Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Charlotte
The Aerie
Draven’s Library
Fire crackled in the fireplace, casting a warm glow across the room.
Charlotte angled the page to catch the light. “Did you really trek through the snow to find Luis just to have him write this letter?”
“To keep you from tearing my fortress apart on a futile search? Certainly.”
She didn’t know what to say. Not informing her of his plan left her feeling used and abandoned, but he was old and not in the habit of sharing schedules. A forgivable oversight, as long as it did not become a habit. She couldn’t deny how touching it was to know that Draven chased after Luis and Miles in the abominable weather just for her peace of mind and to reassure her that her friends were not being held captive.
Of course, there remained the thorny subject of the person currently being held captive. She heard someone in the corridor. She did not imagine it. Draven had his secrets. Holding her friends captive just happened not to be one.
He reached over and lifted the compass hanging on the chain around her neck. He turned it over, rubbing his thumb over the worn engraving. “This is from the Endeavor .”
“It’s an heirloom from my mother’s family,” she said.
Draven nodded before leaving their cozy nest on the settee and headed to the sideboard to pour himself a drink. Completely nude, he seemed unaffected by the chill. Not that Charlotte was one to complain. She rather enjoyed the view.
Draven tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.
“I have eyes. I’m allowed to use them,” she said, not ashamed to have been caught watching. She was nude too.
“Would you like one?” he offered, holding up a glass of amber liquid.
“No, thank you.” She eyed her discarded garments on the floor. She should return to her rooms. Orianne would be searching for her. “Could you hand me my shift, please?”
Draven scooped up the garments. “I think not. I rather enjoy your current mode of dress.”
A folded piece of paper fluttered to the ground.
“Ignore that,” she said, but he had already handed over her clothing and opened the note.
He pressed his lips together. “This is quite the extensive list of questions.”
“I simply organized my thoughts. I did not intend to ask them all.” Only as many as he would tolerate.
He made a humming noise and picked up a pencil at the desk. While he read, she slipped on the shift.
Draven crossed off a line. “Let me remove some items from your list. In regards to my appearance, which we can agree is passingly attractive, I have not always looked this way. My body underwent a transformation and this,” he said, waving a hand down the length of his body, “is the result.”
Charlotte moved to a kneeling position, her shift slipping off a shoulder. Absently she tugged it back into place. “Fascinating. Was it a considerable change?”
“If you saw a photograph, you would not recognize me. I grew fifteen centimeters in days.” He paused. “I don’t recommend it.”
“May I see a photograph of you?” she asked, intrigued. There were only a handful of photographs of the original colonists. Recorded images had been digital and did not survive long once they arrived on the planet. The same was true of the settlers’ digital media and books. So many works of literature had been lost.
He took a moment before answering. “There are none surviving.” He consulted the list and crossed off another item. “Draven is my chosen name.”
She thought as much. There was no Draven recorded on the list of passengers or crew. “What was your original name?”
“That’s enough questions for one day.” He folded the page and set it aside. “I haven’t had a proper meal in a week. Join me.”
An order and not a question. He seemed to be fond of those. She said, “Very well. Do you plan on dressing for dinner, or are you going to scandalize the staff?”
He glanced down at his feet and backed up, a grin revealing a hint of fang. “I don’t see the point. The cold doesn’t bother me.”
“Scandal it is, not that you’ll hear a complaint from me.”
He laughed, a bit too loud and abrasive, the sound of someone not used to being demonstrative of joy. Charlotte found it delightful, but she already knew her tastes were questionable.
He pulled a cord to ring a bell, presumably downstairs. While they waited, she dressed. Draven, regrettably, also dressed. She went to pin her hair back up, but he touched her arm. “Leave it down,” he said.
Their meal arrived shortly via a small elevator in the wall. “Directly from the kitchen. It’s much faster than carrying trays up and down the stairs,” Draven said.
There was more than enough for two. Charlotte hadn’t been particularly hungry, but the aroma set her mouth watering. They started with a creamy leek soup and bread still warm from the oven. There was an entire roast chicken served with roasted vegetables, mostly carrots, onion, and potatoes. It was simple but pleasing.
A warm contentment settled over her. She enjoyed their conversation, even their argument, and especially the means to resolve the argument. Now, sharing a meal, it was markedly different from their first dinner. The situation felt comfortable. Correct. Remarkably domestic, like they had shared intimate winter evenings for ages and there were no poisonings or accusations of assassination. Charlotte would even dare to call it cozy.
At the end of the meal, coffee arrived, and a servant cleared away the dishes.
“You seem to be missing a guard. I’m certain I assigned one to you before I left,” Draven said, sounding too casual as he placed his napkin on the table.
Just like that, the mood shifted from cozy to perilous.
Charlotte’s hand trembled. Coffee sloshed precariously inside the cup. She set it down, careful not to spill it on the table or herself. “Oh?”
“Do not act innocent, sweetness. Tell me what happened to your guard.”
There was no good response. She was already caught in his trap. Saying nothing would bring his wrath down on Orianne, who was blameless. Confessing her sins would result in some kind of horror, she was sure. Locked away in the dungeon. Only gruel for sustenance and Lemoine for company. Worse still, he’d take away access to his library.
