Lucian stood still a moment, as if collecting his fragmented thoughts into an ordered semblance of the calm he had exhibited before Caine's interruption. I might have marveled at his extreme array of darkened emotions had I not myself been troubled by the haunting depth of this rare display. Who was this uncle that so unsettled my fiancé? I had never thought to see Lucian so distressed and...furious.

It was exceedingly contagious, the unease he exuded, and might have accounted for the tension that developed rapidly between my shoulder blades — despite the dearth of any legitimate reason for its being there. Caine had already departed, as quickly as he'd appeared, and so it was that only I remained to bear the perverse shift of Lucian's mood — from equanimity to instability. Hagan, meanwhile, continued chewing serenely on a mouthful of oats, blissfully impervious to the hostility radiating from the imposing man beside him.

"We ought not keep my uncle waiting." He took my hand and pulled me along behind him, letting it go only once we were in view of the general public's discerning eyes.

The duke had apparently already alighted his horse and entered the keep for it was only the vast company of his own household that remained milling outside, awaiting direction from Nørrdragor's stewards and marshals.

Nørrdragor, on any given day, held approximately one hundred and twenty inhabitants (not including Godwin's large retinue of armored retainers), but with the holiday period in full effect and the wedding fast approaching, the castle — massive though it was — was now near to overflowing; privacy was now a scarce commodity indeed.

We climbed the stairs, but before we passed through the colossal front doors, Lucian stopped; he did this so suddenly that I nearly slammed into his broad back as he turned to study me with an unwonted solemnity.

"I warn you," he began, "my uncle is..." he darted a furtive glance over his shoulder as though the man in question were standing there, "a cunning man. He has unconventional ways and a peculiar manner, therefore it is best you speak to him as little as possible for he is like to dissect your words, and take pleasure in rearranging them to suit his needs." I nodded dumbly, albeit wholly unsure of his vague direction. "In fact, say nothing at all unless a response is expressly required of you; and even then I caution you to use as few words as possible." We continued along the gallery and neared the hall as he added one last comment. "Far better that he think my intended a simpleton than that you should pique his interest; I would that you never arouse his curiosity — not for all the world."

I was of a mind to insist that he elaborate, but we had, by this time, stepped into view of the busy hall and its serried occupants; the time for explanations had come to an end.

There was only one man amongst the horde that could possibly be the Duke of Skådrokksvall. He was taller even than Carac — I was all astonishment at realizing this fact — and his hair was as fuliginous as coal but for the silvered streaks at his temples. He was dressed in dark, green velvet, his cinnamon aketon studded with pearls, and the mantle he wore, draped over his shoulders, was a scarlet hue trimmed in gold. He was elaborately dressed, but instead of looking the dandified lord, the accouterments and rich garb only served to add to the imposing effect he engendered.

Inconceivable though it was, his formidable mien was as terrifying to me as Godwin's and Lucian's had first been. Lucian nudged me forward inconspicuously. His uncle, having noticed that Godwin's attention had now shifted elsewhere, to us in fact, turned in our direction with flagrant interest.

"Uncle." Lucian kissed his uncle reservedly in greeting, more out of dutiful respect and a reaffirmation of fealty than outright affection, I noted.

Godwin, ad interim, had tucked my arm in the crook of his elbow and I smiled, thankful and relieved for the support his presence afforded. The gesture was merely routine and customary to the casual observer, but I knew better. There was a steeliness to Godwin's manner that I was becoming aware of — as too was Godwin's brother in law; it was a blatant show of solidarity. Green eyes appraised me keenly. We had thus, by the subtle maneuver, wrought exactly the antithesis of what Lucian had intended.

"Fendrel, allow me to introduce my ward, Ariana Felstead." There was a coldness to Godwin's voice which only seemed to amuse the duke.

