Fate War: Alliance (4 page)

Cole stared through the half-filled glass of amber liquid at the shaded map of the continent on the wall. If he held it just right, the map warped, and the gray areas that were Fate held lands, diminished significantly. It was only an illusion.

He tried to ignore the raucous gathering of men in the War Room around him. It was repulsing. Officially, they were signing The Pact as witnesses to the Verification, but the whiskey, cigars and derogatory conversation were only leading to one outcome. The arrival of several giggling pretty girls, dressed in corsets and not much more, confirmed his suspicions.

He wiped a hand over his face, then swallowed the drink all at once, relishing the burn. No amount of alcohol would wipe away the memories of The Verification though. She wasn’t ready. Of course she wasn’t ready. How could he possibly get her ready with an audience? He wondered if he would ever stop hearing her pained gasp as he entered her or her muffled cry when he began to stretch and break her. Would he ever close his eyes and not see the silent tears trickling from her vacant eyes, leaving black trails along her temples as they fell through her make up?

He poured another glass of liquid fire.

He had wanted to stop. He almost did. The situation was not exactly stimulating. It was horrifying, but the requirements were for Blood and Fluid. He had to prove his ability to procreate of course.

He swallowed the second glass whole, his face contorting with the sting. Where would they be if he hadn’t continued? The Pact would be invalid. Everything they had already been through that day would be for nothing. He had to finish, but it felt so wrong, and she was in such pain.

He poured another glass, ignoring the increasing debauchery around him. Hypocrites. Demanding public chastity as long as infidelity was well hidden amongst friends. He held the drink to his lips, disgusted with himself and his attempt to erase his actions with alcohol. Hadn’t he got past that? He didn’t really want the drink, but it was there and sympathetic. Sympathy. He didn’t want sympathy either. What did he want?

He slammed the glass down causing it to slosh the drink onto the table. Retribution? Freedom? Yes, but there was something he wanted more. He searched for the foreign concept circling the periphery of his thoughts.

Forgiveness.

Cole stood up with enough force to knock his chair back. Without a word, without a glance at King or countrymen he stormed from the room. He ignored the innuendos that followed him down the hallway and traveled swiftly along the vacant corridors of the castle. Most residents were in bed by this hour, so it was quiet except for the echoing of his footsteps against the cold stone floors and walls.

Hearing muffled conversation from a sitting room up ahead. He slowed having recognized a voice. It belonged to Queen Adella. He grimaced. He didn’t understand how she could treat her daughter so.

“…not sure if she can do it. The school was having a terrible time getting her compliance,” was all he overheard before picking up his pace again.

Cole reached his chambers, closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the dark wooden door, taking a moment to still his labored breathing. He didn’t have a plan. He didn’t even know what he was going to say, but he needed to do something to make this right, or at least better. With a steeling breath, he swung the heavy door open.

Samantha stood at the end of the bed using the bedpost as support. She turned a weak smile to him which he returned. Her hair had tumbled from its nest, and her makeup was still streaked from before. His attention was drawn to a small spot of color on her white dress. His smile faded, and he reddened with shame. The trickle of blood that had created the crimson stain dripped once from her ankle to the floor.

****

Samantha didn’t know what she had done wrong, but Cole’s face darkened. His eyes were so intense they fractured her fragile composure. He stormed across the room and scooped her up like a bride to carry across the threshold. She squealed in surprise. With the knowledge of what was surely to follow the squeal became tainted with a cry of dread. His grip tightened. Hearing the forbidden sound escape from her own throat, she looked to Cole to judge his reaction. What she saw in the instant before she looked away confused her. The expected anger was not there. Instead it was a mask of hurt, or maybe sorrow.

When he gently placed her on the bed, it was the last assault her battered composure could withstand. It shattered into dangerous shards at the thought of him above her again and the pain. The searing between her thighs and within her continued to consume her. Tears began to flow again, and this time they were not silent.

