01 The Fallen Bride

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New silk sheets, old draperies; I had decorated the bridal room myself. But I had this ominous feeling, which I couldn’t quite pinpoint.

The cut blooms on my vanity had stood fresh in the morning, but when dusk crept in, the stalks were all limp, their crowns drooped over the rim.

I went to the adjacent chamber and hastily changed the water; I stepped out and tripped over the carpet. I saved the vase, but scattered more petals on the floor. Quickly, I picked them up before my groom arrived.

The wedding gown’s lace scratched my neck; I had stitched it myself to fit my shoulders. My reflection in the mirror flashed a tired bride; I puffed my cheeks and smiled.

Everything would be fine.

After tonight, I, Genevra Dauphin of Aurelienne, would be known as a married woman.

There was nothing grand about my room; I just spruced up the space with new bedding and flowers. Everything looked white and proper, covering secret walls and shortcuts, as my manor had hidden passages.

I’d taught Zanad to use those passages for safety.

People said that Zanad’s kind, the Drakhenari, could steal someone’s body, yet I knew he would never have to. Because more than a butler, he felt like family.

I straightened the wilting flowers; lined the vanity desk and its stool. A sofa and its side table were framed by the window.

Outside, the autumn wind clawed at the glass, scattering dead leaves across the yard. The sky turned pitch black without stars, so I closed the draperies.

Soon, I heard footsteps, but they were not of one person. My husband returned, and he was not alone.

The knight, who had been our guest, followed him in.

“Excuse me, sir, why are you here?” I panicked.

The knight’s gaze lifted from the floor to me, undressing me from toe to head.

“Nothing,” my husband said. “The lad won’t do anything without your will. He’s a gentleman, the best in our ranks. He never even courts a maiden.”

I raged at the impropriety. “My will? Then please leave.”

But the knight stood still.

Again, I asked my husband, “Kindly send your man outside, or better yet, back to the barracks.”

“Dear wife, as I said, it’s time to do your part.”

“My part?” I widened my eyes at the knight. While he’s here?

“Yes, I’d love to learn what couples do at night,” my husband grinned. “Wouldn’t it be your duty to show me? I couldn’t possibly ask another maiden.”

“What do you take me for?!” I couldn’t control my tone as my face burned.

“We soldiers must always train before the grand duel, if you will. Consider this a practice match.”

“A practice match?! I’m a married woman!”

He wasn’t the war hero I had known. Just the duke!

“Your Grace.” I said it to remind him of his place. I regulated my breathing and pointed to his knight. “Tell him to leave at once.”

The duke only sipped his drink, then waved toward the bed. “Have you not taken any liking to him? Tristan’s his name. He had been saving himself for the woman he loves. Please, acquaint yourselves.”

“This is ridiculous!” I went for the door, my hand on the cold brass of the knob.

“Genevra, ask me how the royal inquiries treat a Drakhenari,” the duke asked, leaning back.

I relented and listened. Is he threatening to hand Zanad over?

Then I remembered the purge; the Drakhenaris’ homes were burned to the ground. And about my friend Mara.

I couldn’t lose Zanad as I had lost Mara…

I faced the duke, who was supposed to be my husband, searching to see if there was any humanity left. There was none.

“Painful procedure,” the duke said. “If you’d been there, you wouldn’t forget their screams, either. The Drakhenari even cursed in our language. Hilarious! It was complete madness.”

He chuckled like a madman. “So my dear, the morning will come, the sun will shine, and we all return to our place as one big family. Tristan will keep our secret, too.”

The knight looked away. Yes, as he should be ashamed!

“I have never in my life met him.” I confessed, then gazed at the knight.

He looked disappointed.

The duke said, “Genevra, I’m tired. The royal inquiries will also question you for keeping the Drakhenari.”

“But it was you who—” I kept the rest of my words, as I was unsure of how much his knight knew about Zanad.

I laughed at my ridiculous white gown.

I would learn too late why a duke would choose a fallen baroness as his spouse—he had a certain weakness.

Could he not perform in bed like others? I almost blurted the word, but kept it to myself.

Our wedding was never about me or Zanad; it was about him. He and his twisted perversion. The duke had prepared the bait along with the cage, and I foolishly walked in.

He had a reason why he kept a Drakhenari hidden at my manor.

And here, the three of us—the knight, Zanad, and I—were his to command.

I was merely the extra piece to keep his knight interested…

I looked at the other man—tall and tan. He sat on the bed, waiting.

Should I ask him to mercifully draw his sword?

But Mother’s voice rang in my memory. “As long as we live, we can try again.”

Father always said, “A true Aurelienne never gives up.”

I sneered. He never had to choose between his honor and someone’s life.

Their voices dissipated as the duke clinked his glass on the side table. “The knight or the creature must leave. Choose.”

My hands clenched the lace of my gown; I had no honor left to keep.

Yes. Zanad should not suffer because I hesitated…

Slowly, I walked to the knight. He gazed up to me, offered a hand, and I took it. He gripped me, firmly.

Past his shoulder, I saw Zanad’s eyeball watching us through the keyhole.

Go now. Please hide yourself.

The knight laid me on my back, then hovering over, tried to kiss me, but I turned my gaze to the wall. His weight on me, his cologne, all of him pushed me back.

Back to a time. Time stretched to four years before.

Slow. Slow. Slow.

I was a girl again. My parents called me Genevra Dauphin of Aurelienne.

