Chapter Eleven
Coming to consciousness the next morning made me feel as if I’d entered some alternate reality. To begin with, Benedict woke me long before the winter sun even thought about crawling over the horizon.
Fabian had used to rouse me by clearing his throat and rattling the curtain rings along the rods in a purposefully jarring way.
Benedict’s methods were equally startling, at least to a man like me who’d always been alone in his bed—but they were far more rousing. His hand sliding down to stroke my cock, and the other, that he’d slipped under my pillow in the night so that my head rested on his arm, curling around to rest across my throat, keeping my upper body arched back into his. A whisper of magic, and more summoned oil slicked my hole, Benedict’s cock already rampantly erect and pushing into me. Trying to move only bucked me into his hand and then back to impale myself on his length, and both of his hands tightened, the pressure around my windpipe cutting off the whimper I might have let out as he squeezed the base of my cock just this side of too firmly.
Neither of us said a word. I reached up and caught my hands around his forearms, anchoring myself, and he drove inside me, using me as if he owned me, as if I were his bedslave and not just his blackmailed whore.
I finished first, my come spilling down over his knuckles, and the way I clenched down and shoved myself onto his cock brought him off after, deep inside me.
He rolled out of bed and left me to recover my breath, bathe, and dress—and somehow, I found him already fully put together and waiting for me when I emerged to start my day as Calatria’s ruler.
Which brought me to my second shock: that a hint of scandal, the rumor that the duke had seduced his own stepbrother in order to carry on a vulgar affair, seemed not to have damaged my reputation.
On the contrary. It seemed everyone had become more friendly overnight.
Since the windstorm the night of Fabian’s death had scattered all the rain clouds to the four corners, the sun poured down out of a pure blue sky—“The very color of your eyes, Your Grace,” a young lady simpered as she curtseyed, giggling with her friends as Benedict and I passed her on the garden path I’d chosen as my route to my study.
“Only true beauties are flattered by sun this bright, ladies,” I said. “I’ll walk on lest I be too dazzled.”
“Quite the charmer,” Benedict murmured under his breath. He had to lean down to speak to me discreetly, and it probably looked far too intimate, not to mention the way his breath ruffled my hair and warmed my chilled ear in a way that felt far too intimate. Despite the sun, the breeze had a real nip to it, a hint of the snow on the distant mountains. It made me want to lean into him, let him put his arm around my shoulders. And if I’d tipped my head up to meet him, we’d have been kissing. That also had some appeal, damn it all. “If you want a duchess, you’ll have your pick.”
The last bloody thing I wanted was a duchess, something he ought to know better than anyone—although given how pronounced my lack of interest in women had always been, even the more inheritance-minded members of my council had given up on hinting in that direction. If I produced an heir, it’d be via adopting a distant relative, because I didn’t think I’d even be able to stay roused with a lady long enough to get inside her, let alone the multiple times it’d probably take to have her increasing.
“They’re much prettier than you are,” I said, “but they’re also much more pleasant, and I don’t dislike them at all. I can’t think of a fourth reason why I’d prefer any one of them to you, though. So don’t be jealous.”
Benedict didn’t reply, although the strained quality of his silence was an entirely satisfying reply on its own. If he wanted to call my ass flat and compare me to my courtiers, then sauce for the goose, thank you very much.
We turned a corner, another chorus of happy giggles following us. My guards’ footsteps crunching on the gravel path behind us nearly drowned out one of the girls saying, “I don’t think our style of beauty is much to his taste, though,” followed by another replying, “Look at them together! Can you imagine? I’ll faint!”
Well. They’d certainly heard about my liaison with Benedict.
That had to be a compliment, didn’t it?
Captain Venet’s cough sounded like it’d been meant to cover a laugh of his own. I lifted my chin and strode on, pretending to ignore it but really pondering whether he’d laughed at their prurient interest or laughed because they were all mocking me.
A few damp-looking bees clustered busily around bedraggled but still cheerful clumps of chrysanthemums, and their faint buzzing underlaid the clacking of my gardeners’ pruning shears on the other side of the hedge, where a small apple orchard occupied a quarter acre of sloped ground.