Her breaths came in deep wheezing sighs as she struggled to control them. Each exhale was punctuated with an escaped wail. Her hands twisted and turned at the red spotted dress, and her eyes darted wildly looking everywhere but Cole. Her rational mind, now held captive by the panic, screamed at her to stop. It told her how bad her actions would be for the countries. It told her that her reactions were ridiculous. Uncalled for. The rational mind would have to wait.

The room began to spin, and Samantha was falling from the bed, or the bed was falling from her. She wasn’t sure which. Grabbing the sheets, she tried to ease the tumbling feeling. She chanced a look at Cole who just stood there. He still wore the sorrowful hurt on his face, but now it was paired with helplessness.

The Rational Samantha, confined inside her mind, wanted to laugh hysterically watching her husband try to comfort her. Cole held his hands out to help, but took small steps backwards. His jaw worked fruitlessly to produce a coherent word.

Panic did not allow Samantha’s humor to show at Cole’s bewilderment and vulnerability. His discomfort did begin to press panic back. With each new breath, Samantha unshackled her sanity. She closed her eyes on the still oscillating Cole and began to become nothing again.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Nothing.

A cranking ringing sound invaded the increasing blank of her mind.

“Yes, Lord Cole, how may I be of service?”

Samantha’s eyes flew open to identify the newcomer to their bedchambers, but she saw no one but Cole. He stood near the bedroom door next to a small wooden box attached to the wall at eye level. A golden horn protruded from the box in the center.

“Water for tea please,” he spoke into the small horn.

“Certainly sir,” the voice returned through the box.

The communication device was not unknown to Samantha. The transaphonic was actually a design of her home country, invented many years ago. The distraction had brought her back to her senses, and the small reprieve left her ready to face whatever may come. Her breathing came under control, and she watched as Cole crossed the bedroom in quick purposeful strides. He opened the door directly across from the foot of the bed and disappeared within. After a metal on metal screech she could hear the sound of running water. That must be a washroom.

Moments later he reappeared. He didn’t look at her, but kept his eyes set forward in determination, headed for another door by the head of the bed where again he disappeared. Samantha could hear the clinking of glass and papers shuffling. Completely confused by his actions, she concentrated on her nothing.

After a few moments Cole returned to the bedroom with a large mortar and pestle, along with a small clay mug. He set them on the desk at the far end of the room next to the door Samantha supposed was the wash room. She watched him intently, more curious than fearful. Having set the objects down, he stood facing the wall with his hands on the desk. His head hung, and his shoulders rounded. The silence and posture were only fodder for her fear and her breath caught.

He turned and half sat on the desk, crossing his arms across his chest. His face still held the sorrowful hurt. She was unexpectedly moved. It made her want to tell him everything would be okay, but her voice had taken leave a few hours ago. His intense stare became uncomfortable, and Samantha decided her fingernails needed her attention more than her new husband. As she pushed back her cuticles, Cole spoke.

“I…I’m very sorry about…for…”

In her periphery, she saw his gaze shift from her to his shoes.

“I’m just sorry.”

Samantha was at a loss for thought much less for words. She heard Cole say he was sorry, but the words refused to register in her mind. She truly couldn’t understand what he could be apologizing for. She should be apologizing for crying and being so un-wifely. As the thought formed in her head, she prepared to speak it, but there was a knock at the door. Both of them startled, and Cole let out a one syllable nervous laugh. He opened the door to a servant who handed him a silver tray containing a tea service.

Cole thanked the porter and took the service to the desk. Samantha watched as he poured the boiling water into the mug. He then took the mortar to the washroom. The sound of running water stopped with a screech, and Cole reappeared. He leaned uncomfortably on the door frame to the wash room rubbing the back of his neck. Samantha went back to perfecting her nails.

“I’m supposed to take care of you. I don’t really know how to do that.” Cole seemed to find his boots as interesting as Samantha did her nails. “Hell, I didn’t really want any of this.” He waved his hand arbitrarily to encompass the room.

Samantha’s cheeks burned with those spoken words as if his hand had actually slapped them. Neither did she want this, but it was one thing to think it and another to actually speak it. He continued quickly.

“But I made vows to you today. And it’s not just that.”

