how different it feels to newcomers.”

  Clara felt her cheeks warm. She probably sounded like some oik off a farm.

  “However,” he continued, “Thalia has expressed a desire to have you join her and the rest of the noblewomen in the solarium. She seems to think a day of gossip and needlework and whatever else they do there would be prudent after your unfortunate reaction to the food last night.”

  Is that what we’re calling it? She hummed thoughtfully. It probably was for the best if talks of poison didn’t leak to castle staff before Lucias could enquire further. But would it not be easier for someone to poison her amongst all those women when they’d already proven capable of doing so in the middle of a banquet? “Is that why you’re here? To escort me there?”

  He grinned and the years seem to vanish from his face. “Actually, I thought you’d much rather prefer to see Endlight than being holed up in some room where…” His eyes suddenly widened and he fumbled with a small pouch. “I almost forgot. Here.” Lucias pressed the pouch into her hands. “Some more of the vials.”

  Clara silently accepted the pouch and discreetly fastened it beneath her skirts, gifting her easy access to them via a pocket. “See… Endlight?” she mumbled once the ties were fastened, hoping that was what he’d been about to speak of. The carriage’s tinted windows hadn’t afforded her the best view of the streets.

  Lucias’ head bobbed like a rambunctious boy recently cut loose from his mother’s side. “We could take a trip around the city. I’d love to show you some of it up close.”

  “On foot?” Her feet tingled at the thought. Although they were artfully booted to suit a noble’s personal guard more than the demure noblewoman she was expected to become, she doubted it would take much walking before all her excitement was sapped.

  He grunted. “Of course not.” Placing his hand in the small of her back and cupping her elbow, he guided her down a flight of steps. “I wouldn’t risk the ear-lashing Thalia would give me if I had you walk the distance I have in mind.”

  Clara shook her head. “As much as I would love to see the city, I don’t think I could stand looking at another carriage just now, much less ride in one.” Not even if it was open-topped. “Maybe another time.” They’d a few days of being in this city before the wedding and likely several more afterwards. Surely there would be plenty of opportunities for her to see some of Endlight’s sights.

  Lucias’ lips twitched into a secretive little smile. They turned a corner and began their descent of another set of stairs. “Actually, I wasn’t thinking of taking a carriage either.”

  “Then how?” There were only a handful of options in regards to transport.

  The corners of his eyes crinkled further. “That, my dear, is a surprise.”

  He continued to lead her through the winding hallways, remaining in smug silence. They saw few people along the way and those she did spy wore
the attire of the castle servants. It was possible that a great deal of the nobility were still nursing sore heads.

  With nothing else to distract her, she considered the options of transportation left to them. Only one made sense. “You plan for me to travel via horseback, don’t you?” She’d gone into Everdark perched upon his destrier’s wide rump a handful of times, but the trip didn’t take long. He surely wouldn’t expect her to do so whilst sightseeing.

  Lucias huffed dramatically. “You know, it takes all the fun out of surprising someone if they guess it beforehand.”

  “So it will be on horseback, then?” she pressed. Her stomach flopped at the thought of being the one in sole control of such a beast. “You know I can’t ride.” And her dress was hardly suited for the act.

  He chuckled. “You’ll be perfectly safe with me. And I would’ve tried to sway your mind about the carriage, but horseback really is the best way to see the Pillars.”

  She clamped her free hand upon his sleeve. The famed Pillars of Endlight. It was the one view she longed to see out her window. Sadly, her chambers faced the moors rather than the mountain range. All this he must’ve known. “You…” Clara glared at Lucias only to have him smirk back and waggle his eyebrows. “Fine, we’ll take your black brute of an animal.” She could suffer clinging to him if her reward was seeing the Pillars up close.

  “That wasn’t quite what I had in mind.” The pressure of his hand on her back increased, giving Clara no other option but to trot along with him as they slipped beneath the massive archway of the main entrance and descended the stairs.

  I know. But she could hope that wasn’t so. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

  Out in the courtyard, men milled around in a parody of the efficient stablemen she’d left back at the Citadel. They scurried about their business, seeming to get into each other’s way more often than not.

  Three men stood near the base of the stairs. Two of them wore the muted green and gold livery of Endlight. The pair fought to keep Lucias’ stallion from moving as the beast pawed at the ground in obvious objection to their handling.

  Tommy was the third man and he held the reins of another, rather more docile, horse. It nuzzled her dear page, seemingly searching for whatever he kept in his pockets. He smiled up at them as they neared, absently stroking the animal’s neck.

  Lucias left her side to assist the two men with his destrier. He laid a hand on his mount. The animal instantly stilled at his master’s touch and Lucias waved the men away. “What do you think?” he asked her, indicating the other horse.

  Clara eyed the second animal as she joined them at the foot of the stairs. It was smaller, yet more solid-looking, than Lucias’ black destrier. Not as dark either, its rump speckled with a pattern of light grey rosettes. “It’s a horse.” What else could he possibly expect her to say? She knew very little about these creatures.

  “It’s a pony,” Tommy clarified.

  Lucias took up her hand and drew her closer to the grey beast. “He was to be one of your wedding gifts, but…” He shrugged. “As I said, Endlight is best seen on horseback.”

  She stared at the pony. It looked back at her with a vacant, almost bored, gleam in his eyes. Compared to the brute standing beside it, the animal was certainly less intimidating, but she still didn’t trust such a look. Not when she’d seen so-called placid carthorses cave in a dog’s skull with a single kick. What am I supposed to do with a horse?

  “I can’t ride,” she repeated in the vain hope that the surrounding company would have Lucias reconsider. Granted, it hadn’t been too bad sitting behind Lucias on his destrier, but what was she supposed to do if this creature suddenly took it upon itself to take command? What if it ran off with her on its back?