I couldn’t say I was proud of my last name, Aurelienne. It was the name of a land with a quaint village, which had once been ours, but then it was lost to my parents’ debts.

Such a pity, because I loved the view as I opened the window of our summer villa. A vast golden field, with streaks of blue above it.

Lovely.

It was the harvest festival; men and women would gather wheat and vegetables, while their children gathered what fell from their clutches.

“Good harvest this year too, sir!” The villager spoke, in a friendly manner, to my father.

Father was a kind landlord, too kind for his own good. He rolled his sleeves up, wore his boots, and joined the harvesting. He also forgave their debts for a jar of warm milk and oranges.

Mother would nag him all day, but they’d peck at each other’s lips like a pair of birds when I looked away.

What a strange couple.

We racked up debt, thanks to Father’s kindness and mismanagement; I knew this from Mother. He then borrowed from the bank, mortgaging the land as collateral for the loan.

“It’s a fine debt,” Mother said, one evening, drying her hands on her apron. Another dinner of potatoes and onions from our backyard.

I had believed we were already at our worst state.

But then came the civil war. It began as a rumor, but quickly became a purge. The so-called enemy was a rare race called the Drakhenari.

They had pointy ears, long dark hair, were tall and lanky. They lived as nomads scattered across the land in tents. People said they could steal a man’s face and body, along with his memories. The king branded them as treacherous, claiming their magical ability could threaten the crown.

Rumors fueled fear, and fear poisoned people’s minds. But before the purge, those Drakhenari lived among us in peace.

Why would they steal other people’s faces? I thought, they didn’t look bad themselves, as they retained their youth longer than humans.

I remembered playing with a Drakhenari girl, Mara. After she helped with the harvest, I noticed she wasn’t very interested in our games.

“Straw dolls are fine, but they are for children,” Mara said, with her round eyes and chubby cheeks, a bit shorter than me.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“I’m twenty-five years old.”

“Oh.”

When the purge happened, she disappeared; I had hoped that she made it to safety somehow.

But the next day, a knight came to the village with her head in a sack. I cried for a week, traumatized, even if I had not seen her face. The knight’s superior had been furious, as they needed her alive.

Then the next day, the kingdom proclaimed that people would get rewarded if they handed over the Drakhenari alive—which was deemed impossible. As a proud race, they would rather welcome the blade than be held as captives.

Why do the royals want them? Aren’t they dangerous?

Mara’s family, who had lived among us for generations, also disappeared. Their tent was burned to the ground.

The villagers said, “They had fled before being taken by the knights.”

They had been hunted. Gone. All of them, even their young.

The duke had led the purge, and many young men from the village joined the ranks. But those men never came back. Some returned in coffins.

The villagers cried to my father that they’d never be able to pay their debts, since no more of their sons could care for the land. Naturally, my father forgave them, and we had no income to pay our debt.

We lost the fertile lands and the quaint village.

But Mother’s smile didn’t waver. “We’ll work hard, dear. Your father and I will get it all back. The land will be ours again.”

Father, ever the romantic, embraced her shoulder. “That’s my girl! We’ll start over. A true Aurelienne never gives up.”

“And be thankful for our life, Genevra,” Mother said, looking at me.

I was young then, so I agreed without argument. I believed them. I believed that no matter what happened, we could simply try again as long as we lived, unlike Mara, or the Drakhenaris, or young men who fought and perished.

Our land was littered with checkpoints. Though we were visibly not Drakhenari, the patrolling knights checked our papers and listened to our speech, because the cursed race had the power to take someone’s face and body.

I once watched a knight strike a man for not showing his papers quickly enough. The man squirmed in pain, but no one dared to help him; people were too afraid of being mistaken for a Drakhenari.

No one dared go to the market. I remembered the villagers sending produce to my manor. The three of us stayed at home, relying on the villagers’ generosity.

Seasons passed, and the king declared that the war had been won. The capital and its people rejoiced, cheering on the knights. Finally, the checkpoint nightmares and such were over.

The duke, who had led the purge, passed the market street. He rode his mount, his cape swayed, followed by a legion of knights. Maidens shouted their names and showered them with flowers. It was a memorable parade as the famous sweet shop gave away candies for free; I had secured a handful myself.

Everyone then pretended that the Drakhenari and their cursed magic had never existed. “The war is over; now our lives will return to normal.”

Normal? I had lost Mara.

But they all agreed to the sentiment.

I went home, eager to share the free sweets and story with Mother—I entered the drawing room, and there he was.

The duke sat in his full armor.

I sat between my parents and even offered him the sweets I had.

He proposed marriage to me.

Egregious!

After Mara’s death, I had grown to avoid anyone in a military uniform.

Father and Mother were reluctant, at first; they argued among themselves in the kitchen, pretending to prepare dinner.

“Why would a duke want a baroness full of debt?”

“Genevra’s beauty, what else?”

“She’s only sixteen.”

“Then tell him to wait until she’s of age.”

We returned to the drawing room, and the duke agreed.

That was too easy, I thought. Marrying him couldn’t be bad. Just like Mother and Father, we’d get along, surely.

Then duke asked us to wait for his return.

I replied, “Why? What’s it all about?” out of curiosity.

“It’s a surprise,” he said, smiling, then turned his stallion around and galloped away.

He returned in a few days, and to our surprise, he gave us a Drakhenari as an advance dowry.

Zanad.

