Hello my lovely friends! It's been a bit since I published, for which I am eternally remorseful. This chapter contains some plot progression, a few metaphors, some imagery, and of course lengthy and depraved sex scenes. I never know what else to write in these bits, so I'll just say, check my profile for more on this story and me in general, and please let me know what you think of this story in the comments!
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The flowers and herbs that grew in the trellise by the wide window were but a miniature reflection of the lush and verdant garden that flourished in the courtyard down below. Here inside the walls of stone were certain blooms, vines, shoots, creepers, and leaves that tolerated life in a confined pot of soil, sunlight only filtering indirectly through the arched window. Outside was life unrestrained, growing fast and tall in the late summer sun, heedless of the autumn death so soon approaching.
Marilla often felt claustrophobic in the castle walls, but her plants helped somewhat. Better still was the vast aperture in her solar which allowed some of nature to encroach on the cold, lifeless stone. The chamber had been her mother's before her, and now Marilla used it as her study and office for all official business. She found that the breeze and the scent of flora wafting from below kept her spirits up during dreary meetings with tedious men.
Now, as she leaned over the stone lip, she could see movement in the garden. From the castle's second level she could view nearly the entire courtyard, except for spaces here and there obscured by trees. Three men walked together along one of the garden's twisting paths. One was her lord father, Rovish Silver, Duke Seleca. With him was Magus Brand, the court wizard, and Renton Palster, personal private secretary to the Duke.
Her mouth twisted into a sneer at the sight of Brand, his long black hair tied into a tight tail, his cream-colored robes spotless. A good night's sleep had done nothing to dull the disturbing scene she'd witnessed in Brand's tower the morning previous: Brand stroking himself to a frenzy and using his seed to fuel a ritual with Lu'Caella, the dark voice smoldering in the fires of the Other Place. Today Brand was his usual obsequious self, following half a pace behind the Duke, her father none the wiser about the wizard's clandestine assignations.
Should I tell him?,
thought Marilla.
No. Father would never believe it. Brand is his closest companion and most trusted advisor.
Throughout the Duke's long illness, Brand's magic had been a great boon to ease pain and restore lost strength. But where the Duke saw a loyal companion, Marilla only saw disgusting servility. Her father's judgment was clouded by his malady, but even so, he was the still the Duke.
Today the Duke of Seleca looked in good health, however -- better than he had in many weeks. There was ruddy color in his cheeks, and he walked with head held high, hands clasped behind his back. Palster was jabbering on about some matter of state, wiping his brow nervously, and the Duke nodded along confidently. He stopped and bent down to sniff a rose bush, and even plucked a blossom from amongst the thorns and slipped it into the fringe of his doublet.
Perhaps his strange affliction was passing at last. But then, she had thought that before. One moment she would believe him all but cured, and then the next day he would be bedridden again, not to emerge from his dark and and silent chamber for days. He was like a wine cup with a hole in the base: he could be full to the brim, only to have everything leak away.
She swept her gaze over the gardens themselves, noting that leaves were already beginning to fall from the bushes and trees. The first hints of autumn crimson encroached on the lush green. Soon enough, her mother's garden would wither in the winter winds, sleeping beneath the snow until spring. Then all her hard work would begin again.
Caught up in this melancholy reverie, Marilla didn't hear the the hall door opening. She missed the sound of boots on stone as well, and was still leaning on her elbows over the window sill when a baritone voice spoke close beside her ear.
"What're we looking at, My Lady?"
She gasped and nearly jumped out of her skin. Mag the mercenary stood just behind her, so close that she could smell his musk, a mixture of leather, steel, and sweat. He wore a lopsided grin on his dark-whiskered face, and there was a wolfish glint in his yellow eyes. Mag's thick black hair was held back by his faded red headband, and he was geared up for battle as usual: sword on his hip, knives strapped across his chest, dull breastplate fastened on tight.
"Gods above, you frightened me," said Marilla. "You ought to announce your presence in a lady's chamber."
Mag just widened his grin, shrugged, and scratched his nose. "Yeah, but the look on your face is priceless. You know you're adorable when you're terrified?"
She let the comment pass without reply. In the silence that followed she could feel Mag's searching eyes on her. The bodice of her emerald dress was cut low enough to show generous amounts of cleavage, and Mag gazed appreciatively at the tops of her tans breasts. She knew that a proper lady should have balked at such lecherous behavior, but she and Mag had lain together twice already. Her mind raced as she remembered him straining behind her, or how she had dropped onto him from above, and how their flesh and voices had mingled as they found rapturous release together. Marilla had to admit that she was quite looking forward to a third time.
But not just now. She shook her head, clearing the lusty thoughts and tossing her braided chestnut hair to and fro.
"Your orders," she said, latching onto the nearest subject. "I have them on my desk."
Marilla brushed by him, their bodies so close she could feel his heat, and stepped over to her desk, which was positioned in front of the window so that light would shine onto her papers and books. A folded parchment lay in the center, which Marilla retrieved. Mag paced behind her, keeping the distance between them close -- intimate. Her heartbeat continued to increase, yet she managed to keep the tone of her voice even.
"You are to report to the castle's eastern gate, where you will join Lieutenant Glabber's division on their march to Abin's Lode. Once at the mine, Lieutenant Glabber will retrieve the latest shipment of silver bars and return them here to Seleca. You will remain at the mine under the command of Sergeant Sain, with standing orders to deal with any Soulkin in the vicinity. These orders are signed by the Duke and by the Captain of the Guard. Any questions?"
Mag sighed pathetically and blew his cheeks out. "Does it have to be fucking Glabber?"
"Yes, it does. He is an experienced soldier and the Captain has much faith in him."
"He's a pompous idiot who's coasting on his family's name, if you ask me."
Marilla couldn't help a wry grin.