"Ahh," he purred, baring his teeth in a frightening smile. After looking his fill, his verdant scrutiny lingering momentarily at my exposed chest, he approached me slowly with serpentine grace. "My nephew's lovely betrothed..." Fendrel's mouth curled even wider — a most unsettling smile that seemed positively snake-like. "I am delighted to know my future niece."

He then narrowed his eyes, once I had executed the merest curtsy, and directed his next words to me in a tone that seemed suggestive of things that were wholly outside of my ken — unworldly, gauche maid that I was.

"May the acquaintance bring us both a...wealth of satisfaction, young Ariana." I felt as though spiders were crawling up my arms each time he spoke. Though he was handsome, in the classical sense, he repelled me completely.

"Your Grace." I curtsied again, inadvertently displaying my décolletage for his continued perusal, but I prudently said naught else; as per Lucian's earlier council.

"How charming." Fendrel's hooded eyes devoured me unabashedly as though I were the boiled pheasant on his platter and not his nephew's future bride.

A moment later, I was duly received by the lithe beauty at his side. Fendrel's duchess, whom I had met all those years ago when I had first arrived at Nørrdragor, inclined her head dispassionately as though she barely recognized me; but for a moment there was a strange and fleeting glint in her eyes that had given me pause — a warning.

Notwithstanding that momentary and meaningful glance, her greeting was a decidedly perfunctory onus, if ever I'd beheld one, in which she offered only that which was expected and polite, but when she turned I took the opportunity to study the woman who was married to a man who disturbed me above all others.

She was perhaps a decade younger than Anne and, though as stunning as I remembered her to be, she lacked not only the natural amiability of the countess, but her warmth of character as well. In that way, Rose, could not hold a candle to Anne; in my opinion at least.

Next, I was introduced to their two sons: Ross and Balder. The former seemed about equal to me in age and the latter was now but twelve, if I were to hazard a guess. Balder had changed much since last I saw him. He was now taller than I and might have been my own brother for all his dark coloring and pale skin.

I noticed that Lucian's cousins seemed quite fond of Caine for wherever he migrated throughout the hall, so too did they follow. For my part, I endeavored to avoid both Fendrel's jade attention and the slimy abbot's pervasive hands, sticky though they were.

How odd and unpredictable life was; heretofore I would have given anything to elude Lucian's notice, but now — in an antithetical turn of events — I found it strangely comforting to know that he kept me always within his line of sight. I felt his amber gaze no matter where I moved, like a tangible touch constantly heating my frozen skin.



❅



Christmas morning arrived with the usual fanfare; there was now less than a month left till my wedding celebrations. After mass, everyone gathered in the great hall to enjoy the Christmas meal. The cooks had been preparing the feast for several days and my mouth had, since the meal's inception, been watering almost unremittingly as the delicious scents permeated every corner of the castle.

I sat between Lucian and Carac at the dais. Fendrel and his family occupied another trestle that sat perpendicular to ours on the same raised dais. Fortunately, the disgusting little abbot was blocked from my view by Carac's hulking frame, though it did not spare me from his monotonous and interminable sermon which served only to fuel my hunger, and not my thankful soul; which I suspect was the actual purpose of his lengthy prayer.

After our hands were washed, grace having finally been said, the grapes and plums were distributed so that we might all whet our appetites — a moot endeavor as I was already ravenous!

The first course consisted of boiled pork, roasted duck and baked mutton. These were all served in varying piquant sauces and accompanied with brawn slathered in mustard, and meatballs in aspic; each was prepared in messes of four portions and then appropriated about the tables. The intervening course was the usual fruit and nuts which were really only table decorations, their purpose but aesthetic, yet the abbot gorged himself on those as well.

Roast venison, rabbit and peacock made up the second course and each was delicately carved in its own distinctive way and paired with boiled vegetables.

