Wish Granted Ch 04

A vague sense of disorder assaulted her brain when she woke up. A couple of moments passed before she understood her location. Then images of the previous day rolled through her mind, and she sighed. She slid off the bed and dressed in her ordinary gown. A covered tray of food was already waiting for her on a nightstand.

She ate quickly. Then she walked to the window and combed her hair, admiring the weather. It was cooler than before, and it was raining. The sky was gray and cottony. The flowers were weighed down by pelting drops. The fountain was rippling.

Despite the likelihood of getting lost again, she decided to explore the castle. She didn't want to hide in her room all day. Her loose curls bounced against her back and skirt as she wandered the hallways. Whenever she saw a person, she nodded and smiled, but she kept her eyes away.

The roaring precipitation grew louder, and Danetta was curious about it. She went to a very tall window and watched the glass endure quite a beating. There was a whistling wind signaling to the world that it wanted to drench everything. She thought the sounds were pacifying.

Then were were other sounds, quiet little sounds, somewhere behind her. Her eyebrows pointed down. She turned around and waited. Perhaps she hadn't heard anything at all? She gathered the length of her hair and pulled it over her shoulder. Then, again, she heard the sound. It was like a newborn puppy's whine of youthful chaos, except maybe somewhat lower. Her eyes trailed the floor ahead of her, then a door. She stepped to it and put her ear against the wood.

The noise was louder. In fact, there was another sound, a soft humming, a hungry humming. Danetta wondered if she should open the door. What if whatever was going on behind the door wasn't something she needed to see? What if she was punished for it? But, what if someone was getting hurt? Or, what if there was a mouse or something eating up precious food?

What if there was a purple dragon receiving a foot massage from a rabbit and smoking a pipe?

Danetta snorted out her amusement at her memories of children's books. She needed to stop thinking of childish concepts.

"You're so fucking beautiful," a masculine voice murmured from behind the door.

She shouldn't open the door.

Curiosity shouldn't always be satisfied.

She honestly shouldn't open the door.

She opened the door, only a little bit, making a crack small enough for her eye to peek into the room.

The room was small. It seemed to be a closet for storage. There were shelves loaded with crates and folded blankets, partially hidden by shadow. But, what truly gained her interest were two people. One was closely kneeling before another. The one kneeling had a skirt, and so it was likely a woman. The one standing close to her was a man. His slightly knobbly hands were delving into the lopsided, gray coiffure of the woman. His hips were thrusting against her head, and every movement gained a slurp or a gentle moan from the woman.

Upon further evaluation, Danetta saw that the man's breeches were unlaced, and his very erect penis was sliding in and out of the woman's eager mouth. She was taking in most of the shaft, and she didn't seem to be upset about it. Soon, one of her hands affectionately moved up the man's leg and thigh, kneading the muscles slowly. Then, the hand sunk into the breeches, cupping the gray set of testicles and making the man grit his teeth and curse.

Quietly, Danetta closed the door. Both hands, fingers closed, slithered up and down her pink cheeks. She stepped away from the closet and tried not to let the imagery duplicate itself over and over in her brain. Her feet hurried down the hallway. She wasn't sure where she was going.

Danetta had a vague concept of how genitals function, especially where pregnancy was involved. Penis becomes erect, then goes into vagina for a little bit until it spits out goo. Goo may or may not put a baby into the woman. That was it. She didn't know that one could put their mouth on a man's penis. She certainly didn't know that one could put their hands on the testicles. She had barely registered that testicles even existed.

Why would a man even want a mouth on his penis? Wouldn't the teeth hurt him? What if the woman had eaten something spicy? What if one of her teeth were rotten?

Her feet paused as a new thought rose. Does it really matter why a man would want a mouth on his penis? It didn't seem particularly harmful. And the way that man had called the woman beautiful ... well ... while the language was crass and uncouth, there was a lot of meaning in it. Danetta had heard the man's passion, his honesty, his urgent need to tell the woman how pleased he was with her. It was quite lovely, perhaps even thrilling.

