The Duchess of Lust Ch. 03

"Nothing to worry about. Old habits. I rarely go anywhere unarmed, my lady."

"Given all that I have been through, I should adopt a similar policy," she said drolly.

"Ah, but your weapons are not like mine. A beauty like you, with such a keen wit, is never unarmed."

She chuckled, a bit dubious at that praise.

"You barely know me. Assessing my looks is understandable, but can you really judge me to be clever after such a short time?"

"My life has made me quite skilled at making quick and accurate assessments. In battle, in ballrooms...it is an underrated and overlooked skill."

"So if you can judge people so quickly, have you judged that I am in fact the duchess of Fellhaven?"

Lucan slowly took a seat, then reached for a cup of tea. She did so as well, and took a sip of the sweet liquid: she sighed gratefully, for it was the first proper drink she'd had Brunloc's ritual had gone awry.

"We shall see," he said. "Who was your father?" he asked briskly.

"Duke Alathar," she answered, without hesitation.

"And who won the Battle of the River Corvai?" he asked, naming a nasty skirmish that Fellhaven had fought against Ravenmark, nearly a century ago.

"My great-great-uncle, Baron Haralt."

She made a mental note to thank Viktor for that bit of knowledge, for the old knight had been the one to teach her Fellhaven's military history.

Lucan set into a barrage of questions, testing her on her own family's history and the labyrinthine politics of the other duchies of the Empire. She answered each one swiftly and flawlessly, but her irritation grew with each correct answer. It was as if she was a child again, being badgered by one of her tutors.

"Have you had quite enough?" she asked, glaring a little once he'd finished her asking a series of questions about another neighboring duchy.

"I have my doubts, but I always do. It proves to be skeptical of everyone and everything," Lucan said with a smooth smile. He leaned back in his chair, watching her with that single intense eye as he nibbled on a grape. "But yes, now I am more inclined to believe that you are who you say...or at least that you are very knowledgeable about the history of Fellhaven and the Empire."

He stared at her for a few moments.

"And yet I have more questions. How, exactly, did you come to be here? Had you arrived with a delegation from Fellhaven, I would not have questioned your presence. But arriving bedraggled and half-drowned, accompanied by a savage? That is quite odd."

"The tale is so strange, my lord, that I fear if I tell you, you may be inclined not to believe anything else I have to say."

"My lady, I have encountered a great many strange things during my travels. So try me."

She took a deep breath, then succinctly explained the attempt at the ritual, and how it had ripped her and Ketrik halfway across the continent. She left out the part about the spirit ravishing her, of course.

The stern duke gave no sign of shock or disbelief.

"I see."

"That's it?" she asked. "Just...'I see?' No further questions, no disbelief, no laughter at the outlandish tale?"

"I have faced down sorcerers, witches, trolls, giants and more. I have seen things that beggar belief, my lady. What you say is strange, yes, but impossible? No. Few things are impossible when sorcery is involved."

Questions sprung to mind about his past encounters with such fantastical things, but he spoke up before she could ask.

"Go on, then. Make your case, my lady."

"The barbarian mercenaries fighting for Garnoc. I may have a way to turn them to your side, or at the very least, to get them to abandon the false duke."

She saw his eye light up with approval at her phrasing; she'd chosen 'false duke' quite deliberately.

"My companion, Ketrik, is a kinsman to the commander of those mercenaries. If I can get Ketrik over to them...he might be able to sway them."

"That would be quite the feat," he said. "For without those barbarians, Garnoc's rule would collapse within days. The throne would be mine." He cocked his head. "But what is your price, exactly?"

She paused to think on how best to word her offer, and reached out to snatch up a grape.

"Your aid in lifting the siege. If my companion ensures the fall of Garnoc, then you must ensure the safety of my city."

Lucan stared at her, taking a sip of his tea. His gaze was cold, distant, calculating, and she knew that he was running through his options, just as she was.

"They have a great horde, yes?"

She nodded, her face turning quite grim.

"At least thirty thousand," she murmured.

Lucan continued to stare, his mind still at work.

"Even if more of Garnoc's men and the neutral barons come over to my side, I'll have barely five thousand men capable of marching and fighting. I'd rather not order thousands of brave men to their deaths as my first act as duke."