The third and final course was a great success, for the cooks had prepared a large empty pie and, once it had been cooled, filled it with precisely four and twenty blackbirds. Though they had not been baked within the pie itself, the effect was all the more entertaining for, as soon as Godwin cut into the crust, they came flocking out of the pie in droves and began flying around the hall to the delight of everyone present; even my austere fiancé was slightly diverted, his lips quirking slightly ere he called for his squire to refill his chalice with wine.

The actual third course subsisted of roasted sparrows, quinces, sugared pears, fruit compotes, mince pies and spiced baked apples. The frumenty, my favorite pudding, was considered quite a treat and usually served cold. It was made of a thick porridge into which currents and dried fruit were stirred as well as egg yolks, cinnamon and nutmeg.

Next, a selection of cheeses were offered as a conclusion to the meal and I sipped my hippocras slowly from the enameled gilt-silver cup that had been placed before me as we watched the mummers and actors perform their various plays, the musicians plucking at their instruments from the minstrel's gallery.

The morning eventually stretched into late evening, by which time most of the guests were already deep in their cups. The abbot was now drooling heavily and snoring loudly into his forearms, having already drunk himself into a stuporous, over-engorged mess. The music began to get obstreperous and Anne finally managed to convince me to dance amidst the melee of boisterous guests and servants.

I too had over-indulged on wine, by this point, and therefore thought nothing of twirling about the crowded hall, unselfconsciously laughing with hearty abandon. In that moment, be it alcohol induced or not, I was — for the moment anyway — free of all the worries that had plagued me since my arrival all those years ago. I had forgotten to heed who was watching or why. For now, I cared not a whit; that is, until I could no longer feel Lucian's steady regard.

It had been ubiquitous, glued to me all day, and I had become so used to the amber weight of his eyes that when they no longer enveloped me, I became instantly aware and bereft of their presence. I sought him out, but he was no longer at the dais beside Carac and his brother. I had, however, caught a fleeting flash of his dark blue mantle as it disappeared through the entranceway, and I hastened there quickly, whence I'd seen him vanish, walking briskly past an irrelevant, nameless baron and barely avoiding his vomitous spew as he heaved violently into the rushes as I passed him.

I searched the darkened gallery, but there was no sign of Lucian so I sprinted up the stairs toward the west wing. I know not why my instinct took me thither, but for some undefinable reason, a sixth sense I believe, I knew he would be there; in the most unpopulated and private corner of the castle...

Don't be stupid, Aria! Of course he's in the west wing! Is that not where his apartments are? Be that as it may, despite that logic would suggest he had retired to his quarters, I sensed him there as though I could as good as see the vestiges of his dark, sylvan scent trail as I followed it up the winding stairs.

"Lucian?" I whispered into the shadows. In my haste I had not thought to bring a rushlight with me. I could see well enough, but I craved the comfort and warm reassurance of a light to stave off the drafty cold.

There was a faint glow coming from beneath one of the doors down the hallway so I headed that way and pushed the door aside before entering carefully. The fact that I was in the family's private solar — in Lucian's private chambers, in fact — should have cowed me; and it did do eventually.

I had never entered his lair ere now, save that once, and as soon as the realization settled into my wine-induced fog, that I was perhaps the fabled lamb in the wolf's den, I nearly tripped over myself in my desperate scramble to leave the chamber. I might have died from embarrassment, so appalled was I by my own recklessness. If anyone found me here, of all places, I would be utterly disgraced! My virtue must never be in question. Ever.

What was I thinking?! To have trespassed here so recklessly-

"I'm here, Aria." I froze. Caught in the proverbial act of disgraceful behavior.

Lucian stood less than five feet to my right, his preternatural stillness catching me immediately off guard. His features were mostly hidden by the low light and I could not read his expression, but I imagined he was not a little intrigued by my presence; his surprise perhaps even measuring up to my shock for I was indeed much amazed by my own audacity.

"What are you doing here?" he scowled. Excellent question, I thought. I answered instead with an inquiry of my own.

"Why did you leave?"

