8. Robin
8
Robin
T he duke shifted the conversation to a subject that made my heart seize. “Now, about our wedding,” he began, and the word hung in the air like an executioner’s axe, ready to fall.
I clutched my wineglass like a lifeline, pleading silently for time. Let it be months from now, I begged the universe, years even. Enough time for me to learn to breathe in this corset or perhaps grow gills.
“To be held in a week’s time,” the duke continued, as if he had plucked my silent prayer right from my mind and decided to use it as kindling.
I nearly choked on air. A week? My vision swam, and I forced myself to take a breath that didn’t sound like it was my last. “Your Grace,” I stammered, grasping at straws like a drowning man clutching at passing fish. “Surely even that is too soon for… for proper attire. A dress must be made!”
He nodded sagely, a glint in his eye that made me wonder if he could read minds after all. “Indeed, which is why I’ve already commissioned Lunaria’s finest couturier for your gown. They began work the moment our union was decreed.”
My mind raced—how could he have known my size? My measurements? Was this part of his demonic abilities? Panic fluttered in my chest like a caged bird trying to escape through my ribs.
“They will arrive tomorrow morning for your final fitting,” he said smoothly, and I saw it then—the faint curve of his lips, the amusement dancing in his eyes. He was enjoying this! The thought of fittings and measurements seemed to delight him as much as it terrified me. “A week is more than enough time for any final adjustments.”
“But there’s no need,” I protested weakly. “Meredith has all my measurements; they can simply ask her.”
Darius leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that made me want to sink into my seat. “Nonsense. We must ensure everything fits perfectly. Perhaps you’ve lost or gained weight during your journey. No, I insist on a proper fitting.”
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. “Surely that’s not necessary—”
“I’ll be there myself,” he declared, “to see that it’s done properly.”
My eyes widened in horror. “Your Grace!” I squeaked, my voice reaching a pitch I didn’t know I possessed. “A lady can’t possibly allow men to… to see her being fitted!”
His laugh was rich and warm. “There’s no need for such modesty, my dear. We demons are quite accustomed to such things. Besides,” he added, his voice dropping to a silky purr, “we are to be husband and wife. We’ll be sharing a bed, seeing each other in various states of undress…”
I choked on air, my face burning hotter than the fires of whatever demon realm he hailed from. The thought of sharing a bed with the duke, of him seeing me without my carefully constructed disguise, sent waves of panic crashing through me.
Desperate to change the subject, I blurted out, “Perhaps we can also have them tailor some trousers and shirts? For riding and such… and for travel.” I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t question why a lady would need such attire.
He considered this for a moment, his eyebrow arching in a way that made me wonder if I’d just given myself away. “Indeed? You enjoy riding, then?”
“Oh, yes,” I lied, perhaps a tad too enthusiastically. In truth, I’d never had the opportunity to learn, being a bastard son relegated to the shadows. But I’d watched enviously as my half-siblings took their lessons, and I’d dreamed of the freedom it represented. “Back home, I rode often. It’s one of my favorite pastimes. Almost as enjoyable as… embroidery.” I added the last part hastily, trying to salvage some semblance of ladylike interests.
“Very well,” he conceded with a nod, though his eyes sparkled with something that looked suspiciously like mischief. “I will speak with the couturier about your entire wardrobe. You shall have all you require—from the finest silk gowns to the sturdiest riding breeches.”
A flicker of relief coursed through me at the thought of donning trousers again, even if they were to be worn under the guise of riding attire. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. Perhaps I could even convince him I needed them for… vigorous needlepoint sessions?
My brief moment of triumph was shattered as the duke rose from his seat with the fluid grace of a predator. I watched, frozen, as he prowled toward me, his eyes never leaving mine. My heart, already working overtime, decided to audition for the position of war drummer in an army of panicked pixies.
He slid into the chair beside me, and I went as stiff as week-old bread. His proximity sent waves of tension rolling through my body, each one threatening to crack my carefully constructed facade.
“My dear,” he purred, his voice a velvet caress that made my skin prickle. His hand reached out, and I braced myself for claws or fire or whatever demonic touch he might inflict. Instead, his fingers brushed my cheek with surprising gentleness.
I held my breath, wondering if this was how a mouse felt just before the cat pounced. His face inched closer, and I silently bid farewell to my short, deception-filled life. But instead of fangs, I heard a soft chuckle.
“I must admit,” the duke murmured, his breath fanning across my face like a warm summer breeze—if summer breezes could make one’s insides quiver. “I did not expect my bride to be quite so… enchanting.”