“If you won’t tell me, then I’ll hear it from Orianne.” He snapped his fingers and pointed to the server. “Leave the dishes. Bring Private Orianne to me at once.”
The coffee turned bitter on her tongue. She had only thought about slipping away from her chaperone, not the consequences. “Please don’t punish Orianne. It’s not her fault. I distracted her.”
“That is no excuse.”
“I was terribly persuasive and determined to get away.”
Draven swirled the glass, the amber liquid sloshing up the sides. “A guard must be able to keep their head at all times and follow orders. Whatever excuse you have for Orianne abandoning her duty, she knew better.”
Even though he spoke of Orianne’s failure to follow orders, she knew it was directed at her.
It only took a few minutes before Orianne arrived, red in the face and huffing as if she ran the entire way. Her gaze immediately homed in on Charlotte. “There you are. I’ve been looking—”
Draven cleared his throat. Orianne snapped to attention, her posture painfully rigid.
“Explain yourself, Private,” he said.
“I instructed Lady Charlotte to remain in the greenhouse—”
“You abandoned your post.”
“No. Well, yes, technically, but I was only gone for a few minutes and—”
Draven waved a hand to silence her, wearing an expression of indifference. “I’ve heard enough.”
Orianne slammed her mouth shut, and the color drained from her face. “Please, Lord Draven, it won’t happen again.”
“You are correct.” He stood, and Orianne visibly flinched. His expression turned from indifferent to wintry. “Do you know what happens to those who can’t follow orders? Who thinks it’s only a few minutes and leaves their post?”
“No, Lord Draven,” Orianne said.
“Do you, Charlotte?”
She shook her head, reluctant to answer. She’d read several accounts of Draven’s historic cruelty. He did not simply punish a person. He made an example of them, the kind that involved stakes and slow agony. The kind of horror that was recorded in history books. The kind of horror she had feared for Miles.
“You already know. Say it,” Draven ordered.
“You send them to the dungeon,” she answered.
He nodded. “Nasty places. Cold. No natural light and the solar lights haven’t worked for at least twenty years. I understand there are rats.” He circled Orianne as he spoke. Her complexion resembled snow at this point, her color completely gone.
White as a ghost.
Charlotte had read that turn of phrase so many times and never seen it in actuality. It was horrible witnessing another being haunted by Charlotte’s selfish actions.
“Remind me where you come from,” Draven said.”
“A farmstead—” Orianne replied.
“Nowhere,” he said, speaking over her. “You came to me from nowhere, half-starved and desperate. I took you in. I fed you. Clothed you. Sheltered you.” He paused, waiting for her response.
“Yes, Lord Draven.”
“In exchange for my generosity, I expect you to perform your duties. Were my instructions unclear?”
“No, Lord Draven.”
“Too complex?”
“No, Lord Draven.”
“Then I don’t know how you misunderstood a fairly simple and direct order. Guard Lady Charlotte. I could not make your orders any clearer.”
Charlotte couldn’t take it. She slammed her hand on the table, rattling the coffee cup and saucer. “Stop! Please, just stop. It wasn’t Orianne’s fault. It was mine.”
Draven turned his attention to her. Earlier that evening he had been angry with her but that was nothing compared to the bone-chilling coldness in his eyes. In the firelight, he glowed red. “Do tell, sweetness.”
“I, umm, wanted to snoop,” she said, her mouth suddenly dry. “You caught me in here, so you know that’s true. In the greenhouse, I convinced Orianne to help a young man she’s sweet on—”
Orianne made a strangled, mortified sound but otherwise kept her mouth shut.
Charlotte continued, “And I swore I’d remain in the greenhouse while she helped him take a cart to the kitchens. It was my fault.”
“You lied, sweetness.”
“I did.”
He strode toward her. She shrank into the back of the chair as he planted his hands on the arms and leaned down. He bared his fangs. She turned her face away, unable to look. He huffed and pushed away.
“Well,” he announced, “I think we all learned something. You, my sweet bride, are an insufferable snoop and will lie to get what you want. A pretty face will distract Private Orianne from her duties.”
This was a disaster. Her actions landed Orianne in trouble. “I wasn’t thinking. Please, don’t punish her.”
He regarded her with an inscrutable expression.
“Please,” she added, her voice barely a whisper.
He turned to Orianne, hands folded behind his back in a military stance. In that instant, it seemed impossible that she had forgotten he arrived on the planet as an army general. Everything about him radiated precision and a confidence that expected to be obeyed.
Until he turned into a rebel and seized the Aerie for himself.
Yes, that bit was impossible to forget.
“There will come a time when the Aerie is under attack. When that happens, I trust you to protect the most precious thing on this cursed mountain,” he said. “You will not become distracted by an emergency or blood or people dying or whatever fucking catastrophe you think is important. It is not. Nothing is more important than Charlotte. Nothing. Not a pretty lad from the kitchens. Not even me. You will not leave Charlotte alone again.”
Orianne nodded and muttered her assent.
“Leave us,” he said. Orianne tossed Charlotte a grateful look and retreated before Draven could change his mind. Draven missed it, having turned his attention to pouring himself a cup of coffee. “I apologize for the unpleasantness, but it was necessary. You understand.”
Again, an order, not a question.
“I understand.”
The Aerie was a dangerous place, and he was the biggest danger of all.