The Duchess of Lust Ch. 05 (Finale)

First up, I apologize for the long wait between these installments. Computer issues, job changes, and relationship troubles all contributed to the long delay. I also had many false starts with this installment and went through tons of re-writes. I found that I was getting too sidetracked with subplots and side characters, so I decided to start from scratch for this chapter and hone in on Sarya herself.

Some characters introduced in prior chapters sort of fall by the wayside as a result, as I tried to focus more on Sarya's journey and her various relationships. This chapter does move quickly to set up the final showdown, and there are definitely some characters and subplots that could have been more developed, but I wanted to focus on providing a satisfying conclusion to Sarya's arc without getting bogged down in plotlines and character arcs.

To summarize previous installments: Duchess Sarya has been gathering allies to save her homeland of Fellhaven from a horde of barbarians led by King Ulrik. She has allied with Duke Lucan of Ravenmark, along with some barbarian mercenaries, and has recently managed to win the support of the duchy of Wolfgate.

In search of one last ally before she returns home, Sarya now makes her way to Jadewall, ruled by Duke Thandor, who once sought her hand in marriage. Sarya is accompanied by her lovers Lucan and Ketrik, along with captain Neryth (Lucan's second-in-command). Also with the army is Velwen-the illegitimate daughter of a high priest in Wolfgate-who escaped with the help of Neryth and Sarya.

**

Sarya never could have imagined that an idyllic countryside would fill her with such dread. During her last visit to Jadewall, she'd been enchanted by the tidy vineyards, bucolic pastures, untouched groves, and the seemingly endless expanses of wildflowers.

But now all she could think of was the doom that could befall her duchy and her people. If Duke Thandor of Jadewall did not agree to commit forces and supplies to her hastily-assembled coalition, the odds would be stacked against Fellhaven. Without Jadewall's help, her army would be outnumbered and outmatched by Ulrik's forces besieging the city, and there would be no time to travel to other duchies to recruit more allies. The truce would have expired by then and her beloved home would be in flames, turned to an ashen sacrifice for the dark, hungry gods of the north.

She had not spoken to Thandor since she had turned down his proposal of marriage. A year ago, he'd sent her a rather preposterous proposal that had not only entailed marriage, but also the annexation of her duchy as part of the arrangement. Some rulers might have reacted to such an insult with a declaration of war, but she'd politely rebuffed him and countered with the suggestion that their heirs could one day marry, provided both of them produced children.

He hadn't responded, and the only official communication since had been terse letters to negotiate trade along the river that marked the border between the two duchies.

"My lady," Duke Lucan said, his soft voice tearing her away from her grim thoughts. "You have a look on your face as if you're about to go into battle."

She couldn't help but smile as she looked over at her dashing, one-eyed lover. In preparation for the negotiations, he'd changed out of his usual armor and riding clothes in favor of something more suitable for court: a fine black doublet, leggings that accentuated the strong muscles of his legs, fine riding boots, and a long red cloak embroidered with raven feathers as an homage to his duchy of Ravenmark. For the first few minutes of the ride, she'd fantasized about getting him out of those fancy clothes. Crossing the border from Wolgate to Jadewall had dashed all such thoughts of wickedness, though.

"Weare about to go into a battle," she murmured. "Of a different sort."

"Do you truly think Thandor will hold a grudge and refuse to aid a neighboring duchy against a barbarian horde?" he asked.

"He has not raised his banners or sent any raiders across the border to assail Ulrik's forces. If he was committed to the defense of the region, he would already taken action."

"He would not be prepared for such a war, my lady. Jadewall's forces alone cannot stand against Ulrik and he would not have the benefit of the truce that you negotiated for Fellhaven. If he'd moved against Ulrik prematurely, we could have been marching across ashes by now."

He gestured to a vineyard as they passed, as if to demonstrate that the idyllic scenery would have been reduced to blackened cinders if Thandor had ridden to war on his own.

"Still, it would have been nice if he'd at least called forth his levies and sent spies across the border," Sarya said, wrinkling her nose.

"He may in fact already have." He reached over and gently rested a hand upon her knee. "From what I have heard of Thandor, he is an ambitious man, but not the jealous sort. He's already married, after all, and quite happily from what I've heard. Nor is he known to be a fool. He has to know that if he doesn't aid us, Jadewall will be Ulrik's next target."

