The Prince's Consort Ch. 07

Caitlin soaked in the bath with her eyes closed, floating in the weightless warmth. Her body was sore from head to toe, bruises in places he pressed too hard against. She didn't feel pregnant, but Marianne said that didn't matter in the least.

Eamon left the following night, as promised, Nadia with him. She was glad to be free of them both, after what they did.

Kalen himself had made no appearance yet, and it was nearing midnight. Her mind was as conflicted as their first kiss, she didn't know whether to seek him out or run screaming from the mansion.

"Are you almost done?" Marianne called through the door.

"No." Caitlin sighed, sinking her ears below the water level. The servant was concerned about her, wanted to dress the wound Kalen's father had inflicted. But she wouldn't take off the pink scrap of cloth, the last remnant of the nightgown her mother made her. Everything else had gone to the trash, Marianne claimed it was unsalvageable.

The servant said something, garbled by the fluid in her ears, Caitlin shook the water out, "What?"

"Dinner is prepared, will you be joining Kalen downstairs?"

"He doesn't eat." She called back.

"But you do," Marianne reasoned, "he wants to make sure you're taking care of yourself."

"I'm fine," she said as her stomach grumbled. Caitlin sloshed in the bathwater and found the drain, "Nevermind, I'll be down in a minute..."

"An outfit is prepared for you on the bed, we will see you downstairs." Marianne left, Caitlin heard her bedroom door close. She waited until the last of the water swirled into the drain before rising and wrapping a towel around herself.

A soft black dress was laid out on the bed, nothing like the high-styled one she'd worn in the city that had been ripped off her... she took a breath and tried not to think about it. Far worse had been done to her since, the pain in her wrist and pelvis reminded. As she dressed, she numbered the bruises, finding thirteen in various places. "Fourteen." She counted, finding one under her chin from the press of Eamon's thumb.

The dress concealed most of the bruises, but she left the wrap on her wrist defiantly, the blood since dry and cracked in the cloth. She would have Marianne check it after dinner.

Marianne and Kalen had since given up locking her door, so she slid through and made her way to the dining room. Caitlin touched a golden cherub at the top of the landing, marveling at the squat little thing, unashamed by its own nudity.

"My mother had them installed," Kalen's presence startled her. He stayed several steps below her, offering his hand. "She likes the baroque style, though I can't imagine why."

"Why did you let her do that?" she couldn't look him in the eye without a flush in her cheeks.

He smiled, "I could hardly say 'no',"

"So, she is not like your father, then?" they descended the stairs together.

"She is gentle, kind, but fierce when she wants to be. That's how they came to meet." Turning into the dining room, a place was set for her, with a covered tray of food.

Caitlin waited for him to say more, but he didn't. "How?"

His eyebrow rose as he held the chair for her, "You're saying you wish to know about my parents? After last night?"

"You already started," she retorted, sitting in the proffered chair, then softened her tone, "I don't understand how a woman whose portrait is above the mantle in the study, who I saw one of my first nights here... would have ever allowed your father near her."

"So, you did see her." He smiled again, sitting across from her, and glanced towards the servant's door, "perhaps it's time I told you a story."

Caitlin lifted the tray lid up and a roil of savory steam curled up, making her mouth water.

"You're hungry, it can wait."

She looked up, "No, tell me. I want to know."

Kalen rested his chin in one hand as she took a bite, "If you wish," he paused, watching her for a moment before beginning, "My mother grew up in France, she came to this continent with her parents before it was a country. They settled in the south and made alliances with local tribes for survival. She was seventeen when the British attacked, about to be married to a shaman, to unite the two factions. Their colony was hardly a militia, as it was a handful of immigrant families with no roots.

"The natives were peaceful, but had a small hunting group that, with the French men, could hold off a thousand in the right place. The British army attacked during the day, trying to wear down their defenses so they could claim the land. But the colonists stayed firm and held them back successfully for three weeks. My mother, as young as she was, became the unofficial strategist. Everyone listened to her; she had a commanding presence and her plans were on-point.

"They would have won, were it not for Eamon." He admitted.

Caitlin was so wrapped up in his story, she'd almost forgotten her food, "What happened?" she asked, taking another bite.

"My father." Kalen emphasized, "He created a mercenary group, using vampires to conduct raids on opposing settlements in the shadow of night. They never lost, but my father made it a point to observe the encampment for several days before the raid, even his own men didn't know why."

"Do you?"

"I have a few ideas. He could have been gauging the people, finding their weak spots, considering possible looting opportunities. Gold was often a drive for mercenaries at the time. But... I think he was looking for something else."