She wandered off to a drawing room and sank into a cozy chair. Her thoughts turned to her future marriage. She had no idea who would have the highest bid. Her husband could be sympathetic or vicious. Everything depended on luck for her. Would her husband want her to put her mouth over his penis? Would he praise her? Would he disparage her? Would he feel some sort of guilt over wanting such contact, and then blame her for giving in to his demand?

If her husband actually insulted her as she performed such a task, she thought her heart might break. Danetta found herself chewing on the thought with metaphorically aching teeth. Her knees came together under her clothing, and she sniveled out quiet gibberish. Her fingers rubbed into her face, and she felt moisture. She had been crying without realizing it.

And just then, Duke Adurant surprised her again. He walked into the room and pointed his concealed face at her. Danetta stared up at him for a very overstrung moment, and then she remembered her manners. She stood up, curtsied, and greeted her host.

"Who's harmed you?"

She couldn't believe that was the first thing he said to her. Danetta shook her head. "Nobody, Your Grace."

"You wept in my home. I can't let that go unquestioned." The man stomped his way over to her, shooting enough apprehension into her to force her to step aside and away. It didn't matter, though. His legs were longer and more athletic. He was on her soon, brown leather crunching into itself as his hands clasped her arms just above the elbows. It was not polite to just grab a person like that, especially a woman. He wasn't seeing to an injured person anymore. He was putting his hands on a person for nothing but pure emotion.

Context is everything, and his actions applied to this context were almost as frightening as the moment when Mr. Turo betrayed her. "Your Grace! Please!" Her head moved to one side, and even though she wanted to pull away, she was too afraid to try.

His voice seemed to fan over her in a relentless manner, like a hurricane spreading over a small neighborhood of poorly built houses. "I'm the only one meant to weep in this home. Has someone insulted you?"

"No! I was only sulking!" Her little hands were shaking. Her face was burning from her previous thoughts, and her treasonous mind was wondering if this duke had ever had someone suck his penis into their mouth.

"Sulking? What was troubling you? Your father? Your future?"

That was a much more correct speculation. Still, she didn't want him to think that she was unwilling to go home. His intense, yet impolite kindness would have him holding her prisoner.

"What would you do for money?"

She dared to look up at him. To her, his question seemed to be unrelated to anything. Through the cloth about him, she felt something, something both questionable and unquestionable. She couldn't figure out how to describe it accurately in her mind. She couldn't even figure out what it was.

"I don't know the answer, Your Grace."

His hands tightened, but instead of pain, Danetta felt a tingle in her arms. Her lips parted. There was a tiny, feminine gasp. Deep within herself, something inflamed her senses, and she didn't just wonder what the man looked like. She wondered what he tasted like.

"What would you do for love?"

"Love?" Cold water poured over her senses. She blinked up at the passionless mask, which was so different from the man's heated personality. "I'm not certain, Your Grace, but I know I would do much more than what I'd do for money."

The gloves seemed to stroke her as they moved down the sleeves of her gown and then drew back, removing themselves from her person. An empty, cutting feeling remained, wounding her state of mind.

"You're not certain, but you're certain that you must go to your father. You don't love him, do you?"

Danetta felt like she was being accused of something. It wasn't fair. She was going to do the correct thing. She was going to do the proper thing. She was going to go to her father and let him sell her, just as a loyal child should do in such a situation. That is what society demanded. That is what her betters demanded. That is what this masked noble should demand.

Tears returned to her aqua colored eyes as she reminded herself that this was all her fault. She shouldn't have used up her mother's inheritance for her education, because it would have been better spent on her father's debt. She shouldn't have eaten so much food; she had always been so greedy. She shouldn't have been so uppity with that Vinsell Rothbeard person who had called her a lambkin. He might have married her and assisted her father. She shouldn't have believed a prophecy, especially from some street woman. She shouldn't have trusted Mr. Turo; that was so stupid of her. She shouldn't have ran away from home. She was such an ungrateful child!

The duke offered a quick bow to her, and then he said, "I'll let you indulge yourself in your wretchedness for now, but when you're finished, I hope you can accept my aid."