“Rhaen. Kel drash’ti,” the Drakhenari boy said, glaring at us.

Mother placed her tray of refreshment on the edge of the table, far from him. None of us spoke his language.

Zanad was the last of his kind, dressed neatly in page’s clothing. He sat with the four of us in the drawing room.

“Better than selling him on the slave market for cheap,” said the duke. “I’ll let him serve you, instead. He is your secret now, for many covet his magic.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Father answered firmly.

My parents happily accepted the duke’s offer, as the prestigious match was enough to blind them.

But the truth was—Zanad had been smuggled from the battlefield.

The duke excused himself, and we bid our goodbyes. He promised to visit us weekly.

“What do you think, dear?” Mother asked Father.

“Hm, perhaps he’s after the throne? But that’s none of our business,” Father murmured to the two of us, away from Zanad.

I looked at his boyish look; he seemed harmless. Would he take his revenge on us?

“Hello, Zanad. I’m Genevra.”

He didn’t reply.

“How old are you?”

Zanad dipped his finger in the tea and scribbled on the table: 20

His face held a certain innocence, impossible for a man who had survived a purge. He was too calm.

But I had seen the mark on his palm glow, a sign of the cursed magic everyone feared.

“Does it hurt you?”

“Vahr keth Solmir-tar. Nozh ven.” He only replied in his own incomprehensible tongue.

I gestured at him to follow me, passed him a piece of chalk, and taught him to write on the floor.

He refused at first, but our lesson time soon became another world for us. I would talk to him, sighing about our debts or the duke’s odd nature. I supposed he couldn’t understand me anyway. He’d just listened, raised his brow, and left to do his chores.

Zanad learned about our manor quickly.

Mother said his safety should come first if a stranger came. He understood all the shortcuts and secret walls; I taught him how to hide himself.

In a way, I felt indebted to Zanad for the guilt I had for Mara. Mara. My poor Drakhenari friend. This time I wouldn’t fail; I would protect the one friend I have—

I gasped—as the knight’s touch on my thighs brought me back to my wedding night, when I was twenty years old. Ah. His calloused finger was too much.

I concentrated harder on my past event as my breaths hitched.

Mara. Zanad.

Zanad wasn’t Mara, but I had found his bashfulness eased my longing for Mara, and our days went by quietly. I had seen him watching me through the keyhole.

“Zanad, come. What should we read today?”

I assumed it was out of his curiosity. Perhaps he wanted to learn how humans function in our mundane life—

Ah.

The knight leaned in to kiss me, but I clamped my legs together, trapping his head between my thighs.

“No.”

“Forgive me. Let’s make this easier. I don’t want to hurt you.” He continued to bend down.

Before I could protest, his gaze was disappearing below my waist.

“Stay still,” he said.

I grabbed a fistful of his hair, as he parted my thighs. I concentrated on Zanad.

Is he watching me like he used to? Through the keyhole? How embarrassing! The humiliation burned me.

Zanad, don’t look. Not now…

We had lived in peace for four years; my parents, Zanad, and I…

…until their deaths changed everything.

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02 The Fallen Baroness

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I had turned twenty when my parents died in a carriage accident. I cried and cried, because the last time I saw them, they insisted I had to guard our manor and Zanad.

They were on their way to plead for leniency from the bank. They insisted on leaving even though the storm had lasted for days. The wheels slipped on the wet road; the horse panicked, rampaged, flipped the carriage, and trampled them.

I shouldn’t have let them go out in the rain!

I was the first to know when the horse returned alone.

The land holdings went to auction, as I would never be able to pay their debt, and the papers of Aurelienne’s ownership passed into another noble’s hands.

Their funeral had a few attendees, and the duke came briefly to offer his condolences. The priest gave a short eulogy; I had half-expected that he would make more of an effort to show some decency, but it was as if fallen barons were less than commoners.

None of my relatives wanted to take me in, understandably because they didn’t want to inherit my debt. They said, “You’ve matured enough for marriage.”

“Yes, my dear aunts,” I said. “Thank you for your concern, because I’ve been betrothed to the duke.”

“Oh—” My relatives hid their amusement. “Ahem, then we shall look forward to receiving the invitation.”

Over the next visits, the duke came twice a month, as always, but it was the first time he wanted to see if we were compatible romantically. He reached for my hand, grasped me, but suddenly withdrew.

Zanad seemed to dislike it; he accidentally broke a teacup as he brought us refreshments.

The next visit, the duke and I tried to kiss, but he turned around and gasped. I had thought it was my bad breath, as he left in a hurry. But I blew air into my palm many times and found nothing wrong with the smell.

Another visit, another day, yet he still postponed any talk of marriage.

Zanad, who had been careful not to be seen, tried to stay far from us. But that day he warned me, “Genevra, dur’na. That man is dangerous. Let’s run.”

I looked at him, surprised. “You speak my language, after all!”

“Run away with me, far from here.”

“I can’t. My parents’ memories are within this place.”

Zanad looked away. He had grown taller a bit, and his face was all red when he said it.

“And you can’t either, you know it’s dangerous outside.”

Then I convinced him that, “As a married woman, everything would soon fall into place. Our life would be much easier if I were the duchess.”

I sighed. Because evidently the duke was reluctant to talk about anything related to marriage.

Should I ask him first?

The next visit, he passed me a piece of paper. A letter.

I read it. “What’s this—?”

“What I would do if you agreed to be my wife this weekend.”

