The Duchess of Lust Ch. 03

Thank you for reading the previous chapters!

To recap: Duchess Sarya has taken to desperate measures to save her beloved city of Fellhaven from a horde of barbarians. First, she engaged in a ritualistic orgy with the barbarian rulers in order to secure a brief truce, and then she took part in a magical ritual that accidentally transported her halfway across the continent. Now, she has found herself in the wartorn duchy of Ravenmark, and has fallen into the clutches of a mysterious rebel duke.

This segment is a bit longer than the previous one, and features more plot, more action and a bit more sex as well, and it also introduces a new point-of-view character.

Enjoy!

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Sarya glared at the knights and Duke Lucan during the entire march towards his tower. She knew better than to grumble or outwardly protest, but her icy stare made her feelings well known. The duchess understood his suspicions and precautions, of course, but to treat her like some common fugitive was galling.

The one-eyed duke returned her glare with a faint look of amusement.

"Is there a problem, my lady?"

A dozen different retorts sprang to mind, but instead she suppressed them and held her head high.

"Several," she said coolly. "Rest assured that once my status as a duchess is confirmed, you shall feel the full fire of my...disappointment at this treatment."

Lucan let out a low, rasping chuckle.

"And if your status as a duchess is not confirmed, what will you do then, hmm?"

Her eyes turned uncertain for a moment.

"Surely you have some proof," the duke went on. "A signet ring, a crown..."

Sarya huffed at that.

"I do not wear my crown at all times, my lord. And my signet ring must have been yanked off by the current of the river."

"How convenient. Still, we can have a discussion, and if I am satisfied with your explanations..." He shrugged his armored shoulders.

"And if not?" Sarya asked, her voice quaking just a little.

"We shall see. If I determine that you are in fact a spy-"

"I am no spy," she scoffed. "I don't know know who I'd be spying on behalf of. Gods, I didn't even know there was a Duke Lucan of Ravenmark at all until just now. Last I'd heard, Duke Garnoc-"

Lucan's eye flashed with distaste, and many of the knights swiveled to glare at her. Ketrik tensed, stepping between her and the knights, balling his fists, as if he was ready to take on all of them if they tried to strike her down.

Sarya gently pressed a hand to his shoulder, pushing him out of the way. She'd not have that shaman suffer a blow simply due to her own poor choice of words.

"If you must speak the pretender's name," a knight growled. "Do not use his falsely-claimed title."

Sarya raised an eyebrow. She knew little about Duke Garnoc, other than that was he was widely regarded as an incompetent boor of a man. She'd never even met him, though she'd danced with a cousin of his at a ball once, ages ago. That cousin had spent much of the dance bemoaning Garnoc's rule. Even his own kin had little good to say of him.

"If I were a spy for him, then," she continued. "Would I be so foolish as to use that title and anger you?"

Lucan huffed a bit, but ignored the question and continued his slow ride.

"So what, precisely, is the situation here?" Sarya asked. "We have heard no news of any new unrest in Ravenmark."

Of course, the duchy was often so divided, that it was hard to tell one squabble or rebellion apart from any other.

"Garnoc took the throne under false pretenses," Lucan said icily. "His grandfather was not a legitimate duke...he seized power in a coup, decades ago, and thus Garnoc's claim is only valid due to that betrayal."

"And I take it that you are descended from the ruler who was overthrown?" she asked.

"Yes. My own grandfather. Betrayed and murdered by Garnoc's grandfather, who was a distant cousin of the true duke. My own branch of the family lived in exile for a time, and I arrived here a few weeks ago to make my rightful claim."

Ketrik snorted with amusement, earning glares from many of the knights.

"What is so amusing, savage?" one of the knights hissed.

"You soft nobles and your games of politics," the shaman said. "Power is about strength, not bloodlines."

Her eyes, and the eyes of Lucan's men, flashed with anger. She didn't want his disrespectful tongue to get them both beaten, chained or worse.

"Precisely," Lucan said with a slight laugh. "Garnoc himself is weak and ineffectual, and leaves Ravenmark vulnerable to outside threats. Thus, I shall prove my own strength against him, cast him down, and claim my rightful throne. A throne that will be rightfully mine due to my bloodline, and due to my strength."

Sarya watched the man as he spoke. Gods, she believed him. The stern, one-eyed duke was a stranger to her, and did not seem to have much of an army, but that iron will of his would surely triumph over Garnoc.