***

Dinner was a little bit cold, but otherwise delicious. Danetta's host, however, was not so pleasant. He sat near her, not eating, not drinking, and not saying much of anything. Meanwhile, she kept imagining what his penis would taste like. The closest taste she could imagine was her finger.

Sometimes, she'd try to get a small bit of food onto her hand, and then she'd place her napkin before her face to discreetly lick at her digits. Her tongue would always linger only seconds more than it should have. Her secret places between her thighs would buzz and hum with desire.

Danetta thought she was rather daring, thinking such wanton actions, sitting close to her object of curiosity. The taboo nature of the thoughts fueled her craving, and she knew her bosom, so lovingly exhibited by her blue dress' neckline, was rising and falling much more often than normal. Danetta hoped her host didn't notice, but she also hoped he did.

It wasn't until dessert was served that the duke said anything substantial to her. The back of his hand slid over the table, towards her plate, or perhaps towards her. He calmly asked, "Have you asked anyone why I hide my flesh?"

Danetta put down her fork. "No, Your Grace."

His fingers closed tightly. "Will you ask me?"

She wanted to, but she was reaching a point in her mind where she thought this was almost a game. She told him, "It's not my concern, Your Grace." Danetta wondered if he concealed himself even when visiting Henrisk. Then again, the current date was just at the beginning of the normal season for the fashionable ones to leave their country abodes and visit the capital in search of fast paced socialization. If the duke had wanted to partake in the seasonal balls, dinner parties, festivals, and sports, he should have gone to Henrisk by now.

Duke Adurant's hand withdrew. "If you won't ask, then I won't tell you."

She imagined that even if she did ask, he might not tell her. If he wanted her to know, then logic demanded that he'd tell her immediately.

He bid her goodbye and left her to her dessert, strangely somber in his gait.

***

The following day was pleasant, but mostly uneventful. In fact, the duke barely ever spoke to Danetta, and when he did, he asked her about whether or not she would inquire of his strange concealment. Again, Danetta told him that she shouldn't ask.

And on the morning after that, she was in a carriage, on her way back home. She would soon be sold off to a stranger. She supposed there were worse fates. The idea of courtship was a fairly recent one. It was once common, especially among the wealthy, to have one's parents or a matchmaker arrange a marriage for you. Even in the era Danetta lived in, many people didn't marry for something as ridiculous as love. While the bride and groom could freely choose each other, they often did so for varying reasons such as inheritances, alliances, and other similar concepts.

When she arrived at her home, she didn't receive any greeting. Her father was coldly sitting in an old wooden chair in the family room, drinking a cup of water. Danetta didn't know if she should speak to him or not. She stood behind him, fiddling with a gathered section of her skirt, her heart nearly punching a hole in her chest. She thought she had remained in that position for two whole minutes before her father finally spoke. He didn't turn his head. He didn't get up. He only spoke.

"Papa's not angry. Go to your room and rest. Your body needs to be pristine when I put you before the men."

During the remainder of the month, as she waited for her turn to be sold in the Auction Hall, she mostly stayed in her room to heal. Duke Adurant had been kind enough to give her a packet of herbs and teas to assist in her recuperation. He also gave her a jar of white cream. He claimed it was supposed to encourage healing, but Danetta knew better. It was a cosmetic. It was meant to keep the flesh beautiful. She actually hoped that her skin would glow.

Highly strung feelings of incorrectness were constantly in the air during this time. There were plenty of moments where Danetta knew she had angered her father. He would give her the fiercest expressions and raise his cane, or even his hand, but something would always hold him back. Almost as if in pain, he would recoil and sternly order her to her bedroom.

Danetta tried to tell herself that he was remembering that her face needed to be beautiful. However, he could have beaten her back. He wasn't going to place her on the stage in the nude. And once she was married, there wouldn't be anything her husband could do about a marked back. He would have already paid the price at the auction. No refunds were allowed unless the seller outright lied about the product, and Danetta knew that according to the law, all her father needed to do was refrain from saying her back was bruised. He didn't need to outright say that it was.

***