The Inquisitor's Mercy

I awoke bound to a velvet chair, my hands tied to its bloodstained arms. The chair had belonged in the throne room before it was repurposed to the dungeon of the high inquisitor. I sat in the same clothing I'd been captured in, a peasant dress of forest-green linen and a leather corset. Just out of the light of the flickering torch stood Arvoz Turrey, the high inquisitor himself.

Arvoz moved just enough for the blade of his knife to catch the light. My breathing quickened, my chest straining against the tightness of the corset. He stepped forward and I could now see his scarred hands, the black clothes, the king's crest on his breast, the hood that covered his face. He was here to make me talk--and to kill me if I didn't.

But what he didn't know was that I'd let myself get captured and that the poisoned dagger the guards took when they searched me was a decoy. Just above the belt around my waist a poisoned needle lay buried in my skirt--Arvoz Turrey's death sentence.

He stepped forward again, slowly rolling up his sleeves, revealing golden skin and forearms corded with muscle. With his next step he removed the hood.

My breathing hitched as I looked upon the face I'd gotten to know the past several months. His once friendly expression was replaced with an icy ferocity resembling the faces of the marble warriors that lined the throne room. I looked upon the square jaw, the straight nose, the raven-black curls. But I did not look into his eyes.

I could not.

Because if I did I was not sure I'd be able to kill him.

He walked towards me, knife in hand, each step quiet and graceful. I balled my right hand into a fist, preparing for him to drive the blade into my hand. No one left the inquisition chamber without a pierced hand, even those willing to talk. The scar that would form was meant to serve as a reminder and a deterrent.

I closed my eyes and waited, feeling his warmth as he neared, hearing my own heart hammer as his knife slashed through the air--

I gasped as the blade smashed into the wood of the chair, inches from my head.

"I hoped you weren't the spy," he said as he leaned down to me, his finger curling around the knife's golden hilt. "But the longer I watched you the more certain I became of your guilt." He was inches from my face, and his breath sent a chill down my spine as he whispered, "The perfect rose was made of silk after all."

He then lifted my jaw, forcing me to look into his midnight eyes, and any control I had over myself wafted away. His chest began to rise quicker as he moved closer. I parted my lips, straining against the rope.

"You're at my mercy now," he crooned, his lips almost touching mine. In a swift motion he grabbed the knife out of the chair. I flinched as he placed the ice cold blade against my neck, then ran it over my collarbone and to my shoulder. "Why were you sent here?"

"I'm not a spy," I whispered.

Arvoz laughed, then grabbed the back of the chair. "Oh? You really are just a lady of the court?"

I took a shaky breath. "Yes."

He grabbed me by the hair, pulling my head back and exposing my neck to the icy air. "If you refuse to talk I'll have you sing instead."

"Then a lyre would be more useful than your blade."

He smirked then looked into my eyes with a ferocity I'd never seen in a man before.

"There you are," he said, then pressed his lips into mine.

Shock coursed through me, shock that turned to desire as I kissed him back.

He pulled away, slashing the rope that bound my hands. I didn't dare look at my belt, where the needle lay. Didn't dare think about what I was here to do.

"I'll ask again," he whispered, "why were you sent here?"

My breasts pressed against my corset. I could feel warmth between my legs. With my hands free I could strike now, and yet...

"No one," I said.

My hand moved to my waist, but I couldn't bring myself to take the needle. The fire within me burned all logic.

He chuckled and grabbed my hair again. I parted my lips as he opened his mouth, kissing me, his tongue brushing mine before entering my mouth. I wrapped my hand around his muscular neck, his skin smooth as silk, his dark hair brushing against my hand. My tongue entered his mouth, and the taste of him made me weak. My mission faded from my mind, replaced only with thoughts only of him.

He let go of my hair, his hand moving over the curve of my breast, down my waist, to my leg--he lifted the thin fabric of my skirt and slowly moved up my thigh. I wanted him so badly. He pressed his forehead against mine, his breath shaking as his hand slid between my legs and he entered me. I stifled a moan.

His fingers entered me and I released a breath--I needed him. I needed him inside me. I was ready to beg.

He stroked me in gentle movements, then slid his hand out and slowly entered me again. I released a quiet moan and he met my gaze making my legs go weak. With his eyes locked on mine he plunged deep inside. I nearly exploded with pleasure. I became wetter with each stroke, moaning softly as he moved faster and faster. When he added a third finger was so close to release, but he stopped and pulled his hand away as if he could sense it, as it he wanted to torture me.