“That’s too sudden!”

“My lady, I have many responsibilities to take care of, so if you will, the manor shall be in your name and your title intact.”

“Not as the duchess?”

“I believe it was best for both of us, as this marriage would keep our rights in place, where we belong.”

I nodded, even if I didn’t fully comprehend what he meant—that I would retain what was mine and he what was his; thus, the need for this nuptial letter. Which meant that he wouldn’t be responsible for my debt, either.

“Kindly let me think for a moment—”

“There’s no time to think; I will pay part of your debts, enough to guarantee that the bank will never take over the manor. I would also cover your monthly spending, but there are conditions.”

“What about—?” I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud. “Our marital duty?”

“I believe that’s within my right to decide when, why, or how, as a husband.”

I was speechless as my ears burned. “Yes, that’s fine. I will marry you.”

I wanted to keep Zanad safe in my manor. But Zanad broke another teacup from a distance.

The wedding day came, which had been only three days after we had signed the prenuptial letter. I had not questioned why he rushed it; I thought that this was typical for arranged marriages.

The duke sent a carriage to my manor.

I wore the dress he had provided. It wasn’t my size, as it was way larger, but I had stitched it the best I could, so at least it would fit my waist and not fall from my shoulder.

Zanad couldn’t attend my wedding for his safety; I’d noticed he’d been behaving oddly after he asked me to run away with him. He wouldn’t speak and only watched me from a distance.

My carriage arrived at the destination, and the space around me stilled; perhaps because I was alone by myself.

If only Mother and Father were here with me, the carriage would be full with our gowns, and Father would be careful not to step on them.

“A true Aurelienne never gives up.”

I miss them so much.

I looked up and dried my eye makeup; I couldn’t let it smear and ruin my face. I stepped down, and the carriage coach helped me descend the stairs, as my large gown got tangled in my shoes.

The wedding was hurried, and there was nothing grand about it. The Royal Chaplain had not officiated the ceremony. In fact, it was the same priest who had conducted my parents’ funeral, in a chapel, on the capital’s outskirts.

And as it was so sudden, only a few relatives came. Perhaps the duke, too, had financial difficulties.

I tried to brush my worries aside, as none of the royal family attended our wedding.

The duke stood firm at the altar, fair-haired and neat, handsome in his knightly armor. Not in a wedding suit.

Am I disappointed?

I shook my head; we had not been in love, and we barely talked about anything. But he was the kingdom’s hero and the duke.

What could have been so terrible about him? I couldn’t find any at that time.

I just recalled that both my parents had given him their approval. I had believed that love would come, surely.

I took the step moving toward him.

The priest pronounced our names, and we exchanged our rings.

“Genevra Dauphin of Aurelienne.”

“Konstantin Alexander, Duke of Sankt Arlen.”

He then gave me a peck on the lips; turned around and wiped it quickly.

After the brief, halfhearted ceremony, without blooms, he excused himself from the banquet. It was located at the nearest eatery to the chapel; he said duty was calling him and that he would visit me at night. My relatives looked at me, wondering why the groom was absent from his own celebration. None of his knights or peers attended it either.

I had many things filling up my mind; most of them weren’t so encouraging. Perhaps, he needed a bride to gain some sort of inheritance. Or, perhaps he had loved someone else, but they couldn’t marry for some reason.

I shook my head. Why would the duke marry me?

At dusk, he returned to my manor with one of his knights. I foolishly pushed my worries aside and welcomed them. Still in my oversize gown, I attended to him and my guest, reheated what I’d brought from the banquet and opened the secret wine Father coveted from Mother’s allowance.

We had a quiet dinner, but the three of us had a laugh after a few glasses of wine.

The duke, my husband, said, “It’s far too late for traveling, and the manor has many rooms to accommodate our guest.”

He looked at the knight. “I hope you don’t mind staying.”

The knight coughed for a good minute; red wine stained his dress shirt. “Yes, sir.”

I had considered complaining that the duke didn’t ask for my permission, but as he was my husband. I had to compromise for the sake of our marriage. After all, the knight would leave when morning came, as they both had to attend work, I had thought.

I sipped my drink; the duke and I had an odd start, but with time, our marriage would turn into a real one.

I had believed it.

Zanad had been quiet in one of the corners; as there was a guest. I found him behind the desk and sent him to prepare a room.

The night grew late. My husband and I were alone in the bridal room. Still in the stitched wedding gown, and the garment felt incredibly heavy after the long day.

I had not been prepared by Mother or my aunts about what a couple would do on their wedding night. My friends whom I used to talk to seemed to avoid me after Father faced bankruptcy. I could not talk about such things to Zanad either. Even if he was considered mature in human years, his childlike appearance discouraged me from sharing such inappropriate things.

So I just read in any knowledge I found from Father’s library.

I calmed my mind, as my husband carried our drinks inside. I flushed red, bothered by the gown’s laces, so I refused the wine, but he finished his. He paced the room as I brushed my hair.

“Should I—?” I couldn’t bring myself to say the words, ‘undress myself.’

He took off his armor greaves and the rest by himself, but he asked me to, “Reach the back, please.”

I complied.

He used the adjacent chamber to wash himself, then joined me in a clean tunic.

Oh.

I felt disappointed to see him fully dressed; his fair hair and even his side profile looked handsome.

He finished his drink.

“My lady, come.” He patted the empty space on the sofa.