"We would not be alone," she said. "We can find other allies along the way. Your march at my side may very well inspire others. And Ketrik is confident that others of the Iron Blades may abandon the siege."

He remained silent, and she knew he was processing her words, imagining the possibilities of such a march. He was wondering, no doubt, what glories he could win as part of such a campaign.

"You would lead the effort, my lord," she added, seizing the opportunity. "You would have my blessing and support to be my champion, to have all the credit of leading an army to the relief of Fellhaven. To the relief of the Empire, in fact. Shattering that horde will spare other duchies from such battles. You will have my gratitude and the gratitude of-"

He raised a hand, cutting her off.

"I know what you are doing, my lady," Lucan said icily. "Playing on my ambitions. You know that my position is a tenuous one, that I shall require legitimacy in the eyes of the other dukes."

Sarya cursed inwardly, wondering if she'd been too fast or direct with her offer.

A small, barely perceptible smile appeared on his face, and he lowered his hand.

"I shall think upon this, my lady. You shall have your answer, come the morning."

Sarya was not quite ready to breathe a sigh of relief, but at least he seemed to believe that she was the duchess, which meant she'd no longer be his prisoner.

"I admit, a part of me was thinking you might have been more...direct in your efforts to sway me, my lady."

Sarya raised an eyebrow and finished off her cup of tea.

"You were expecting me to what...greet you here in this dining room with my gown upon the floor?"

While she had certainly considered seducing the duke, she'd not have been that direct. But she could not suppress the sudden flare of warmth deep inside her as she imagined how Lucan would have reacted upon seeing her in such a state. He was cold, fierce and damned irritating...but he had a ferocity and strength to him, the same qualities she had admired in those barbarians.

"I would have been less likely to believe that you were a duchess had you done that," he said with a slight smile. "But no. I was expecting, oh, some batting of the lashes, a casual brush of your foot against mine beneath the table, a lingering touch on the back of my hand. The sort of seduction that some noblewomen prefer: seduction they think is subtle, but is anything but."

"And how would you have reacted to that, my lord?"

Lucan shrugged his broad shoulders, but said nothing. Sarya's curiosity rose; the stoic duke was damned near unreadable much of time, but he'd seemed faintly amused at the thought of her trying vainly to seduce him. And the thought amused her, too, and she wondered if she could crack that stern facade.

And if it made him all the more likely to help her, then so be it. Sarya slipped her foot out of her shoe and reached out, her toes grazing against his shin. She eyed him with a faint, sly smile on her lips.

She'd been expecting him to jerk away, or maybe to laugh, but instead the duke scowled and rose abruptly, his chair nearly toppling behind him. Her eyes widened with alarm and she yanked her leg back.

"I am sorry, my lord, I-"

"I just told you how foolish I found such games, and yet you decide to play them anyway?" he growled, his good eye flashing with rage. As she stared at him, she detected a hint of something else in that glare and his tone: a faint undercurrent of hunger.

"Again, I apologize, I-"

Once more, he cut her off with a harsh growl and took a step around the table. A few more menacing steps followed, bringing him closer.

"What do you take me for, exactly? Some lowly, wanton fool who would march to war for the sake of a woman's touch? Why, exactly, did you assume I would be so weak and easily manipulated?"

Surprise warred with a strange sense of arousal within her, and she rose to her feet.

"My lord, there is no need to-"

"So first you seek to manipulate me, then you seek to order me about in my own castle?" he snapped. He took another menacing step forward. Her eyes widened, both with alarm and with frightened delight at the growing hunger in his gaze. Not even the stoic duke could hide his desire entirely...

Sarya wondered how best to proceed. She could be submissive and apologetic, and try to make up for her sins, or she could play the part of the willful, defiant duchess.

She almost laughed with triumph but managed to restrain it, then glared impudently up at him.

"I apologized, my lord," she said, her voice just as firm as his. "Despite my rude reception, despite my mistreatment, I have treated you with nothing but respect. And now you dare speak to me in such a tone, after a mere accidental touch?"

That lust flashed brighter in his gaze, and he took a step closer.

"You speak to me now as if I am your equal," he rumbled. "You, a lost and desperate duchess...dare to speak to me in such a way?"

She raised her chin proudly.

"I am the Duchess of Fellhaven. I shall speak to you however I damned well please, my lord. You are an upstart. A rebel. Little more than a bandit, grasping at a throne."