Though he was quite rude, a fierce man such as Lucan would make for a damned good ally against the barbarians besieging her city.

Ketrik grinned a bit, but did not offer a retort or quip, and simply walked on at Sarya's side.

They neared the large blocky tower, the black walls of which were adorned with red banners depicting the feathers of ravens crossed with swords. Around the tower was a camp of a few hundred soldiers, along with family members, assorted servants and camp followers. Beside the gate was a small market, where merchants sold fresh food and wine to the troops. The soldiers, servants and merchants cast curious glances at Sarya, and every one of them bowed their heads low as the duke passed.

"Your rebellion must be going well, if merchants are able to practice their trade," Ketrik observed.

"Gold must flow, even when the blood does," Lucan grunted. "And yes, the rebellion is going well." He gave Ketrik a brief glare. "Had that coward Garnoc not hired a band of your savage kin, the war would already be won."

Sarya raised an eyebrow at that news. So the Iron Blades had sided with Garnoc, which made things a bit trickier. But as always, her mind raced with possible solutions. Garnoc would not be much of an ally, but those savages certainly could be. And despite Lucan's lack of propriety, it would be nice to turn his steel and his ire against the forces besieging her city.

"We may have a solution for that," she piped up.

"Oh?" Lucan laughed. "Those Iron Blade mercenaries have held out for far longer than other soldiers, and they are the only thing standing between Garnoc and justice. They've defied me for weeks. And you think you can just stroll up and defeat them all?"

"Depends on how you define 'defeat,' my lord," she said. "But I may have a way-"

He raised a hand to cut her off.

"We can discuss this in a more fitting setting." His eye looked disdainfully towards Ketrik. "We have already discussed more than enough in front of this one."

"Aye, my lord," growled one of the other knights. "That one could be a spy for Garnoc's mercenaries!"

Sarya rolled her eyes at that, and to her surprise, so did Duke Lucan.

"He is not to be trusted, yes, but a spy for our enemies? Doubtful. Not even Garnoc would be so incompetent to send a barbarian openly into my camp." He gestured to a few of the knights. "Take him away, to the guest quarters. Ensure a guard is posted at all times, and have the kitchen prepare him a meal."

Sarya wanted to protest as the knights escorted Ketrik away, but knew that she had to play it safe and calm, for the moment. She'd get herself and Ketrik out of this debacle, one way or another.

She just didn't know what it would take...

Maybe she'd have to negotiate an end to the war, or get Ketrik to work some spell to take down Garnoc, or maybe she'd just have to give her body to another powerful man again.

Lucan may have been rude and cold, but he had a certain icy beauty, and his obvious strength could make for a thrilling evening. The thought was thus not entirely unappealing.

"And you, my lady," Lucan continued once the knights had escorted Ketrik inside the small fort's gates. "I'll have my second-in-command show you to proper quarters, so you may bathe and change. Then we shall have some evening tea together, and get to the bottom of this."

Sarya almost laughed. It was almost absurdly proper of him to discuss such a thing over tea, as if this were a typical meeting between nobles.

She looked to the knights among Lucan's escort, expecting one of them to step forward and reveal himself to be Lucan's second. But instead, the duke gestured towards the camp, as a figure swaggered past one of the merchant's wagons.

She was a tall, lean woman, with tanned skin that was marred by faded, pale scars. Her black hair was cut short, just past her ears, and her light brown eyes glowed with amusement, as if she'd just heard some joke that Sarya wasn't privy to. She had striking, sharp features, but not the sort that one might consider conventionally attractive. Nor did she have the look of someone who cared what others thought about her.

The woman did not wear the bulky armor of the knights, and indeed wore no insignia or uniform at all. Instead she wore simple chainmail, muddy boots and a cloak of wolf's fur. The woman's demeanor and obvious strength briefly reminded Sarya of the fierce, wild women of the Iron Blades.

At her side was a thin, curved sword that rested in a jewel-covered scabbard. The fine, silvery blade contrasted sharply with the woman's rough attire and appearance.

"Brought me a treat, my lord?" the warrior rasped. A few of the knights snickered, and Sarya's eyes widened with shock at such uncouth talk.

Lucan snorted.

"No, Neryth. This woman claims to be Duchess Sarya of Fellhaven."

Neryth snorted.