My home really could be so very lovely, when the scents of damp earth and fresh grass and a hint of salt off the sea all mingled together in the crisp air, and the morning sun sparkled off of glossy leaves and mosaic-tiled fountains and bits of mica in the gravel. Being the Crown Duke of Calatria had its moments, didn’t it? When everything in the world smiled on me? Even including the footman waiting to open the door as we approached the administrative wing of the palace.
Everything but Benedict, anyway. I glanced sidelong and found him frowning down at the ground as he walked. Well, good. He shouldn’t get it all his own way, even if he’d had me at his mercy earlier in the morning. I took in a deep, cleansing breath and stepped under the veranda. The footman’s smile widened, and he bowed me through the door with a flourish and something perilously close to a wink. It could’ve been considered impertinent, I supposed, but how often did the palace servants smile at me? Not nearly often enough.
Even Mattia, usually the soul of discretion, had a bit of a cheeky grin on his face as he greeted me at the door of my study. “Good morning, Your Grace! And Lord General Rathenas, good morning to you, too. A very good morning, isn’t it?”
“No better than usual,” I said airily, hoping it’d annoy Benedict.
He merely grunted and turned his attention to the coffee tray Mattia had waiting for me, discreetly checking everything as Mattia began to show me the morning’s heap of paperwork.
A few moments later he turned and interrupted us to say, “I’ll be about my duties. Lucian, I’ll see you for lunch.”
And without waiting for a reply, he strode out the door with a swirl of his cloak that felt a bit melodramatic given the mundanity of the circumstances. A page shut the door behind him. Mattia and I looked at each other. That grin had returned, and Mattia’s dark eyes had a bit of a mischievous glint to them.
Damn it. Of course Benedict had chosen this moment to call me Lucian in front of other people for the first time.
“I’m glad to see you and Lord General Rathenas on better terms, Your Grace,” he said, “if I may say so? You, ah. Make a very handsome—”
The tips of my ears burned. “I strongly advise you not to finish that sentence, if you enjoy your position as my secretary,” I said briskly, and took my seat at my desk.
Those young ladies must have meant what they said as a compliment after all, since Mattia seemed to agree with the sentiment! Thank goodness they weren’t all laughing. But how odd that they weren’t. Or worse, disturbed by my nominal family relationship with the man I’d now publicly acknowledged as my lover, via the court’s lightning-fast network of whispered gossip.
As Mattia bowed and turned away to the sideboard, hopefully to pour me some coffee, I couldn’t help the impulse that overcame me. I had to know, damn it all.
“You, ah, obviously have heard something,” I said. “And Lord Benedict is always so indiscreet. So I apologize for biting your head off. But do you think others will agree with you? That we make a handsome…something?”
Mattia poured my cup and added cream, bringing it and setting it by my elbow.
“No need to apologize, Your Grace. I know you were partly joking with me. Weren’t you?” I nodded, because I had been—or at least bluffing. I’d never send Mattia away. I liked him, and I was fairly certain he genuinely liked me. “Thank you, Your Grace. But to answer your question. Perhaps not everyone at court will be pleased. The great lords and ladies. But the servants, and the rest of us? Having our duke at odds with the commander of the army has always made everyone feel…uncertain. Ill at ease.”
Right. Because under those circumstances, the risk of a violent coup in which half the palace staff could be murdered in their beds always remained very real.
“I think that’s not all, though,” I prodded him. Mattia bit his lip, eyes fixed on some point over my shoulder and off to the left. No, definitely not all, and I was fairly sure I knew what he’d say, if I could persuade him to be honest with me. “Out with it. Your duke commands you.”
Persuade, command, what difference did it make, really?
Mattia cleared his throat, fidgeted, and finally clasped his hands demurely in front of him. To his credit, he did finally meet my eyes as he told me exactly what I’d expected to hear.
“Everyone loves the Lord General, Your Grace. Not that everyone doesn’t respect you deeply! But he’s so very popular. So when the two of you, that is to say. Everyone will love you all the more for being close to him.”
Mattia’s neck had flushed bright red. Over his years as my secretary, he’d developed a courtier’s adeptness at hiding his physical reactions—which meant he had to be practically fainting from embarrassment.