Enchanting? Me? Had he perhaps mistaken me for one of the ornate candelabras? The very idea that this demon lord found me—a masquerading male with all the grace of a newborn foal—enchanting was so absurd, I almost laughed. Almost.
“You are rather delicate,” he continued, his voice dropping to a register that made my toes curl in my ill-fitting slippers. “I do hope you can handle me in our marital bed.”
Oh, sweet merciful heavens. If the floor could kindly open up and swallow me whole right now, that would be splendid. My knees went weak, and not in the romantic way described in Rosalind’s forbidden novels.
Before my brain could stop my treacherous mouth, I blurted out, “Is it true?”
Darius arched an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his golden eyes. “What exactly do you wish to know, my curious little bride?”
I swallowed hard, my eyes betraying me as they flicked downward. “Your, um… size?” The words came out as a squeak that would have made a mouse proud.
His chuckle rumbled through the room. “Ah, you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”
Before I could even process his words, let alone stammer out a response or perhaps fake a sudden and convenient fainting spell, Duke Darius captured my lips with his own. This was nothing like the chaste kisses I’d imagined in my na?ve daydreams. No, this was a tempest, fierce and wild, and I was a leaf caught in its winds.
His lips were surprisingly soft against mine, a sensation that was quickly overshadowed as he pressed his body against me. The hard planes of his chest and the unyielding strength of his arms confirmed what I’d suspected—his body was as hard as the stone walls of his keep.
Then, to my utter bewilderment, he began to move his lips, teasing and toying with mine in a way I couldn’t have imagined possible. The gentle scrape of his fangs against my lower lip was a reminder of his otherworldly nature that both terrified and thrilled me.
Suddenly, I felt something probing at the seam of my lips. What was he doing? Was he trying to push into my mouth? In my shock and confusion, I gasped, inadvertently granting him access. His tongue slipped inside, and I found myself drowning in an entirely new sensation.
As the duke’s tongue invaded my mouth, my brain decided it had had quite enough of this nonsense and promptly shut down. His tongue, hot and insistent, explored every crevice, leaving no corner untouched. I tried to resist, my own tongue feebly attempting to push his out, but it was like trying to stop a tidal wave with a pebble.
Duke Darius only seemed encouraged by my weak resistance, pressing deeper, his kiss becoming more demanding. I was pushed back against the seat, trapped between the soft cushions and the unyielding demon lord. The sensation was overwhelming—wet, hot, and utterly foreign. Our breaths mingled, but it was less a dance and more a conquest, with the duke setting a pace that left me dizzy and breathless.
My body melted against my will, responding to his touch in ways I didn’t know were possible. Was this what it felt like to be a candle, burning at both ends? No, this was more akin to being a moth, helplessly drawn to a flame that would surely consume me whole.
And consume me it did. This must be some demonic practice—a demon’s kiss. It was raw and primal, unlike anything I’d ever experienced or even imagined. The sinful intimacy of it made me certain I’d be struck down at any moment for participating in such an act. Yet like that helpless moth, I couldn’t pull away. I couldn’t even think of resisting as I drowned in the heat of his mouth, lost in this forbidden dance.
The world around us faded away, and all I could focus on was the feel of his lips against mine, the careful dance of his fangs that never quite pierced skin, and the intoxicating taste that I couldn’t quite place—something wild and ancient, like lightning captured in a bottle. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once, and I was lost in sensations I had no name for, caught in the thrall of this demon’s kiss.
When he finally drew back, I was left gasping like a fish out of water, my lips tingling and my mind reeling. The duke regarded me with a satisfied smirk that made my insides do a complicated acrobatic routine.
“Expect this every day once we’re wed,” he said, his voice laced with dark promise.
Still dazed from the kiss that had apparently turned my bones to jelly, I barely registered his next words. “Considering it’s your first day in Lunaria,” he said, drawing me to my feet with an ease that reminded me of his inhuman strength, “it’s best you have an early night.”
With a wave of his hand, a servant materialized at my side. As I was guided away from the dining room, my mind replayed the kiss on an endless loop. One thought crystallized through the haze: I, Robin Aldercrest, was in way over my head. And the worst part? A tiny, traitorous part of me was thrilled by it all.
T he room spun, a carousel of silk sheets and shadows, as I lay in bed, my fingers tracing the contours of my lips—lips that had been claimed by a demon’s kiss. The memory of Duke Darius’ mouth on mine was a relentless tide, crashing against the shores of my resolve, eroding it bit by bit.
I tossed and turned, the silken sheets doing little to soothe the strange fever that raged within me. Each rustle of fabric against my skin was a whispered reminder of the duke’s touch, sending unfamiliar shivers through my body that I couldn’t begin to understand.
