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!
***
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."