Her fingers brushed against the back of his hand as gratitude for his reassurances. Such a public display of affection was a minor scandal, considering the knights and barons among their escort. While northern mercenaries and Ravenmark knights would not have batted an eye, their new pious allies from Wolfgate might have disapproved.

Lucan pulled his hand away and she immediately regretted its absence. Sighing, she looked over her shoulder at the column that made up their escort: two hundred knights and barons riding under the protection of a white flag. Far in the distance behind her, the allied army had made camp on the Wolfgate side of the border, under the command of Neryth and Baron Hecforth, the pious but skilled warrior appointed to command the Wolfgate contingent.

Gods, Sarya hoped that Neryth didn't offend the zealous baron with her brusque and scandalous attitude. Already she was rethinking her decision to leave Neryth in charge, though she supposed Lucan had left several other loyal barons and knights behind to keep the wild woman in check.

A rider in gleaming green armor approached from the north, bearing a white flag. Sarya gritted her teeth and took a deep breath, preparing for the worst. Thandor could, after all, simply refuse to see them and demand that their army turn back.

"My lords, my ladies," the messenger said, bowing his head. "Naturally, my duke was alarmed upon hearing of an armed host upon his borders, even one under a flag of truce. Please state your business in Jadewall."

"I am Duchess Sarya of Fellhaven," she said, then gave a nod to Lucan. "And with me is my ally Duke Lucan of Ravenmark. Also among my allies is Duchess Chera of Wolfgate, who has sent her loyal Baron Hecforth to command her forces in her stead. We have come to speak of an alliance against the northlanders besieging Fellhaven, an army which will surely scour Jadewall if my city falls."

The messenger looked up and down her assembled escorts.

"We heard rumors that you had northern exiles and mercenaries among your alliance."

"We do, under the command of Rathgar of the Red Omen tribe. A wise, clever man who has been a fierce ally."

"And yet you did not bring such men with you, my lady."

"We understand that an army upon your borders is a worrisome sight and we did not wish to alarm your duke further by bringing northlander mercenaries among this diplomatic party."

"You may remain here, for now. I will ride back to my duke, inform him of your presence and your intentions, and will return before nightfall with the next step."

With that settled, the messenger turned and rode off. Sarya grumbled a curse under her breath.

"Nightfall," she said. "That means we likely won't have a summit until tomorrow at the earliest."

"I know. But at least Thandor didn't turn us away immediately or make demands without even meeting us. A good sign."

"You're being rather optimistic lately."

"Not at all. I am simply making a realistic assessment of the circumstances, my lady."

She snorted at that and the column dismounted to prepare to make camp.

Restless and nervous given the state of affairs, Sarya wandered a bit once the camp had been set up. A tryst with Lucan certainly would have eased her nerves, but after spending so much time in the saddle, her body ached for a stroll instead.

At least for the moment. No doubt she'd wind up in Lucan's bedroll before sunset, one way or another.

With the scent of freshly-cooked stew still wafting on the breeze, Sarya wandered farther from the edges of the camp, over to one of the vast forests that dotted Jadewall. Fellhaven had many such forests as well, though the forests in the path of Ulrik's host had been torn down to build siege weapons and fortifications for his army. She brushed her fingers over the bark of an ancient tree and winced at the memories of her youthful wanderings through the woodlands of Fellhaven.

For a moment she pondered what the forests of the north were like: dark, foreboding, and cold in their beauty. From what she'd heard from Ketrik and Rathgar, the northern woods were fierce, beautiful and bountiful places, full of plants to forage and plentiful game to hunt.

So why bring their fury south? Why toss away a chance to live amidst that chilly paradise to die in battle against a foreign duchy? Why did their devotion to strange, hungry gods outweigh the simple, human desire to live in peace and abundance?

Sighing, she sat down on an overturned log and stared up at the darkening sky.

A shuffling sound from behind her sent a jolt through her heart. As she reached for the knife hidden in her boot, she spun her head about, then let out a soft laugh at the sight of Lucan making his way through the underbrush.

"Gods, you gave me a fright."

Chuckling, Lucan crossed the forest to join her on the log and raised an eyebrow at the sight of the knife half-drawn from its sheath within her boot.