Sleep finally claimed me, but it was a treacherous sanctuary, offering no reprieve. In my dreams, the duke was there, his golden eyes piercing through the fog of slumber, his face a vision of otherworldly beauty, and his lips—those sinful lips—were on mine once more, kissing me with a passion that bordered on the divine.
I awoke with a start, my heart thrashing against my rib cage like a wild bird trying to escape its cage. My cheeks burned as if touched by flame, and then… I felt it. An unfamiliar pressure, an alien sensation between my legs.
Hesitantly, I lifted the sheets and looked down at myself. My eyes widened in horror. There, tenting the fabric of my nightshirt, was an unmistakable protrusion. I was… hard.
“No, no, no,” I whispered, panic rising in my throat like bile. “This can’t be happening.”
It was a sensation as foreign as it was alarming. I had heard my brothers, Henry and Gavin, speak in hushed, boastful tones about their early morning… predicaments, but I had always felt like an outsider to such masculine afflictions. I had never experienced this before, had never understood what they meant.
Until now.
My hands shook as I tried to will the hardness away. Why now? Why must my body choose this moment to betray me? When I was masquerading as a woman and set to marry a demon lord? The irony of the situation would have been laughable if it wasn’t so terrifying.
I sat up, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps as I stared down at this unwelcome development. What was I going to do? How could I hide this? The questions swirled in my mind like a maelstrom, each one more frantic than the last.
Bolting from the bed, I nearly tripped over Russet, who looked up at me with those knowing amber eyes. Starling, perched on the windowsill, cocked her head curiously before taking flight and following me.
“Russet, guard the door,” I whispered urgently, my voice trembling. “This is of the utmost importance. Don’t let anyone in, especially Meredith.”
I darted into the en suite bathroom, Starling swooping in just before I shut the door. My hands shook as I leaned against the cool wood, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
“What am I going to do, Starling?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as I looked down at myself. The hardness was still there, an unwelcome intruder in my carefully constructed facade. “This can’t be happening. Not now. Not here.”
I paced the bathroom, constantly glancing down at my betraying body. Starling watched from her perch on the edge of the bathtub, her golden eyes following my frantic movements.
“Do you think it will go away on its own?” I asked her desperately, knowing full well she couldn’t answer. “What if someone sees? What if… what if the duke finds out?”
The thought sent a fresh wave of panic through me. I ran my hands through my hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. My mind whirled with fragments of crude advice I’d overheard from the men in my life. I remembered the hushed conversations between the stable boys and gardeners at Aldercrest Manor, their coarse laughter as they discussed their “conquests.” Even Henry and Gavin weren’t immune to such talk, often boasting about their exploits with the village girls.
But their solutions always seemed to involve a woman—a notion that turned my stomach. I couldn’t understand their fascination with the fairer sex, nor could I imagine seeking out a woman to help with my current… predicament. The very thought made me shudder with discomfort.
“There has to be another way,” I muttered, glancing at Starling as if she might have the answer. Then a memory surfaced—hushed whispers and stifled laughter from the servants’ quarters. “Wait… there is another way, isn’t there? One that doesn’t involve… a woman.”
My cheeks burned hotter at the thought, embarrassment flooding through me. I couldn’t believe I was considering this, let alone in front of Starling. But in this moment of crisis, her presence was oddly comforting, a silent witness to my predicament who couldn’t judge or betray my secret.
With trembling hands, I shed my nightclothes, avoiding my reflection in the mirror for as long as I could. When I finally gathered the courage to look, I was struck by the contrast—my skin pale and almost ethereal, while the hardness between my legs seemed almost obscene against the backdrop of my slender frame.
I swallowed hard, remembering fragments of overheard conversations. The stable boys had talked about… taking matters into their own hands, quite literally. Even my brothers, in their cruder moments, had alluded to such things when they thought I wasn’t listening.
“I can’t believe I’m about to do this,” I whispered, more to myself than to Starling. But what choice did I have? I couldn’t leave the bathroom in this state, and I certainly couldn’t risk anyone discovering my true nature.
Steeling myself, I slipped into the hot spring pool. The water was like liquid velvet, enveloping me in its soothing embrace. I closed my eyes, willing my racing heart to slow and my mind to clear.
With a trembling hand, I reached down, my fingers hesitantly encircling the rigid length of myself. The sensation was unlike anything I’d ever felt before—electric, overwhelming, a jolt of raw need that coursed through my veins. I gasped, nearly jerking my hand away at the intensity of it.
Tentatively, I began to stroke, each movement sending waves of unfamiliar pleasure crashing over me. Is this what all the fuss was about? I wondered, my mind reeling from the new sensations. In my inexperience, I tried to conjure the image of a beautiful woman, as I had heard the men describe, but the visage that formed was unmistakably Duke Darius.