"So? You could still bring me a duchess as a treat, you know. Least you could do in exchange for all the fighting I've done for you."

Lucan sniffed with a mixture of amusement and irritation.

"She is not your treat, captain. She is your charge. See her to the guest quarters, and ensure the servants get her fresh clothes and a warm bath."

"And I suppose it goes without saying that I have to stab her if she tries to run, eh?"

Sarya had never heard someone speak so gruffly and roughly to a superior before. Even the Iron Blades had held more deference for their king.

"No. Keep her safe, keep her confined, but no, no stabbing. And rest assured, my friend, you'll be able to put that steel to good use soon enough."

Lucan nodded, and Neryth stepped forward, then gestured with her gloved hand towards the gates.

"Come on, then, my lady. Let's get you all pretty and smelling nice for the duke, eh?"

Sarya had to admit she found the woman's gruff and casual nature a bit amusing, and actually quite refreshing once she got over the initial shock. It was a nice reprieve from the overly-polite blustering of her advisers back in Fellhaven. And given the treatment she'd endured from the Iron Blades and that spirit...she was getting used to 'less polite' interactions with others.

"I admit," Sarya said slowly as they passed through the gate, into the firelit courtyard of the stone fort. "It is odd, to see a woman as a captain of a duke's guards."

"Aye, it is. But I'm the best damned warrior in the Empire, and I've saved the duke's arse more times than either of us can count. I'm half the damned reason he's even alive to fight this little rebellion."

"The best warrior?" Sarya asked dubiously. "I have seen many great competitions, tournaments and duels, and-"

"Oh, not those sort of fancy fights," Neryth snorted. "Not a proper duel between two well-dressed dandies, poking at each other with needles in front of a gasping crowd. No, I'm talking about real fights. Back alley brawls, tavern fights, knife-work in the night...that sort of thing."

"Useful skills, then, especially in the service of a rebel duke." Sarya cocked her head. "But I suppose you are too loyal to allow me to pester you with questions about him."

"Pester away," Neryth said as she swung open a heavy wooden door that led inside the torchlit keep. "No guarantees that I'll answer, though."

"What sort of man is he? What should I expect when I speak with him later this evening?"

"Brutal honesty, with a veneer of civility. A savage devotion to his cause. Little tolerance for foolishness or games."

"And what of..." Sarya's eyes flickered behind her, as if the duke was somehow spying on her. "I saw a rather hungry look in his eyes..."

"Of course you did. Look at yourself. Dress all wet and torn, clinging to your curves. Did you expect him not to leer at you?"

Sarya looked down, and were she not so exhausted and frazzled, she might have been aghast at how much her tattered, soaked dress was revealing.

"Fair point. But still, I am used to noblemen with more decorum."

"He's a soldier first, then a nobleman. Lived a life as a mercenary, a wandering warrior for years before coming here to make his claim. So don't expect him to be too genteel and proper, but I suppose he's still more uppity than your average mercenary."

"Hence the meeting over evening tea."

Neryth nodded and showed Sarya up a narrow, winding staircase that opened to a small hallway. The mercenary led the duchess through one of the doorways, into a small but finely-furnished bedchamber. Neryth then called out into the hallway for servants to fetch food and bathwater, then she sat down onto one of the chairs, and propped her booted feet up on the table.

"So you and your lord have heard of the crisis that faces Fellhaven?" Sarya asked, sitting down at the edge of the bed to await the servants.

"We have. Big nasty horde of barbarians has your city surrounded, they say. We soldiers have been taking bets on how long you'd stand."

Sarya bristled at that.

"And what was your assessment?" the duchess asked.

"I wagered my finest saddle that Fellhaven would last three weeks, and no more."

"It is my intent, then, to see that you lose that wager, captain."

Neryth chuckled, and Sarya cocked her head.

"Do you think Duke Lucan would aid us?"

"Let's assume that you're telling the truth, that you are in fact the Duchess of Fellhaven," the mercenary said. "Why would we have any reason to help you? We're still in the middle of a war of our own."

"A war that pales in comparison to the destruction the Iron Blades might visit upon Ravenmark. Do you think the Iron Blades care one wit for a squabble over the throne here?"

"Fair enough. And anyone with a sense of strategy knows it'd be best to strike a nasty foe like that first, before they can strike us. But that's not my decision to make."

"Theoretically, though, do you think he would? If he won his throne, would he come to Fellhaven's aid?"