I sat next to him and adjusted my gown to keep it from spilling over his feet. He accidentally knocked the wine glass from the side table; it smashed on the carpet. But before I could apologize on his behalf, he closed the distance between us.

He was on me; his weight drove me back to the sofa’s edge. My hands pressed on his chest to support him; I’d found his sleeve to grip on. Our lips met, not as a peck like a pair of little birds, but as the dance of swans from the lips to our necks.

I touched his flesh under the tunic; some scars made me hesitate. Would he be hurt?

But there was nothing gentle in his grasp; he found my skin and absorbed the warmth. I reached down to find more of him, but he pushed me away. He sat up at the other end and wiped his lips as he always did.

“Why?” I asked, I couldn’t contain myself anymore, “Am I not pretty enough, that you had to be so repulsed by me?”

He laughed loudly, I held my heartbeat.

“Repulsed!?” He wanted to grab his glass, but it was broken on the carpet.

He composed himself, smiling at me with a glint. “Well, I have tried. I really did. Now it’s your turn to do your part.”

“My part?”

“Yes, my lady, your duty as a wife.”

“I don’t understand—”

“One moment.” He stood and left.

I adjusted my gown once more, twisting its corner as I thought about everything: he had helped me retain my manor.

Why?

He didn’t say it out loud, but he had left Zanad in our care.

So that was my role? To hide Zanad?

It was not his intention to build a happy family like Mother and Father. He just needed us to hide the last Drakhenari. Then I should not force him if he’s unwilling to consummate our marriage. Even if my status was only his wife in name, that’s fine too.

Yes. That’s fine as it is.

I wiped my tears and fixed my makeup. I would tell him I could act as Zanad’s protector. After all, Zanad was part of our family.

I waited. And waited.

There was nothing grand about my room. New silk sheets, old draperies, wilting flowers.

But when my husband returned, he was not alone. He carried a glass of wine full to the brim, and his knight entered the room after him.

The knight.

The duke wanted me to consummate our marriage with his knight. I almost laughed at my ridiculous white gown.

I would learn too late why a duke would choose a fallen baroness as his spouse—he had a certain weakness.

The whole wedding was needed to hide Zanad, yes, but it was also about him. He and his twisted perversion.

The duke had prepared the bait along with the cage—Zanad and my manor. He had a reason why he kept a Drakhenari hidden at my home.

Here, the three of us—the knight, Zanad, and I—were his to command.

I was merely the extra piece to keep his knight interested…

The duke clinked his glass of wine on the side table, saying, “The knight or the creature must leave. Choose.”

My hands clenched the lace of my gown; I had no honor left to keep.

Yes. Zanad should not suffer because I hesitated.

Slowly, I walked to the knight.

I did not want to remember his name.

I would remember Aurelienne. Aurelienne, my land. At that time, Aurelienne was the loveliest during harvest. The villagers would gather, humans and Drakhenaris razed the golden fields.

I took the knight’s hand, and he embraced me tightly like a bundle of wheat. Like a lover, at first. I lay down on the silk and closed my eyes shut, but I saw more of Aurelienne.

Before harvest, the farmer would plow the field, and again, and again until the soil was broken and soft, ready to be seeded. The field, the bed creaked, the rustling of his clothing, the weight of him. The soil would lie still. The farmer cared about the yield, so he would plow again.

Then I gasped, realizing Zanad had been watching me; I arched my back to twist around and held my sighs, trying to hide what he saw. My nails gripped the headboard. I should think about the harvest season.

And Mara.

I remembered when I played with Mara; she was smiling at me. She didn’t mind at all making straw dolls with a human. The human who purged her race.

The season ended, and the field had been razed.

The night was over, and the knight left with one look back—did he feel something for his master’s supposed bride?

The duke had left earlier, disgusted, or to take care of himself.

It didn’t matter anymore.

A bride or a harlot?

Alone I cried. Nothing mattered anymore.

The silk sheets felt like sandpaper, and I abhorred the smell of the room. I ran to the adjacent chamber and stood over the basin, scrubbing my skin until it burned.

Red, all red.

My hair was a tangle of knots. I pulled at it, brushing it roughly, drying the dampness from my face.

“Genevra Dauphin of Aurelienne,” I muttered to myself. “Genevra Dauphin of Aurelienne,” “Genevra Dauphin of Aurelienne.” I could have been a madwoman.

I left the chamber, and the first thing I saw was the cheap wedding gown, lying in a heap on the floor.

Such a hideous thing!

I grabbed the scissors from my sewing kit and started cutting my misfortune. I will never leave this piece for another woman.

The sound of blades shredding the fabric relieved my pain for a bit.

—creesh creesh creesh!—

Goodness, I will not let this cursed gown pass to a daughter if I had one.

—creesh creesh creesh!—

I cut until the dress was nothing but sad ribbons, pilling at my feet. The scissors fell from my numbed fingers; I stepped back before the blade struck my feet. I had saved myself from getting hurt.

Yes, I am a true Aurelienne!

Then I realized someone had been watching me.

No… It was Zanad.

I quickly rose, covered my chest, and peeked back. He was still standing there, frozen in the adjacent room, his round eyes darkened behind his forelocks.

But when our gazes met, he turned away and dropped his knife, leaving the empty room framed by the keyhole.

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03 Genevra’s POV

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Not these two again, I mused. The same carriage, the same men. My pale face in the windowpane looked through the glass, down at the two figures exiting their carriage.