Shirtless, his demonic heritage on full display, the duke stood before me in the halls of my imagination, his lips curved into that infuriatingly arrogant smirk. I remembered the way his tongue had claimed my mouth, the way his hands had held me with such possessive strength. His golden eyes seemed to burn with an inner fire, and his broad chest tapered down to a narrow waist, all hard planes and rippling muscle.
My strokes became more confident, more fervent, as I lost myself in the fantasy. My breath came in short, sharp gasps, and I felt myself chasing something—an elusive peak that I couldn’t quite comprehend but desperately wanted to reach. I was hot, so impossibly hot, and hard, and—
My eyes flicked open, locking on to Starling, who had hopped onto the edge of the pool, her golden eyes fixed on me.
“Oh, Starling, what a sight I must be,” I panted, the embarrassment of being caught in such a compromising position warring with the relentless drive of my arousal. My cheeks burned even hotter, if that was possible, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop.
With each stroke, I was back in Duke Darius’ arms, his tongue deep in my mouth, his body pressed against mine. The thought of him, the memory of his kiss, was all it took to finally send me over that unknown edge.
I came with a strangled cry, my body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over me. It was overwhelming, almost frightening in its intensity, yet exquisite beyond anything I’d ever experienced. In the aftermath, I slumped against the side of the pool, my breath ragged, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest.
As the haze of pleasure slowly receded, I stared at my trembling hands in wonder. “Oh,” I whispered, understanding dawning. “So that’s why they…” I trailed off, my cheeks flushing anew as I thought of all the crude jokes and boasts I’d overheard. For the first time, I could comprehend why the men seemed so preoccupied with such acts, why they would risk so much for a moment of this blissful release.
Then the reality of what I’d just done crashed over me like a wave of ice-cold water. “I can’t believe I just… with thoughts of him,” I muttered, my voice a mix of awe and horror. Starling chirped softly in response, almost as if she were laughing at my predicament. I shot her a reproachful look. “It’s not funny, you know. What am I going to do now? How can I face the duke after… after this?”
The enormity of my actions settled heavily on my shoulders. I had just experienced my first release while fantasizing about the very demon lord I was supposed to deceive. The irony wasn’t lost on me, and I was caught between embarrassment, guilt, and a lingering sense of pleasure that I couldn’t quite shake off.
The sound of Meredith’s voice, urgent and excited, cut through the fog of my post-climactic haze. “Master Robin, dear! Oh, you won’t believe the news!”
I could hear her footsteps approaching rapidly, followed by a sudden halt and a confused “Oh!” I imagined her face-to-face with Russet, faithfully guarding the door as instructed.
“Master Robin?” Meredith called again, her voice a mix of excitement and bewilderment. “Why is Russet blocking the door? Never mind that now—I’ve just heard the most wonderful news! The couturier is on their way for your wedding gown fitting!”
I groaned, the reality of my situation crashing down upon me. Here I was, still reeling from the most intense experience of my life, and Meredith was prattling on about wedding gowns.
“They’re bringing the most exquisite fabrics,” she continued, her voice rising in pitch with each word. “Silks and satins and laces—oh, you’ll look absolutely divine! And they’ll be filling your wardrobe too. Isn’t it exciting?”
I could practically hear her bouncing on her toes. “Master Robin? Are you listening, dear? You must clean up and dress quickly! We can’t keep them waiting!”
“Just… just a moment, Meredith,” I called out, my voice still shaky. I frantically looked around the bathroom, spotting a plush bathrobe hanging nearby. With trembling hands, I snatched it and hastily wrapped it around my naked form, tying the sash tightly. “Russet, it’s alright. You can let her in now.”
The door swung open, revealing a flushed and beaming Meredith. Her smile faltered slightly as she took in my disheveled appearance, the hastily donned bathrobe, and the lingering scent of the hot spring.
“Goodness, child,” she tutted, her excitement momentarily overshadowed by concern. Her eyes darted to the bathrobe, then back to my flushed face. “What’s all this about having Russet guard the door? And why aren’t you dressed yet? We have so much to do today!”
I clutched the robe tighter around myself, acutely aware of my state of undress beneath it. “I… I was just taking a bath,” I said, hoping the flush on my cheeks would be attributed to the heat of the spring rather than my recent activities. “I wanted a moment to myself before the day began.”
Meredith’s expression softened. “Oh, I understand, dear. It’s all so overwhelming, isn’t it? But we mustn’t dawdle. The couturier, Madame Elodie, will be here any moment!”