Neryth thought for a moment, running her hand over the silvery hilt of her fancy sword.

"Maybe. He'll need to prove himself, after all. He'll need the other dukes and duchesses to take him seriously. What better way to do that than to save Fellhaven?"

Before Sarya could ask another question, servants arrived, bearing several fine but relatively simple gowns, along with a bucket of hot water for the bath. The servants set to work, filling the bath and laying out the gowns for Sarya to choose, then scampered away.

Neryth did not rise, and Sarya raised an eyebrow.

"Are you just...going to sit there?" Her eyes flickered to the door, wondering if the woman was going to grant her any privacy at all.

The captain snickered and rose slowly to her feet.

"Aye, wouldn't be proper for me to linger, eh? A shame." She laughed again and strutted over towards the door and slipped out into the hall, leaving Sarya alone.

The duchess squirmed out of her torn and muddy clothes, then padded over to the window. She had no intention of slipping away, but she wanted to keep her options open.

To her chagrin, however, the shutters were barred, and she certainly didn't have the strength to break through. Grumbling a little, Sarya set to washing herself clean of the sweat, dirt and mud, then slipped into one of the gowns: a simple, high-necked dress made of dark green fabric. It contrasted nicely with her pale skin, and was a bit tight in the chest: flattering enough, she hoped, to put Duke Lucan off-guard when she spoke to him. He might be more willing to buy her story if she gave him something appealing to look at.

Her hair, though, was another matter. Without a proper comb or brush, the best she could do was tuck it up into a loose bun, with a few stray curls framing her face. After slipping into a set of slippers, Sarya stepped out in the hall.

Neryth waited, her fingers tapping against the hilt of her blade. She raised an eyebrow, looked Sarya up and down, and grinned. Sarya wasn't sure if she was flattered or irritated by that gaze: it was rare that a woman ever looked at her in such a way. She'd had her fair share of discreet admirers among the noblewomen of Fellhaven, but no commoner had been so brazen.

"That'll do, I think," the captain grunted. "Let's get you on down to the Duke, then."

"May I continue to pester you?" Sarya asked as she fell in beside the woman, feeling a great deal more confident and self-assured, now that she was in proper clothes.

"You may."

"Is the duke married or betrothed? It seems his rebellion could have been aided by a marriage alliance."

"No. He's keeping his options open, to solidify his rule once he takes Garnoc down." Neryth eyed the duchess slyly. "Why? Going to offer yourself to him?"

Sarya snorted.

"Give up rule of Fellhaven and move all the way to Ravenmark? I think not."

"Well, if you fail, maybe there won't be a Fellhaven left."

Sarya's cheeks reddened with anger...but she also went cold with fear at the thought of Neryth's words coming true. The duchess fell silent for the rest of the journey, and Neryth showed her through a doorway that led to a small, circular dining room at the base of the fort.

The room was well-furnished, the walls adorned with paintings of the landscapes of Ravenmark, along with portraits of past dukes and warriors. Several of the portraits had been removed, no doubt deliberately, to cast aside Garnoc and his ancestors who had stolen Lucan's birthright.

Resting upon a small oak table were a few trays of fruit, sweetbread and some steaming cups of tea, but Lucan was nowhere to be seen.

She huffed at that, but him not being there to greet her was far from the rudest thing he'd done to her so far. Sarya took a seat, but was not impudent enough to take a drink or a snack without her host present.

Minutes passed, during which the duchess thought through her options. Despite what she'd said to Neryth, a marriage offer was not entirely off the table. If it took such an offer to win Lucan's army, so be it. But she'd much rather find another way.

She furrowed her brow, thinking back to her night in the camp of the barbarians. Their camp had been filled with the bones, furs and hides of strange creatures, ancient weapons and piles of loot. An immense fortune was present within that camp...perhaps she could entice Lucan with an offer of that booty, if he lifted the siege. But he did not strike her as a man who thirsted solely for gold.

The key, she thought, would be helping him win this civil war with Garnoc, and giving him an opportunity to appear strong and legitimate in front of the other rulers of the Empire.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the scraping of the opening door. Lucan strode in, clad in a high-collared coat and riding trousers and boots, all adorned with red and black thread: the colors of his duchy. His hand rested on the hilt of a saber strapped to his hip.

Her eyes flitted briefly to the weapon, and he grinned and shook his head.