Now she could feel him looking at her again with that intense gaze that demanded reaction. She dared to meet it and found it surprisingly soft, honest.

“I hurt you today. It wasn’t all my fault, but it was me doing the hurting so….well I don’t ever want to see you hurt again.” He took a step toward her, and his words came out in a tumble. “You hurt enough for a lifetime, and I guess I want to spend a lifetime making it up to you. Samantha, you need to know and understand you don’t have to be afraid of me or afraid of me doing something you don’t want. I’m not going to touch you unless it’s okay with you. Do you understand that?”

She didn’t. Samantha couldn’t understand. What he was saying was such a foreign concept it might have been another language. But she held his gaze, and his eyes spoke in a language anyone could understand. His eyes said he was going to take care of her and keep her safe. Not breaking the comforting hold of those eyes she nodded her head.

With an uncertain smile he broke the connection and retrieved the mug from the desk. He walked towards her as if approaching a spooked horse and held out the mug. Samantha took it and looked at the contents. It appeared to be a normal dark tea, but it did not smell like tea. The odor was quite pungent, and she wrinkled her nose in response.

“Can you drink it?” Although it was formed as a question Samantha could hear the underlying command. She really didn’t have any reason not to, so she took a sip. Now she had a reason not to. The tea was bitter and burned her tongue slightly. She tried to hide her disgust and took a few more sips out of courtesy and then reached to set the mug on the nightstand.

“Please?” Cole said and pushed the mug back toward her. “Please drink it all.” Again, more command than request. Samantha read the sincerity in his blue-green eyes and choked down the foul liquid in small ladylike sips. It left her lips feeling slightly numb. He took the mug from her and placed it on the night stand.

“Thank you.” Cole shifted a little uneasily on his feet. “I’ve drawn you a bath. If you will allow me to help you in, I think you’ll find it…comforting.” He held his hand out to her.

Allow. This one word had Samantha so disoriented her hand responded on its own to take his, and she stood to follow him to the washroom. She still puzzled over Cole asking her to allow him something when they entered the washroom. It was probably a large closet or small changing room at some time in the past, but had been converted to a utilitarian washroom with toilet facilities on one wall and an oversized claw foot tub on the other. The pipes and other plumbing had evidently been added later in the ancient castle’s history as they were secured visibly against the stone walls. The fixtures and the room itself were well appointed with gold accents and clean white towels and washcloths

Samantha vaguely considered the size of the boiler needed to supply hot water for such a large castle before her attention was drawn to the contents of the tub. Instead of clear water, bubbles or even floral bath salts the water looked like the dark tea which she had just forced down. It smelled like a rich dinner, a meal with copious amounts of garlic.

Cole must have sensed her aversion. “It’s an herbal bath. It will be quite soothing,” he assured. Samantha was skeptical, but he continued with an encouraging smile. “It will also help to encourage healing and discourage infection.”

Samantha simply stood, not knowing how to react or what to say. It was hard for her to think.

“Uh, do you need help undressing?”

She felt her face flush, but nodded. It took three women to lace her into the bodice of her dress. There was no way she would escape it on her own. Cole unfolded a towel and held it out for her, which she gripped tightly to her chest. He circled behind her and began tugging at the straps of the bodice. Each tug caused an exquisite release of pressure and allowed her lungs to fill more completely. The feeling was so blissful, she forgot to be nervous that there was a man undressing her, until Cole’s gasp reminded her. Although it made her anxious, she was beginning to feel a little more at ease with him. Apart from the Verification, he had treated her surprisingly well and even seemed to be giving her choices, some power in the relationship. His actions defied all her preconceived ideas of what this union was to be.

Cole unlaced the last eyelet, and Samantha felt the weighty wedding dress sag. He reached around and took the corners of the towel she held to her chest. He brought the fabric behind her, covering her from chest to thigh. A fraction of a smile turned the corners of her lips at Cole’s chivalry. Feeling brave, or at least not scared, Samantha let the dress slip to the floor. Its weight gone, she felt lighter. She even had the faint sensation of floating.