She found that the teasing, defiant words came out a bit easier when they held a grain of truth to them.

"I should have you tossed in the dungeons for that," he hissed. He took a step, then another, so he was less than a foot away from her. Lucan towered over her, but she stared up at him with all the defiance she could muster.

She had faced kings, champions and even a dark spirit; standing up to Lucan was easy by comparison.

But his domineering form and that icy gaze still sent a chill down Sarya's spine.

"You wouldn't dare," she snapped back. "You would not dare have any of your scoundrel soldiers lay a hand on me."

Lucan's eye narrowed.

"Perhaps not. But I can certainly lay a hand on you, duchess."

Her eyes widened and she squeaked as his strong hands lashed out, gripping her hips. Lucan spun her about, and one hand darted out, knocking aside teacups and plates. They clattered to the floor, then he growled and shoved against the back of her neck, forcing her face-down upon the table.

"I will not stand for this," she hissed back. Gods, she was already dripping...

She tried to rise, but he growled again and shoved her down against the table again, her cheek pressing against the fine tablecloth.

"Not only have you insulted me," he growled. "You have also forced me to make quite a mess in my own dining room."

Sarya shuddered, for she knew they were about to make an even bigger mess.

"Apologize for the disrespect you have shown me," Lucan ordered. He loomed behind her, one hand braced against her upper back, keeping her pinned against the table.

"That disrespect was well-earned," she grunted back, straining to turn her head around to glare defiantly back at him. "You are a brute of a ruler." She thought for a moment, choosing her words carefully. She didn't want her teasing to go too far...and yet she wanted to push him, to see how far he would go.

"You are but a pretender," she finished, her voice shaking just a bit.

As expected, his eye widened with rage, but the lust did not fade.

His hand tightened against her back, while the other slapped firmly against her backside, leaving a nasty sting despite the layers of fabric in the way.

"Take it back," he demanded.

She took a breath and beamed over her shoulder at him.

"Never."

That defiance earned her another slap, and she wasn't able to suppress a yelp.

"Awfully weak," she teased. "How can you expect to defeat Garnoc if you can't even defeat me?"

She had never seen a look so fierce, not even on the faces of the Iron Blades. His hand yanked at her dress, then he cursed, for the tight fabric wasn't easy to remove. Her eyes widened as he drew a knife from his belt, then let out a faint squeak as he made a small slash in the fabric, just at the small of her back. She shivered, but the knife spared her flesh.

The knife clattered to the ground, and Lucan grunted and gripped the small tear, then ripped the dress apart, nearly sundering it in twain. Had that been her own gown, she might have protested, but since it had been freely provided, she was not about to complain.

And she certainly couldn't have complained...not with another slap raining down on her silk-clad rear.

"Apologize," he said sternly.

She let out a defiant laugh, which was cut off by a grunt of pain at another slap. The pain grew and grew...and yet was amazingly delightful. The duke knew just how to strike her in a way that sent thrills through her, without causing any actual, true agony.

"Never."

At that refusal, he grunted with irritation and tore her silken panties in two, and the sundered fabric fluttered to the floor. She shivered as her ass and pussy were exposed.

Sarya licked her lips, trembling with anticipation, and wriggled her backside for him.

"Unbelievable," he murmured disapprovingly. He reached down and his fingers brushed over her inner thighs, collecting a few drops of moisture that had leaked from her sex. "Not only are you rude and defiant...you are wanton and lustful. Bringing such...filthy desires into my castle."

"So?" she snorted. "Can a woman not-" Her words were cut off by a slight moan as he raised his fingers, brushing them over her slick pussy. Sarya's eyes fluttered...and was grateful that her encounter with that spirit had not ruined other men for her entirely. The touch was not quite as warm or as skilled as that of the spirit, but no less delightful.

"You were saying?" he asked, pulling his fingers away.

She cleared her throat.

"I was saying that..." Sarya frowned, for that brief touch had cleared her mind and upended her thoughts. "I don't know."

"A silly fool, as expected," Lucan grunted. "Turn over."

"Why should I listen to you, after the way you have treated me?"

He leaned down, gripped her red locks, and gave her hair a tug.

"Do as I say, duchess," he hissed into her ear. "Turn over."