He moved away from the wall and came toward me, yet I resisted the urge to back away. The counterfeit courage, awarded me by the consumption of copious amounts of mulled wine, had taken effect and was coursing furiously through my veins as he stepped from the shadows; his eyes confronting me with raw intensity. I held my breath as he moved closer.

"Aria, why are you here?" He ignored my query altogether.

Before I could stop myself, I gave him my answer. It came readily to me, and of its own volition, for it had been circulating relentlessly through my brain.

"I believe I owe you," I swallowed nervously, "a kiss."

He cocked his head almost imperceptibly, taken aback by my reply. Those dark, heavy brows slowly smoothed out into a placid impassivity, his countenance aloof but for a slight suspicious scrutiny. I wet my lips nervously, the wine's bolstering effect beginning to desert me in the face of my sudden dire circumstances. I was an utter fool for being here!

"Well then..." He lifted a single brow, as if awaiting my next move. It seemed to me I was playing chess with a taciturn expert and I was wholly out of my depth. "I am waiting," he prodded with a mocking edge.

What now?

I had thought, or hoped, that he would, for the nonce, have...taken over and commenced the business of kissing as he had done before. I considered my options: take the coward's route and run back to my chamber with my tail betwixt my legs — in which case I would just need to hide till the new year — or I could feign confidence and imitate what he had done initially, back in the woods. There was really nothing for it; I could not back out now that I'd stated my purpose for barging into his solar.

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I reached my fingers into his dark mass of golden waves and placed my cold hand against the scalding warmth of his neck. Stepping closer, I lifted myself onto the tips of my toes and angled my head as I gently guided his head down to mine. He was so much taller than I, but I had applied enough pressure that he finally relented and brought his mouth close enough that I could slant mine timidly over his.

I had thought my lips numb with cold or wine, but was quickly disabused of the notion as a thousand bolts of tiny, dynamic charges electrified my receptive flesh. I had done naught but press my mouth against his, yet my sensitive skin was coming alive as if my lips had been dormant till this very moment. It seemed I had never tasted till now; had never really experienced the rush of feeling till right this second. I was overwhelmed by Lucian and he'd barely touched me!

I was yet savoring these thrilling new responses, my eyes having fluttered closed, when Lucian took control, presumably impatient with my tentative deliberation. He pulled me flush against his chest, one hand disappearing roughly into my hair while the other curled into the thick folds of my silk gown where it hugged at my right hip. He nudged my lips open with expert precision, sucking deliciously at them before gently running his teeth over the swollen flesh of my bottom lip.

He then moved to the side of my jaw, brushing his stubbled cheek along my tender skin, towards my right ear before settling that heated mouth on the pulse point at the apex of my throat. I sucked in a shuddering breath.

Somewhere in the drowsy recesses of my consciousness, I could feel the edge of his teeth as they grazed, almost painfully, along the side of my neck where he nibbled and suckled at the vulnerable skin there. As his grip tightened on me, I became nervous of a sudden and the fog of desire lifted as suddenly as it had settled.

Lucian must have been so in tune with the subtlety of my responses that he immediately noticed my shift in ardor, and unexpectedly shoved me away, turning his face to the side to shield his eyes from me. I clutched at my raw neck with heaving gasps and contrived of a reason as to the acute, soporific effect he had on me. I was either drugged or inebriated beyond any good sense, for why else had all my logic and wisdom flown from my brain? Lucian was leaning with his back against the wall beside me, looking a little less impervious and somewhat pained. His eyes now closed.

"Go, Aria." I felt as though I had heard him direct these words at me a time too many and I opened my mouth to apologize, but he spoke ere I was able to form coherent words. "Before I dishonor us both."

I hesitated no longer than it took for him to complete the latter half of his speech and immediately smoothed out my skirts before repairing directly to the safety of my own chamber, mostly unscathed except for the reddened, inflamed mark at the base of my neck to remind me of my wanton folly.



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