Chapter Five: No Rest for the Wicked, save some Sexy Nightmares
Aya stared out the window of her prison-like rooms in the tallest spire of the palace as the rain poured in through the open portal, spattering her already soaking night-shift. She did not truly care about the cold though. She cared about the indignity. She had been led all the way up here by a dozen strange and leering men. They locked her in, and she had no idea how many of these savages had copies of that key. Her only consolation was that at least it was not truly Charlotte having to endure all this. The girl slept far too deeply.
Or at least, she had with Aya there.
Aya flickered her eyes to the flashing lightning touching down in the nearby hills. The expected rumble of thunder came a mere second later, and she thought of how Charlotte might be covering her ears and flinching at that sound. Aya always slept in her bed, right beside her whenever there was a thunder storm. She had since they were children. Charlotte’s mother had died when it was storming out. She died peacefully in her sleep of a sudden heart failure, but that didn’t make it any better for four year old Charlotte. Scared by the storm, she had gone straight to her parent’s bed only to find her mother’s eyes were open and staring, her hand chill to the touch. Her father had still been up in his study working at the time, so he had not noticed her passing. Charlotte shook her and tried to wake her, again and again, until the servants finally took notice and intervened.
Aya had been brought home to their manor only a few months after that, and Duke Marseir introduced her to his daughter as someone to play with. Charlotte did not want to play. She hadn’t for months, but Aya was so excited by all these new toys and fancy sweets that Charlotte soon became infected by her enthusiasm.
Aya slept beside her and held her hand whenever it would thunder after that. Aya loved the rain and the lightning, and she tried to coerce Charlotte into running out into the courtyard with her and splashing through the puddles, enjoying the deluge. She came around eventually in the daytime, but still cried if it was dark when it stormed. She cried for years, even as Aya stroked her hair and always got her eventually to sleep.
After she turned thirteen though, and took it into her head with complete seriousness that she was a grown woman now, she no longer cried in the nights. She insisted the storms did not scare her, but she still kept lit her lantern and said Aya could sleepover on the down-stuffed double mattress if she wished. It was certainly far more comfortable and cozy than the servants quarters after all. Aya knew the truth behind that request, but she left Charlotte her pride and never pressed the issue. She stayed there most nights, and she woke always the instant Charlotte would awake with that little gasp or murmur in distress in her dreams. She talked to her softly until she calmed, but tonight Charlotte would be alone through the storm, for the first time in her life.
Charlotte was not meant to be alone. She could not bear to be, but being fussed over by the other older servants with their rigid formality was just as lonely as having tea with her far too easily distracted father, preoccupied as always with his paperwork and schemes. The duke never noticed when she braided her hair in a new way or tried something bold with her makeup, as she had often lamented to Aya. He loved his daughter dearly, and he praised her love of science and the poems she presented, but he viewed her mandolin playing as background music, and he never stayed watching it as the servants did. He said he could multi-task, and Aya had not the station to tell him how extremely disrespectful that was to all his daughter’s hard hours of practice.
Charlotte would be pacing her rooms at this moment, or maybe wandering the halls with her lantern, humming cheery songs and trying not to jump at every rumbling of thunder. She would feel far too guilty to wake any of the other servants and ask them to sit up talking with her until the storm passed, so she would pace, and Aya could only hope she was not tearing up or panicking. Aya loved her too much to bear the thought of her suffering like that, and she cursed this horrid mission the duke had given her all the more vehemently, just as she cursed Yuri Gristhm and his insufferable son who had caused all this chaos and torn her away from Charlotte.
Aya herself would not be sleeping well tonight. She was an extremely light sleeper at the best of times, but tonight she would keep hands on the stiletto knife she had retrieved from the hidden compartment in the trunk of possessions Yuri’s brutish knights had at least been decent enough to lug up here. It was only a matter of time, after all, before Carnen came panting up to her doorway.
She fully expected him to go back on his word that he would await her request and try to barge in here and assert his manhood her very first night as his captive. That, or one of his men might attempt it. A civilized knight would never have the gall to bed the bride of his master, but these feral-eyed brutes would surely think a lady like Charlotte could be threatened into holding her tongue as they abused her in whatever way they pleased.
She would kill them the second they tried that of course, but that would most certainly blow her cover.
“Why couldn’t it just be a killing spree I was sent here for?” Aya lamented beneath her breath. “I could slip into my gear and carry out the assassinations this very night. Yuri, Carnen, his general, and that younger brother of his would all be dead by dawn and Marseir would have back his throne.”
Unfortunately, she had no idea yet where Queen Clara was being kept. She suspected it was the royal bed chambers, since twenty three year old Clara was even prettier than Charlotte, and Yuri’s sham of a marriage to her was surely for more than just political reasons. Aya could sneak out the window now and break into those quarters, but if that was the wrong bet and Clara was not there, she would be stuck face to face with Yuri, who she was not allowed to kill yet, not until the queen was safely free of this castle and out of harm’s way. She could not even slip out of here and start her reconnaissance tonight, because if Carnen made his visit, and she was gone, the alarm would instantly be sounded and the entire mission would turn a failure.
“The footing is too treacherous while its raining out anyway,” she assured herself unhappily, staring down at the shiny surface of wet bricks that made up the tower wall. “Do your reconnaissance in daylight when you have free rein of this place.” If she had free rein of the castle grounds that is. Maybe these barbarians just planned to keep her locked in here until the day of the wedding. Carnen had promised to woo her though, so she did not think that would be the case.
Maybe he would keep his word and not lay hands on her until vows were spoken.
Maybe she really aught to seduce him, grant him a few indulgences and wrap him tight around her finger so he would give her freedom in this place. She wasn’t prepared to become a full harlot, but a few kisses… Well, that wouldn’t be so bad. He was an insufferable savage, but he was also ‘decent to look at’ as he might phrase it. With those piercing blue eyes and perfect teeth, those biceps, and that sexy little scar right by his eyebrow…
“The hell am I thinking?” She almost slapped herself so great was her outrage, flushing all thoughts of Carnen from her mind. “You are here to kill him, not sleep with him,” she reminded herself firmly. “He would not stop at a kiss, because he is controlling and repulsive.”
“But I will hurt you only in ways you will enjoy.” Damn it, why was that memory making her warm instead of nauseous? Just like the memory of his breath, hot upon her face, as he pulled her into his arms and whispered in her ear… She slapped herself, hard. Then changed out of her ruined night shift into a fresh slip, moving all her needles and weapons into the lining and pockets of that garment. She lay down on the bed and waited in tense anticipation for that door to click open. The hours ticked past with no movement, and she drifted off into a light doze. Her dreams were extremely unwelcome, half nightmare, and half dreamy reality of a wedding night that she told herself firmly was an even worse nightmare, not a fantasy.
The night slipped away, and she started awake more times than she could count, keeping turned most carefully toward the door.
Carnen never made his visit though, and neither did any other unwelcome intruder. “They would all of them be unwelcome,” she muttered, even as her unconscious mind continued to contradict that claim.