First, my husband, a well-dressed duke, tailored to hide his cruelty. He looked up, his gaze met mine from a distance; I abhorred him.

Second was his knight, tall, brutally handsome, and ready to follow his command. He would sever a man’s throat with the same obedience he showed in my bed.

Never had I imagined that anyone would save me.

After my parents were gone—a carriage accident, they said, but I doubted it—the manor had become a place for their amusement.

I was twenty when I got married, and all the cunning I had to resist the duke and his knight had been exhausted. Things became too lively when the two men entered the drawing room. They had the keys.

The heavy door groaned open, and their footsteps grated on the marble floor; I knew their routine.

They would toss their jackets on the worn seats, ignoring the tea I’d left out—thus poisoning them was futile.

My manor had nothing special—old furniture and older pale wallpaper. The duke had said he would refurnish them all, which I had believed at first. But after their visits solely for pleasure, I realized that I was nothing but a flower in their private brothel.

As a fallen baroness, I had nothing but my title and my breasts. The duke said they were pretty, but that wasn’t enough for him. It all began from our first night; he decided his knight might partake in our time together.

My only confidant was Zanad, my devoted butler.

But what could he do?

Zanad was a survivor from a purge himself, a boyish Drakhenari, lean and lanky, with dark hair covering his temples. Twenty-four years old in human age.

Zanad was charming in a haunted, bashful way but powerless against the duke, who had purged his race.

He had arrived at my manor reeking of fish, his palm marked with a glyph, a living dowry from the duke. And Zanad was just that, a butler, unless I could awaken his dormant curse. His kind has the power to swap bodies with someone else.

Perfect, I’d let him have the duke’s face.

I’d been reading any banned book I could find; it was written that Drakhenari growth could only be triggered by their emotions. Rage and lust.

Yes, that’s my only way out.

Until then, Zanad could only watch.

—thump, thump, thump—Their footfalls climbed the stairs, marching toward my bedroom, and the door swung open. The duke first, then the knight lowered his gaze, lingering in the doorway, then the lock clicked once they were inside.

“Good evening, my dear. I’ve missed you,” the duke would say, or something along those lines.

It didn’t matter anymore; what he said was better forgotten.

“Your Grace,” I replied, halfheartedly.

“Still in that black dress? Can’t wait to be a widow, my dear?”

I smiled at him. “I’d have a grand funeral, much better than our wedding.”

He chuckled and leaned close, so close I could smell his perfume.

So invasive.

He gazed at me with that look. Insufferable. I felt the thrill of his power. Because I knew Zanad had moved behind the keyhole.

But then the duke followed my gaze.

I had the feeling; had he also wanted to awaken Zanad’s curse?

Why? Is he coveting the throne?

The duke’s name was Alexander… something. I forgot, as it was a dreadfully long, endless string of names I didn’t bother to remember. He was a cousin of the crown prince from the queen’s side.

To me, he was Alexander the Dead.

He would sit on the printed flower sofa that didn’t suit him at all. His legs crossed, he was fair-haired and well dressed; his aristocratic persona had good manners, but we both knew the truth— the duke was useless without his knight, limping like a bloom’s stalk without water.

He gestured. “What are you waiting for?”

His knight moved toward me, fingers undoing the clasps on his tunic. He didn’t hesitate anymore.

I turned to the window, up to the darkening sky. I supposed that if I wanted to jump, I’d have to break the glass first, which I deemed impossible.

“My lady,” the knight said, “I couldn’t forget about you…”

“Perhaps, you should.”

“You may not believe me, but I have never had anyone else.”

“Oh, you seem pretty close with your master? I’m jealous.”

“Forgive me.” He loosened his cuffs.

I watched the knight closing in; his reflection joined mine in the glass.

His grip moved up to my arms. It was obvious that he made an effort to present his best self. From the strong tonic smell to his smooth chin pressing against my nape, I gasped.

I didn’t mind him being my first, as he had been gentle in his touch. His hands settled at my sides, more than propriety allowed.

What’s propriety anymore, I wondered, as this wasn’t our first encounter.

What is his name? I do not know. Nor do I wish to know.

But I remembered his voice. Counting how many times he groaned in one night had become a grim little hobby of mine. And like those nights, he’d approached me gently like a lover. His calloused hands, rough from gripping the hilt of a sword, held me.

He kissed my neck.

Ah.

I turned my gaze to the keyhole.

I was not alone, as Zanad was there. His movements were subtle along the door gaps; I could taste his guilt. Many times he watched us, yet I have not found the chance to corner him. Because the more he watched, the more guilt he’d have, and the more agreeable he’d be to becoming my accomplice.

Good, take all the view in, and remember me even in your dreams… Then give me your curse… All of it.

Humans disappointed me, too… I’d rather take the enemy’s hand.

My musing got interrupted by the knight’s kisses going up from my neck; his mouth claimed mine. His rough, insistent tongue tasted of tobacco and mint.

The duke joined in to undress me, pulling the fabrics down my shoulders, spine, and hips, impatiently untangling the laces of my corset. They exposed me to the chill, my breast bare for all to see.

The knight tore the rest of my dress away but left my lingerie, a particular preference of his. “The color looks lovely on your skin,” he leaned down, muttering his hot breath against my ear, as he unbuckled his belt and pants.

He guided me to bed, climbed after me, his shirt half-loose, his boots gone in the heaps, his erection peeked in his grasp. He laid me down, my back pressed against the starched sheets.