I sat there, breathing heavily, my eyes on his muscled torso, on the knife still in his hand. In a quick motion he sliced the ropes of my legs, then effortlessly tucked the knife into the holster. He moved so quickly I barely had time to react before he grabbed me by the hair and pulled me out of the chair.

He switched our positions, sitting in the chair like the king on his throne, legs spread. He pulled me over him, grabbed my hips and positioned me over his own. I let my hand travel down his chest, and felt his cock as it pressed against the fabric of his trousers. He grabbed the back of my neck as he unbuckled his belt and released himself. Before I could even look at him he pushed my head down, pushed until I was on my knees. I met his midnight eyes and wrapped my lips around him. He groaned and pushed my head down again.

I dug my hands into his thighs as he moved me up and down, his hands guiding my movement. Finally he pulled my head away and before I could take a full breath he had me on his lap, hovering over his dripping cock. His hands grasped my hips so tightly they hurt, but the pain just made me want more. I tried to lower myself onto him, but he stopped me, hovering me right over himself. I braced my hands on his tight muscular abdomen as he lowered me painfully slowly. I could feel him pressing against me, feel him slide just inside. I grabbed at the fabric of his shirt, my breasts heaving. He held me in place with one powerful hand, held me with just the very tip of him inside me, while the other hand unlaced the front of my corset.

He pulled the corset apart and cool air hit the hot skin of my breasts. He groaned as his hand grazed my stomach and grabbed my breast. His eyes were filled with an animalistic ferocity as he moved me up and brought my breast to his lips, first gently teasing my nipple with his tongue, then plunging it into his mouth and sucking hard. Pleasure coursed through my whole body as he sucked and I let my hands run over his muscular arms. He moved to the second breast and bit the flesh before licking over the pain and taking my nipple into his mouth, his hand grabbing my back. He drew me closer and kissed up my chest, gently kissed my neck before biting me--

I gasped at the feeling of his teeth on my skin, a tinge of fear running through me. With his teeth in my neck, his hands keeping me immobile, he plunged himself inside me.

I moaned in pleasure at the feeling of him. He plunged deeper, pulling out slowly, managing to torture me with long pauses between each thrust. My breathing quickened and I dragged my hands down his torso as he slid in and out, finally picking up the pace. I grasped him harder, moaning softly as I got closer and closer--

He pulled himself out and drew me to him. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he lifted me into the air and carried me to the table in the back corner of the chamber. He placed me down on the cold wood then turned me over, taking me from behind. With two firm hands grasping my hips he entered me, thrusting faster and faster and faster as I grabbed the edge of the table. I felt his hand wrap around the back of my neck, his body press into mine, his hand slide from my neck down my arm, wrapping around my wrist. His other hand held down my forearm and his feet pinned my legs. He was still inside me as I realized that I was completely incapacitated. He thrust in slowly--

"I know The Hardfish sent you," he whispered as his lips grazed my neck.

My heart leapt.

Attempting to keep my voice calm, I said, "That's not true..."

He thrust forward, plunging deep inside. "Then who sent you?"

"Lady Rosky. She wanted me to spy on Donna--"

"Liar," he snapped.

I bit my lip. How could he know The Hardfish sent me? He had to be guessing--unless he wasn't. If he really did know the truth--if he really wasn't buying the June Rosky cover, I was dead.

"It's the truth," I said. "But it seems like the truth doesn't matter when your king needs an excuse for starting another war."

His hands tightened on my wrists, and he shoved himself even deeper inside me.

I cried out.

"Don't lie to me," he growled.

He pulled out and thrust again, hard. I gasped at the tinge of pain as panic rose through me. Did he really know? Did it matter? I'd given in to feral instinct, a grave mistake, but it was not too late.

As I realized what I had to do, I closed my eyes and tapped into my years of training. All the panic, all the fear, the lust was blanketed by lethal calm.

"I'm telling the truth," I whispered, trying to sound earnest.

He let go of one of my right wrist and grabbed my neck, pressing my face into the wood, his lips against my ear. "Lady Rosky is dead. How is a dead woman sending spies?"

"That's impossible," I said.

He then freed my wrists, flipped me over, and grabbed my neck from the front. I grabbed his wrist with my left hand, plunging my nails into his skin. A distraction...

He released a breath, his brow glistening with sweat in the candlelight, his fierce eyes looking into mine.