"Neryth gave it to me," she explained with a bashful smile. "Said it was lucky. More use as a good-luck charm than as a weapon, I suspect."

Reaching down, he drew the knife and twirled it between his fingers.

"And I was the one who gave it to her in the first place. And indeed, it is a good-luck charm."

He flicked his finger along the hilt.

"Sorry for sneaking up on you," he continued. "It's not that I was worried, given how far from the front-lines we are and how renowned Jadewall is for hunting down bandits."

He knelt and slipped the knife back into her boot, his fingers grazing over her calf in the process.

"No, Iwas worried," he admitted with a soft chuckle.

"I was quite safe, my lord," she said, smiling. "I had that lucky knife, after all." She cocked her head. "So why was it lucky?"

Lucan tapped his eyepatch as he rose to his feet.

"It was the blade that took out my eye."

"Gods, Lucan. How is thatIucky? I've half a mind to toss that wretched little blade into a cesspit now."

"Had the blade gone just an inch or so deeper, it would have killed me."

Frowning at the thought of him in such agony, she ran her hand over his wrist.

"Please tell me you killed the bastard who stabbed you, at least."

"Aye. I got him deep with an axe just before he stabbed me, and he bled out a few moments later."

His voice was so calm, so casual and almost dismissive of that carnage.

Her fingers rose and gripped his chin, tilting his gaze towards her.

"I don't want the knife anymore, Lucan. I mean it. I don't want that reminder of what you endured."

"Is this not a reminder of what I endured?" he asked, tapping his eyepatch.

"That's a reminder that yousurvived. The knife itself is a reminder of the pain, the agony of it."

"We need those reminders, Sarya. Reminders of pain serve as shields against more pain." He smiled sadly. "But if you wish, I'll take it and replace it with one of my own."

He reached down but she batted his hand away and sighed.

"I wouldn't even really know how to use it anyway."

"Would you like a lesson, then? I can't promise I can turn you into a hardened fighter overnight, but I can give you a few tips that might make the difference."

It couldn't hurt, and a bit of exertion might take her mind off her grim speculation about the meeting with Thandor. Nodding, she rose to her feet and reached for the knife, but Lucan tutted, shaking his head.

"The first step to a fight, Sarya, is knowingwhen to fight. Truth be told, a noblewoman is far more valuable alive, so it's unlikely you'll ever need to fight for your life."

"I imagine that can be a hard assessment to make in the moment."

"Of course. But try to keep in mind that it's better to be a prisoner than a corpse. The sagas of the bards are filled with brave heroes who fight to the death in bitter last stands, but such men would have been better off alive, finding a way to fight another day."

Lucan slowly circled around her.

"But let us assume that someone does want you dead. An assassin, perhaps. Someone trying to compromise our alliance by removing you from the equation."

"If they wanted to break the alliance, they'd be better off going after you," she said with a joyless laugh. "You're the one who will command us in battle."

"You're the one who brought us together," he said. "But we're straying from the lesson, Sarya."

He continued to slowly circle her.

"Your best advantage is that your would-be killer won't see you as a threat. Use that. Flee, stumble, beg for mercy. Buy time, get them to lower their guard further, so you can get to that knife."

"Shall I demonstrate?" she asked.

After he gave a nod, Sarya let out a theatrical shriek and moved to run away, allowing herself to trip on a log and tumble to the ground. Feigning sobs, she tried to rise. Despite the grim nature of the training, she found the theatrics quite amusing, and struggled to hold back a giggle.

Lucan approached and she reached for the knife.

"Wait until he's closer," he said. "When his eyes will be on your throat, ready for the kill."

He grabbed her shoulder, firm and fierce, clearly taking well to his part in their little exercise.

She tore the knife from the sheath.

"And where should I stab him?"

"Anywhere you can, in this sort of circumstance. The obvious places: the groin, the throat, the eyes."

She winced at that last suggestion and nearly dropped the knife.

"Let's go again," he said. "Just practice drawing the knife, smoothly and discreetly as you can."

For several minutes they ran through various drills, with her feigning weakness and using that to distract from the movement of her hands. Eventually she adapted, learning to smoothly draw the knife, using her body to cover the movement of her hands, twisting herself as she fell to provide the best angle with which to assail her would-be assassin.