The duke laughed as I tried to cover myself. He gripped my waist, rough, unbuckled his belt, and said, “Hold me.”

His erection got harder as I stroked it from the base to the raw red tip. He groaned.

“Genevra, spread wider.”

I flinched when the duke pushed the sheet aside, his fingers traced the softest of my flesh, and grazed it wet.

“Ah.” I gasped.

The duke exposed more of the lace, rubbing me, slipping his finger deeper.

“Too dry,” he frowned, looked up to the knight and retreated.

“Lick her.”

The knight complied; he spread and kissed my thighs, pushing his tongue inside me in a motion.

“Agh—” I faced the duke, who covered my moan with his thumb.

The knight lifted my thighs up higher; his rough fingers spread me wider as he sucked me. His insistent tongue teased me and left me wet. He stood, his hardness teasing my opening; I bit down on the duke’s thumb to stifle a cry.

But the duke pulled it out.

“Let us hear it; you did like the lad I brought.” He grinned and grabbed my hair to meet my gaze, just as the knight thrust into me.

“Ngh!”

The rhythm began, his hips grinding against mine, while the duke’s thumb worked my tongue.

“Which taste do you like best?” He groaned, removing his thumb only to replace it with his erection.

Deep. It plunged.

“Ggh!” I choked, but his pleasure came first, and my need to breathe came second.

“Ah, yes, lovely.” He paused to grab my hair, pushing himself deeper into my mouth.

“Properly.”

Tears welled as they both pressed into me.

“Harder.”

The sheet bunched around my hips as the knight complied, moving faster.

“Enough.” The duke pulled out his member, and I regulated my breathing.

He just knew when his knight was about to burst.

The knight moved aside, stroked his swollen member and lay beside me.

The duke took his place, hovered on top of me, thumb brushing my nipple, pinching it until I arched.

“Agh!”

He let go and gripped my stomach instead, pressing me down. He smeared the knight’s wetness on my thigh before pressing himself in. Deep.

Deeper.

“Ngh!”

Hard, he filled me in as his knight breathed on my neck.

“You are beautiful,” the knight said, as his master made me a mistress.

The knight claimed my mouth, licking my lips, and I swallowed his tongue. I had to act it in front of the duke. Because only by watching me engaging with another man would the duke get aroused.

“Ugh!”

The duke’s hips slammed mine and shuddered, pressing deeply as he burst. He pulled out, but stuck his finger inside me, slick, in and out. Panting. Painting his remains on my stomach. Then he withdrew after he looked enough, satisfied. He gestured for the knight to take over.

“Turn around.”

The knight rolled me over, my stomach pressed to the damp sheets as warm, thick liquid gushed out, trailing down my thigh.

“Wait… let me rest,” I pleaded.

“I’ll be swift—” He pushed in, deeper.

“Ah! Ngh.”

The duke stood over us, watching with a grin. His one hand gripping the headboard, the other sliding along my chest, pinching my nipple hard. I bit my lips.

The knight’s groan overlapped with mine—he didn’t slow down for a minute, his calloused fingers finding my clit and rubbing it mercilessly.

“Nggggh!” A climax tore through me, and so did he.

I crawled forward and grabbed the sheets, but before I could recover, the duke stood before me. He stroked his erection and pressed it against my cheek. Hot fluid smeared my eyelids up to my hair; he groaned.

The duke stumbled back to the sofa, wiping his temple and scuffing his forelock aside. He leaned back, knees parted. “Go on. Do continue, as you please.”

The knight wiped my face with a corner of the sheet, gentle with his touch. He stroked my eyes, drying me from tears, as my body languished over the damp fabric.

Between the sheets, I heard the knight striding to the side stand, then water being poured into the glass. It was the only beverage without poison, because I knew I’d need it.

The knight drank his, poured another, and passed it to me. I drank mine. Almost choking to quench my thirst, I finished it and gave it back.

But when our gazes met, his lust reignited. He sat up, pulling my limping arm, positioning me onto his lap. He spread my legs open, rubbing his erection against my swollen slit.

“I can’t anymore,” I whispered, but he continued to press deeper into me.

We faced the duke, and up and down, we groaned.

“Ngh.”

“Ngh!”

“One more time,” the knight replied, kissing my ears, but I knew what that meant. They would continue taking turns until they had their fill.

The duke pulled a chair, and sat in front of us. He stroked his stiff member, gazing at where our flesh met.

Who would’ve believed they were the kingdom’s heroes?

“I’ll make you happy,” the knight said, his forearm steadying my thighs rhythm.

I nestled my head on the crook of his neck as I couldn’t face the duke’s leering gaze.

Happy. I sneered.

Of course, all their sweet words were lies, but I’d make them believe their own lies—they’d believe that they made me happy. In truth, I’d be the happiest when the two of them would draw their swords at each other’s necks.

Ah, I can only dream.

“Yes, yes, my lady.”

The knight sped up and his thrust turned erratic; he gripped my sides hard and climaxed. “Gah!”

We gasped for air. Slowly pulling his member out, the knight kissed my neck and retreated. I lay back, but the duke dipped into the bed and parted my knees.

“Wait…” I said.

But, he stroked his erection and pressed his length deep into me.

“Ngh!” I grabbed the sheets as he kept moving, grinding me harder than the knight.

“Krath’venar—” In the midst of passion, the duke groaned.

I gazed, confused, at the knight by my side.