"Enough," he growled. "I know The Hardfish sent you, I just don't know why. As soon as suspicions were raised about you I asked to be the one to watch you. Do you want to know why?"

"Yes," I said.

He let his hand slide to my heart. "Each night since you've come to court I've had the same nightmare. Death comes to take me, drives a spear through my heart, removes its hood, and it's your face beneath. Two months I awoke from the same nightmare. Two months you've tortured me."

There was an anger in his eyes that turned my stomach.

"Are you going to kill me?" I asked.

"I was ordered to," he said. "Even if you talked I was ordered to kill you."

A bit of shame rippled through me. So that was his plan, to have me then kill me. "How will you do it?" I asked.

His gaze turned serious. "I won't." He let go of me and sat up, the light casting ominous shadows over his sweat-drenched body. He looked at me, really looked at me like he could see my soul, then shook his head as if in disbelief at what we'd just done. "I'm a fool for telling you this, but there's a sewer that runs from here to Norfold River. I have a boat, clothing and food waiting." He grabbed my arm. "Come and you could be free from The Hardfish."

I stared at him for a moment, studying his face, trying to read him. When I found no answers in his icy gaze I asked, "Why?"

Anger flickered across his face. "Because your fate is sealed. Your death is certain." He grabbed my waist. "And what a waste that would be..."

I swallowed. "You're not giving me a choice."

He looked at my body, his hand traveling down between my legs. "Your choice is join me or face torture by someone that is not as merciful as I." He plunged his hand inside me. "They'll have you while they kill you. There will be no honor in your death."

"Then I choose you."

He slammed his fist on the table. "Then we should go. We can finish this later."

He slid off the table and stood, still hard. As he laced his pants I closed my corset and pulled down my skirt, still in disbelief. Was he truly serious, or was this part of the inquisitor's game?

"Now?" I asked.

He took both of my hands, squeezing too tightly, "Now."

I gave him a nod and began to lace my corset.

He grasped a torch and offered me his arm as I slid off the table. As soon as my fingers wrapped around him he whisked me into the shadows. His raven hair was loose, his body moving with the quiet precision of a trained assassin. The tunnels turned to dripping sewers, the air grew stale as we flew through the darkness. We trudged through the sewage of the castle, slowing only when we came upon a circle light. The world unfolded before us as we approached, snow capped mountains and thick forest and sunlit cluster flies dancing over wildflowers.

Arvoz stepped onto the field then turned to me, his figure glowing in the light of the evening sun. "I'll kill you if you betray me."

I took in a shaky breath. "You'll earn my unwavering loyalty if you give me the truth. Why did you take me here? You could have had me and left me dead."

He drew close, his muscled chest nearly touching me. "Do you remember the first Queen's banquet? When you made the whole table howl with laughter? I haven't stopped thinking of you since then. I'd been planning my escape for years--and that night I knew by the grace of the fallen devil I knew I had to take you with me. And what happened today, it just made me feel more certain. I could see in your eyes you craved freedom as I did."

I remembered his laughter at that banquet. I remembered catching his gaze when I played the piano the next night, remembered our playful conversation at the ball, the butterflies I felt when I saw him in the halls. I'd imagined being with him, imagined myself a real lady, imagined his touch...

"Be with me," he said, reaching out a hand. His hair blew in the evening breeze, black against the violet sky.

That was the moment when I knew it was real.

I placed my hand in his, my head beginning to spin.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"No," I lied.

He nodded and we began to walk through the swaying prairie grass, the castle looming behind us. I felt confident I could have escaped that chamber alive--but didn't know my plans. He'd truly wanted to save my life. He truly felt the fire that had been burning between us since we met.

After all that, how could I tell him what I'd done?

How could I tell him that in the chamber, when he had me pinned down, when I thought he'd kill me, I'd dug my nails into his skin to distract him from the needle I pressed into his thigh? A prick so small he hadn't noticed. A prick from a needle laced with deadly poison.

He gripped my hand tighter. "Keep your eyes down. If anyone approaches, you're my wife. We're from Wallsy, going to Teurgrad."

"I'll remember," I said, trying my hardest to keep my voice calm.

He kept me close as we walked in silence toward the sound of the rushing river. The poison, called Blacksmith's Ghost for the root from which it was made, killed slowly and silently. He had three days before the illness took him, and three more before it took his life. What a waste of a life...

To be continued...