Time to put him out of his misery.
And to put me out of mine. I’d already guessed, although I couldn’t have rested without confirmation. But the certain knowledge that my own people preferred Benedict, and liked me better for taking him to bed, cut rather deeper than I would have liked to admit, even to myself.
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m glad our new understanding will put the people’s minds at ease, and I appreciate your candor. Now hand me that new draft of the maritime treaty with the Elaquin Archipelago, if you would? That’s more than enough time wasted on trivialities.”
“Here you are, Your Grace.” I took the document and picked up my pen, forcing myself to focus not on thoughts of Benedict—and it surprised me how much effort it took to push him out of my mind—but on my work. But before I could begin to really read, Mattia added, “Your Grace?” I glanced up. “At the risk of my position, I must say one more word, and I hope you’ll forgive me for how long I’ve served you, and how faithfully. I don’t think your happiness or lack of it is trivial, Your Grace. Perhaps you shouldn’t either.”
Lord Benedict has nothing to do with my happiness. I bit the words back before they could fall off my tongue. True, of course, but I’d just apologized for snapping at Mattia, and I didn’t want to have to do it again.
Besides, he meant well. Even though my happiness was entirely trivial compared to the welfare of Calatria. And absolutely didn’t have anything whatsoever to do with Benedict—unless one counted the thought of him going far away, which would give me the greatest possible joy.
It hadn’t made me happy at all when he’d been gone for two years, though, had it?
Ugh. I much preferred maritime treaties to these silly ideas.
“I appreciate your care for me, Mattia,” I said at last. “And I do know how faithfully you’ve served me. Put some of that service into writing down a list of amendments, if you please.”
“As you like, Your Grace,” Mattia said, and he settled into his own chair with his own cup of coffee, pen poised.
The open window let in a breath of sea air and a shaft of sunlight, and those girls really had thought Benedict and I were rather—well, best not to dwell on it.
But the world had been smiling on me rather more than usual today. And I’d enjoy it while I could.
My enjoyment lasted eleven days—honestly, about ten and a half days longer than I’d expected given recent events.
Out of sheer cowardice, and I couldn’t even deny it, I’d declined to call a council meeting that first week, rescheduling it for a full two weeks after the one we’d had on the day of Fabian’s death. I’d also avoided any larger court gatherings. Mattia had spoken nothing but the truth when he’d pointed out that while the servants, the guards, and a few romantic young girls might find it charming that I’d unbent (bent?) sufficiently to take Benedict as a lover, my more ambitious, critical, and politically minded aristocrats wouldn’t be quite so tolerant of this shift in Calatria’s landscape of power.
Unsettlingly, Lord Zettine accepted my calendar amendments without argument. Although it wasn’t all that unusual to skip a week, I’d expected him to fight me on it on principle. He’d simply sent a note acknowledging the change, and other than that day in court I’d only seen him in passing. He had to be planning something.
But whatever Zettine’s plans, a fortnight of dodging most of my council sounded like bliss, even if I had Benedict to contend with every morning, every mealtime, and every night.
All night, sometimes, though he used his sleep magic on me in between, giving me deeper slumber than I’d otherwise have achieved on my own. If he hadn’t, I’d have been too tired to function during the days.
As it was, I’d had to give in and send Mattia to find me a better cushion for my desk chair.
He hadn’t commented. He hadn’t needed to.
But small humiliations—and also large, thrusting humiliations that had me gasping and moaning in the middle of the night—aside, life had gotten noticeably smoother and more pleasant since Benedict had started…humiliating me. I’d been forced to face the fact that Benedict had been right when he’d described how my subjects felt about me. They really had thought me a joyless, sour stick-in-the-mud before I took up with Benedict and proved I had human desires after all.
Even Benedict hadn’t been too obnoxious. At least, no more than usual. He hadn’t been talking much during the time we’d needed to spend together out of bed, mostly taking our meals. But the one evening we’d been at loose ends after supper and before bed, and he’d already fucked me, he’d actually produced a book from somewhere and flung himself down on my sitting room sofa. And when I’d sunk low enough, goaded by the oppressive nature of the silence, to snidely remark on my surprise that he’d learned to read, I’d only gotten a sharp glance over the top of the book and a grunt.