"Good," he said, then reached down and helped her to her feet.

Rather than release her so they could undertake another drill, he held her by her shoulders, his grip firm and cold.

"Let us assume that you have been caught completely off-guard and cannot yet reach the knife. What would you do?"

"Spit in his face, stomp on his boot, knee his groin."

He laughed.

"You need no lessons there."

"That comes from experience from being accosted at formal balls and feasts over the years."

"And how many lecherous rogues did you punish in such a fashion?"

"Three in all. The son of the duke of Bladegrove, the master of the Fellhaven banking guild, and a baron from Jadewall."

His face twisted into a scowl.

"A Jadewall baron? What was his name?"

"Baron Gaspard. A young, drunk fool who attended a feast at one of the border towns a few years ago. We'd flirted a bit earlier in the evening but he grew too presumptuous later on."

"If we see him again, I'll give him something a bit worse than a knee to the groin."

Laughing, she reached up and patted his cheek.

"Let us not compromise a potential alliance with Jadewall, darling. After all, if Thandor decides to aid us, Gaspard may end up marching north with us. If he acts presumptuous again, let me deal with it."

"With your knee, or with that knife?"

"Depends on how presumptuous he gets."

Chuckling, he released her, then guided her into a few more drills, giving her advice on how to evade or thwart her attackers.

Left a bit breathless by the exertions, Sarya asked if they could take a break. Nodding, Lucan wandered off and collected some vines while she caught her breath.

"Now let us assume the worst: that you have been captured and you must find a way free."

He gently took her by the hands and bound her wrists in front of her, far more tightly than he had during the times he'd restrained her in more amorous circumstances. She winced at the pain and discomfort, but would heed well the lesson.

"Don't get any ideas, my lord," she teased.

"Oh, I always have ideas," he said, giving her a playful grin as he rose.

The smirk quickly faded and he set to showing her own to squirm out of those bonds. He walked her through how to adjust the placement of her hands, wrists, and fingers to get out of them, and how to unsheathe her knife from her boot in case her captors neglected to search her.

After her fifth success at getting out of those bindings, Lucan removed the vines, only to re-bind her hands behind her back.

That angle complicated her escape attempts considerably. After several minutes of futile squirming, she took a deep breath and looked over at him, an impish grin on her face.

"There are other ways out, yes?" she said in a low purr.

Lucan placed his hands on his hips and gave her a long, disapproving glare.

"Really? Here I am trying to be helpful, and all you can think about is-"

She licked her lips. Enlightening as the training was, she'd not been able to truly banish her more wicked thoughts, especially since they were alone and far from prying eyes and ears.

His glare vanished.

With a soft grunt, she pushed herself off of the log and fell to her knees, her hands still bound behind her.

"My lord," she said in a soft, breathy voice. "I know you must keep me as your prisoner, but I would be so much more comfortable if my hands were bound in front of me instead. If you would grant me that boon, my lord, I would be...grateful."

Lucan stared at her for several moments and let out a low, hungry laugh.

"Gods, Sarya, you are incorrigible."

She dropped the act for a moment and offered him a wry smile.

"We can get back to the lessons, if you like. Or skip the games entirely."

The one-eyed duke swallowed and glanced over his shoulder. Seemingly reassured by the silence of the darkening forest, he took a step forward.

"You are my prisoner, duchess," he said firmly. A shiver rippled through her at the intense ice in his gaze. "Why should I listen to you?"

Fluttering her lashes, she looked up at him, using every fiber of her being to play the meek but eager prisoner. A surprisingly easy task, given how domineering the duke could be.

"You need not 'listen' to me, my lord. All you need to do is..." She licked her lips again. "Use me. And if you are pleased with my efforts, then simply grant me the boon of binding my hands in front of me."

Of course, if she actually were a prisoner, she doubted she would resort to such tricks. It was quite thrilling to pretend with Lucan, though. She also couldn't help but imagine what it might be like if their positions were reversed and she had the duke bound and at her mercy.

Sarya shuddered and let out a coo of gratitude as the duke undid his belt.

"Yes," she murmured under her breath as he freed his cock from his trousers. Though it had only been a few days since she'd last enjoyed the taste of him, she leaned forward eagerly.