What does that even mean?

But he only squinted his eyes as an answer, and continued claiming my lips.

Being bedded by two men, I gasped at the thrust, tasting their sweat, smelling their perfume, while minding about Zanad at the keyhole.

Is he watching my every move with hunger or pity?

The duke stopped moving. He brushed my cheek, pinching the sweat-slicked skin. “Close your eyes.”

“No.” I knew it was that time of play.

I wouldn’t comply, but he ripped my bed’s four-poster draperies and shredded a good length of the fabric and tied it firmly across my face. Darkness swallowed the chamber.

“You will feel more,” the duke growled, “Trust me.”

I flinched when the bed dipped—one at my breast, the other between my thighs. Hands roamed, rougher. They didn’t ask if I wanted more, and took my breath as if it were theirs.

The leather belt brushed my wrist. A buckle clicked, then another. My arms were fastened in front of me, with enough room to wiggle.

“Touch yourself,” the duke said, guiding my fingers to my flesh.

They then fastened the leather belt on my ankles, too—to the carved post—and forced my legs apart.

“Beautiful,” the duke muttered.

“Our wife,” the knight replied, his touch tracing my jaw.

It was all dark, I could only feel it. A mouth clamped on my nipple, teeth dragging until the bud stiffened. The other pressed his erection against my entrance, teasing me. I pushed their remains out. Fingers pried my mouth open; another slid in, pressing my tongue down.

“Suck it,” the duke groaned.

“She enjoyed mine more,” the knight said.

“We’ll see.” The duke sat under me, teasing my tight ring below.

“No!” I shouted.

“Get the aphrodisiac in my coat.”

The knight complied. Being blindfolded, I could only hear a bottle cap being unscrewed loose. Soon, a slick liquid covered my center, dripping and smearing my thigh. His calloused thumb rubbed my flesh, his weight dampening the bed.

“Agh,” I moaned, clenching the heat. The liquid burned me in pleasure.

The duke flicked his finger and continued pressing, pushing, then breaching until the straps groaned with my jolt. His erection pushed deeper into my flesh; I screamed. But the knight thrust into me again, my cunt, his hips in rhythm grinding without pause; the duke moved from behind, palm on my stomach.

Leather held my wrists; their bodies met between my thighs. Breathless curses and sweat cooled my skin; I clenched both muscles for their pleasure.

Let them finish soon. I bit my lips.

But neither rushed; the duke nibbled my earlobe, as he muttered, “You should enjoy it, too. Zanad’s still watching us.”

I couldn’t peek through the fabric that pressed my eyelids tight.

Why had I endured such humiliation for weeks? I didn’t know anymore.

At first, it was to protect Zanad. And now? I only wished that he watched me. I needed his true form to be awakened.

Zanad… I can’t anymore.

Their movements stretched my submission, slow, slow, slow.

Ah, too hot. Sweat, raw flesh, thrusts. When the first eased back, the second pressed forward. Ah. The more I clenched myself, the more they—

“Genevra,” the duke said, guiding my fingertip to my flesh and rubbing it rougher. Faster. “Go on.”

“Ah!”

The building ache was unbearable—

“Ah! Ngh!” I jolted back—and I came.

Such a shame.

They picked up their pace; heat pooled as I pulsed. I hung my head low over my frame. The duke’s chest pressed against my spine; the knight’s grind my swollen flesh erratically. Two bodies and four hands pinned me in place.

“Gah!” The first surge finally hit—the knight’s release burned me. He pressed his length deep; I pushed him out as he retreated.

The duke came next, slamming and burying himself. Thick.

“Ah, ah!” I cried out.

He waited and waited, until the pulsing subsided; his warmth smeared my thighs as he rolled me aside.

Only when they were slick and spent, did they unbuckle the straps. I gasped. The blindfold slipped. The door remained closed.

I peeked through my tangled hair; Zanad had not left.

The dusk arrived, and so did the deed.

The knight wiped my face from sweat; he was gentle with his touch, while the duke used the chamber first and dressed. We stayed in bed, and the knight showered me with kisses, mostly on my neck, as it was clean from their traces.

“What does Krath’venar mean? The duke speaks Drakhenari?” I asked him. My eyelids were made of stones, but I needed him for my plan.

“Can’t say.” The knight looked up past me. “So many deaths; I guess that messed up his head and his lower part.”

“Oh.” I traced his smooth chin. “Is it true you are the strongest?”

“What do you think?” He smiled.

“If you duel the duke, who will win?”

“Can’t say.”

“So you’ll never raise your sword against your master? Ever.”

“No.” He looked away.

“You can’t, or you won’t?”

“I can’t. He’d just replace me with someone else.”

“Hmm, it doesn’t have to be by sword.”

Our gazes met.

I added, “Carriages are unreliable; surely accidents happen all the time?”

I blinked at him; he lowered his gaze, and I chased him.

“Then I’d be a young widow… A lonely one…” I traced his chest down.

“The duke said it’s easy to replace me; he also said other knights might be unclean.”

“The duke said this, the duke said that.” I turned around and pretended to sleep.

It seemed that the duke had already brainwashed him… pity.

“Forgive me, but I don’t want to lose you,” he said.

The knight held me tighter, but his kisses on my nape were empty… such a useless sword.

I mused. Never had I imagined that any man could save me.

What’s left? …Only myself and a Drakhenari.

Zanad.

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Ferrari Snow Day

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