  He shrugged. “You will learn.”

  “But—”

  “Clara.” Her name reached her ears in such a lifeless tone that she scarcely believed it had passed his lips. He tugged her arm, tipping her against him. “There may come a time where you will need to run,” he whispered. “And when it does, I don’t wish for your only choice to be on foot.”

  She stared up at him, swearing her blood had just run cold through her veins. When? Not if. He truly believed her life could be put in such danger.

  The steady pressure of his hands upon her shoulders scooted her towards the animal. “I picked him just for you.” The words boomed through the courtyard, far too cheerful given his previous words. “He’s gentle, solid but fast and, should you ever so happen to fall, it’s not that far to the ground.” He clicked his fingers.

  One of the castle servants trotted over with a wooden block and set it beside the pony.

  Smiling, Tommy held the reins out to her. “He won’t bite.”

  That’s not the bit I’m worried about. Clara placed a boot on the block, her stomach cramping in a distinct threat towards emptying itself. Was she really prepared to ride this unruly creature? She gave the thick neck a half-hearted pat, surprised when the pony continued standing there. Very well, not unruly… Yet. But how would it behave once she was atop its back?

  At least it bore a decent saddle, with the style reminiscent to the gear Lucias’ destrier wore, and not the scant pad of leather they expected most ladies to use. “Maybe we could visit the Pillars some other day?” she suggested, hoping the promise of a future ride would be enough.

  Lucias’ dark brows lowered in disappointment. “I am not negotiable on this.” The firm coil of his magic embraced her waist, lifting her off the ground and leaving her straddling the pony’s back with the leather sticking and grating against her legs.

  She wriggled in the seat, silently cursing herself for not choosing to wear her long bloomers. And her dress, not suited to riding in the slightest, bunched about her something fierce. I should’ve suggested changing. Her travelling attire wasn’t nearly as bulky as this.

  Except voicing such a thing would’ve been seen as another excuse to not ride at all. At least her corset didn’t adhere to the longer fashion that could lead to hindering her movements and her skirts still covered a great deal of her legs. She tilted to one side to check. What the fabric didn’t conceal was encased in the supple leather of her boots.

  The pony shuffled on the spot as she attempted to adjust her attire, his hooves clicking against the cobblestone. Giving a yelp, Clara clawed at the reins and hauled on them until the thin strips of leather bit into her fingers.

  Beside her, Lucias shook his head and tut-tutted. “Don’t hold the reins so tightly, my dear.” He carefully arrayed her skirts so they draped over the pony’s rump and still allowed her to remain decent. “He won’t bolt on you.”

  “And if he does?” she countered. It couldn’t take much. She risked a glance his way and saw him grinning back at her.

  “Then I will stop him.” Giving the pony’s neck a pat, he turned to his horse and vaulted onto the massive animal’s back. “Let the poor pony have his head.”

  Taking a deep breath, she carefully lowered her arms until the pony’s neck wasn’t quite as bunched up. The pony shook his head, sending his black mane flying and causing Clara to squeak, before he settled back to his original still state with a sigh.

  Lucias nudged the destrier closer. “Now will you permit me the honour of showing you about the city?”

  Swallowing the sudden prickly terror bobbing in her stomach, Clara nodded. How did they get these creatures to move? Kicking? Of course. She tapped her heels against the pony’s barrel-like ribs and the animal took a shuffling step forward. Another, stronger, boot turned the shuffle into a swaying plod.

  Lucias urged his eager mount beside her as they exited the courtyard. “See?” His horse was not being anywhere near as accommodating in keeping to the slow pace, preferring to all but jog on the spot in order to comply with his rider’s order. “Sable’s about as quiet as they come without being near death.”

  “Sable?” Clara echoed. She knew some people named their animals. Not having had the lu
xury of a pet, or even a working beast, the idea had always sounded a little strange.

  The pony’s ears swivelled back at the sound of his name.

  Feeling a little bolder, she leant forward and patted the soft neck. “Good Sable,” she murmured and, again, the ears twitched. Perhaps not all of these beasts weren’t to be trusted.

  Straightening in the saddle, she turned her gaze to the streets beyond the castle walls.

  This early in the morning, the sun hadn’t crept high enough to remove the faint, glittering layer of frost the winter-crisp air had left on the buildings. It didn’t deter those already up and about. People resigned to travelling the day on foot wandered the road edges, leaving the main section open for carts and those who were, like Lucias and herself, on horseback.

  Both drivers and riders ignored them as they ambled along the well-worn cobbles. The same couldn’t be said for the city’s pedestrians. Clara blushed as people turned their heads to watch them pass by. Even after the multiple trips to the council hall in Everdark, before Lucias had departed for Endlight, she hadn’t gotten used to the attention her presence garnered. It was the red and black gown that drew their eye. And my hair. She’d proven that on her way here.

  Even with the gaping citizens, the ride was quite pleasant. Sable retained a steady, rocking gait, obeying the gentlest tug of the reins. And to think she’d hauled on the poor boy’s mouth. I’ll make sure you’ve extra… What?

  Frowning, she patted the pony’s neck. Whatever did they feed horses besides hay? The carthorses in Everdark used to be given apples by the bolder children. Perhaps she could have Tommy sneak a few down to the stables for Sable. “How far are the Pillars from here?”

  With his face scrunched in confusion, Lucias bent close and cupped a hand around his ear, prompting her to repeat her question louder.

  “It’ll take us half the day to get there,” he shouted back over the chatter of the streets. “But first, what would you say to a spot of breakfast?”