She shuddered at his grasp and those intense words. In response, she raised her bare backside, rubbing it against his crotch. Lucan snarled, stepped back and slapped her ass again: the hardest strike yet, that left her entire lower body stinging with delightful needles of pain.

Sarya had yet to comply, so he cursed, grasped her hips and flipped her over. Her back thudded against the table. Lucan loomed over her, looking at her like a beast would look upon its prey, and his hands reached for her chest. His fingers curled into the fabric near the neckline, then ripped the dress again.

He grunted with effort and tore it further, and the fabric splayed out beside her, leaving her clad only in a thin, silken shift. Her chest heaved beneath it, her hardened nipples straining against the silk.

She shivered, wondering if he was going to rip that, too.

Finding that she loved his reactions to her defiance, she kicked off her left shoe and brushed her toes against his shin, in a mirror of the motion that had triggered his fierce, lustful reaction in the first place.

It earned her a sharp look, along with a slap to her hip that caused her to yelp with pained delight.

Her fingers then reached out, going for his belt. Lucan slapped her hand away, then unbuckled his sword and tossed it to the ground.

Sarya laughed and she leered up at him. As he started to undo his belt, her fingers moved between her legs, intending to tease him and put on a show.

But his hand left his belt, snatching her wrist away from her sex.

"Did I give you permission to do that?" he snarled.

"I don't need-"

"Yes you do," he snapped. His angry eye flitted over towards the doorway. "Neryth!" he called out.

Sarya's eyes bulged with surprise as the captain sauntered in and shut the door behind her. The dark-skinned woman regarded the wicked scene with warm, amused eyes, and raised an eyebrow at the torn dress and the mess that Lucan had made of the tableware.

"The negotiations are going well, I see," Neryth said drolly.

"Oh, yes," Sarya said, after she collected herself. "Splendidly." A few weeks ago, she would have blushed and covered herself, but having one woman there to watch was nothing compared to the display she'd put on with the Iron Blades.

A shiver ran through her at the woman's intense gaze and that devious grin. Sarya had never been with a woman before, save for a half-drunken kiss she'd shared with a visiting priestess. She had nothing against the notion, though...especially since Neryth was looking at her with those lustful, light brown eyes that she could just sink into.

Gods, what was she becoming? She'd gone from a proud duchess to leering at a soldier she barely knew! And still, this was a minor indiscretion compared to the orgy with the barbarians and being used by that lustful spirit.

"Hold her hands," Lucan growled. Neryth stepped forward slowly and reached out. She proved to be just as strong as any other soldier as she tugged on the duchess' wrists, pinning them back against the table over Sarya's head.

Neryth continued to stare down into Sarya's eyes, before her gaze flitted between the redhead's legs. Sarya moaned at the heat in Neryth's eyes, but her attention darted back to Lucan as his leggings and underwear fell to the floor. Her eyes stared at his cock: it was not as gigantic as King Ulrik's had been, but it had an impressive girth, and was already rock-hard and thickening with arousal.

"Sure she can take it?" Neryth asked.

"I don't care," Lucan snapped. "I shall use her regardless."

Sarya shuddered, finding it strangely arousing how they were talking about her as if her opinion was irrelevant, as if she was just some plaything for them both.

"You should use her mouth, first," the captain observed. Her eyes stared down at Sarya's plump lips. "Get her warmed up."

"Are you giving me orders now, too?" the duke snapped. "Just keep her pinned."

Neryth chuckled and her grip tightened against Sarya's wrists. The duke stepped forward, stroking his cock with one hand, and undoing the clasp of his cloak with the other. Once it fell, his hands grasped her thighs and spread her legs wide.

Sarya fell silent, her breath catching in her throat as he closed in. That thick cock brushed against her dripping folds, and the simple, short touch was enough to make her toes curl.

Neryth laughed.

"If that's how you react to just a simple touch, my lady...I'm not sure you can handle him."

"I can," she rasped. Her leg swept inward, her toes brushing against Lucan's outer thigh, to try to entice him to slide inside her. Lucan grasped at her ankle, pulling her away from his leg and splaying her open.

"We shall see," Lucan said darkly. He leaned forward, and that thick shaft of his slipped past her lower lips. Her pussy rippled with sensation as he filled her, his manhood rubbing inside her dripping sex, sliding with surprise ease due to how wet she was.