Who could blame him, I supposed, given the way I’d embarrassed myself by drunkenly weeping about my mother? Gods. He probably hoped I’d never speak to him on any topic of substance again.
Anyway, his mute companionship might have left me too fidgety to enjoy my meals very much, but at least I’d lost the jumpiness that came with wondering if someone would murder me. Benedict had (many, many) faults, but he could protect me. His years of surviving wars and politics proved that. My continued life and health proved it too. I actually felt physically much better than I had for a while.
And so those eleven days slipped by almost without my noticing their passage, as I hid myself away in meetings with justiciary and diplomatic functionaries during the day and yielded to a silent, brooding Benedict at night.
But on the afternoon of that eleventh day, Mattia cleared his throat meaningfully as I stood to leave my study for the day.
“Will Lord General Rathenas be escorting you to the reception this evening, Your Grace?” he asked. “You haven’t danced in so long. You used to enjoy it, I thought?”
The world came to a swift and grinding halt. I had to blink to bring it back into focus. The reception. Oh, fucking fuck. The Surbini ambassador, he of the overly complex tariff negotiations, had only recently joined us at court after replacing a much older lady who’d reached the end of her career and gone home. His wife hadn’t been well enough to join him in Calatria immediately, and so we’d put off holding a reception for them at the palace until she could travel and join him.
Put it off until tonight, in fact.
“Why didn’t you remind me earlier? I’d forgotten all about it.” I didn’t mean to sound so peevish, but I’d thought my evening would be free of obligations.
Benedict hadn’t fucked me that morning, saying something about a pre-dawn cavalry training exercise as he slipped away with a kiss to my shoulder, which meant he’d need me—or at least insist on having me—as soon as we both finished our work for the day. I’d be able to spend as long as I liked in a hot bath after he’d spread me out and filled me, made me sore and sweaty and aching in my tired limbs, kissed me until my lips tingled and possibly, if he happened to be in the mood, kissed and sucked and licked me in other places, too. Or stood over me as he instructed me on how to kiss and suck and lick him the way he liked it, instead. My breath came a little faster at the thought of it, my cock stirring and that now-familiar heaviness beginning between my legs.
Of course, Benedict himself was an obligation. But the bath afterward would be delicious, feeling the heat soaking into my well-used body and knowing Benedict would be just outside, keeping the world at bay. And my supper and wine would be all the more satisfying after working up an appetite.
“I did remind you, Your Grace, beg pardon,” Mattia said. “Two days ago, I’m quite certain we discussed it.”
Damn it, we had. He’d spoken to me about it while I drank my coffee, but I’d been distracted from the topic at hand by the effort of settling into my chair in a way that didn’t remind me too vividly of what my ass had been doing an hour before.
“You did, but you could’ve reminded me again earlier today.” Damn it, I knew perfectly well my disappointment and annoyance had made me unfair.
But dread curdled in my gut at the thought of facing down all the lords and ladies of my court at last, particularly since I could be quite certain of one thing: Benedict would not be escorting me to the reception, because he’d never think of doing it on his own and I’d rather leap off the palace’s highest tower than ask him. I wasn’t some pathetic, needy little plaything who craved his public attention and acknowledgment.
“My apologies, Your Grace,” Mattias said, sounding far more subdued, and bowed lower than was his wont. “I’m sorry. I hope you enjoy yourself at least a little?”
“I doubt it, but that’s not your fault.” I had to go right now if I were going to dress for the occasion, and I also doubted Benedict would have finished with his day’s work yet. I wouldn’t even see him until after this bloody party. “Don’t spend too long here after I leave. Find a party of your own to attend, a better one, if you’ll take my advice.”
Mattia murmured his good nights as I swept out of the room and collected my guards, but I didn’t reply. Anything I said would only have sounded angry, which wouldn’t be fair at all. It wasn’t Mattia’s fault that his innocent question about Benedict escorting me had struck directly on a nerve I hadn’t quite realized I’d had exposed—or even possessed at all.
And now I’d have it exposed in front of the whole court, and I’d need to smile and bear it.