"What?"

"For her." Kalen waved a hand, "For the one that would bear his seed."

Caitlin chewed, "How did he know?"

"As we did, there was an immediate connection. He could not keep his eyes off her, could not stop thinking about her until she was beneath him. My father doesn't fancy silence when he could instead be a braggart, especially of his conquests. I've been listening to it for nearly two hundred years." Kalen rolled his eyes and resumed, "He saw her commanding the men atop a wagon, setting up reinforcements for the next day. She refused to allow a little thing like an invasion to keep her from marriage.

"It didn't stop my father, though. The British had exhausted local resources and paid him handsomely to remove the last obstacle from their path. He took it, happy to fill his coffers.

"The night before her marriage, he moved in, killing all the men, including my grandfather, and seizing the rest. He snuck into my mother's wagon, consumed her little sister, then took her." He paused, and looked out the window, "It was a violent affair, I hear. My mother cannot be in the same room as he even now. She will never forgive him."

"Of course," Caitlin didn't know if she could forgive Eamon herself, and he had done much less to her.

"My memories begin two days after that happened, when his seed took. She sang to herself, at first, French lullabies that were quiet and sad. Then, when she knew I was inside her, she sang to me. Told me everything and I heard it all, who she was, who her parents were, who my father should have been..."

"How is that possible?"

"It is different for us, I am one of only seven on earth... eight." He glanced down at her stomach, then looked away, "We don't forget like humans, so the memories stay fresh in our minds."

"That must be awful." She stopped eating, suddenly self-conscious of anything she'd said under her breath since their painful coupling. "How do you know I'm with child?"

"Its heart hasn't begun to beat, but there's an energy present. And you're practically glowing." He rested a hand over hers, "I'm so sorry it had to be that way, you deserved better."

She couldn't look up, so glanced at his hand instead, "You're afraid of him."

Kalen took a moment before countering, "It is about timing." He said finally, "We have a plan to usurp my father, and its nearing fruition. I thought you were safe here, but he knew about this place. When he threatened you, I realized you were a weak point for me until you carried my child. He cannot use you against me now."

"Nothing stops him from killing me." The bruise under her chin throbbed.

"On the contrary, our leadership would be broken if harm comes to a bearer, as you are so rare." He gingerly reached out and stroked her cheekbone, "My father cannot harm you lest he wishes to step down, and believe me, he will not do so willingly."

She remembered the words of Eamon used against Kalen, "But he can torment me... You owe me another story."

Kalen paused, understanding her meaning, "That is for another night." He stood.

She also stood, but winced and held the table and her stomach, her organs speared with pain. "Do not run from me, Kalen." She warned, looking up, "You've gotten what you wanted from me."

"You have not changed your wrappings," he lifted her wrist and teased the knot.

"Don't change the subject." Caitlin glowered, pulling her hand away defensively, "What was your father talking about?"

"It was a long time ago," Kalen's face was unreadable. She knew it meant his anger was rising and cared not in the least.

"That changes nothing." Caitlin pressed. "What did you do?"

His eyes darkened, "Eat your dinner, and I will tell you in the study. This is not the place for such conversation."

"Was it so bad?" she watched his face, to see if he'd reveal any more.

"Just eat, Caitlin. Please." His appeal sounded strained.

Caitlin looked at him a moment before sitting. She picked up her fork and took a bite, eyeing him to make sure he didn't vanish. "When I think I understand you..." she let the thought hang in the air, shaking her head.

"You should know better by now."

The comment was met with silence, Caitlin forced herself to take another bite, and then another until the food was eaten enough to satisfy him. "There." She pushed the plate away, "All done."

"You are really going to make me tell you." Kalen concluded.

Standing, Caitlin pointed to the door, "You. Upstairs. Now."

He sighed and took her hand, "Truly you are stubborn."

"Only when I'll think the worst of you if you don't tell me." Caitlin let him lead her upstairs.

"You may think worse of me still." He murmured, letting the sentiment hang in the air between them. At the door to her bedroom, he pulled her to his chest, "I do not want the past to change what is between us." He leaned down and brushed her lips with a kiss, "I want you to remember always, that it is you who brought me this semblance of salvation."

Caitlin pressed herself against him, feeling the lean muscle underneath his dress shirt. "I don't know that anything you say could change my affection for you." Kalen closed the distance between their lips, regret tinged his passion.

"We will see." He said finally, opening the door for her. Caitlin moved ahead and pushed open the secret door to the study, where a blazing fire crackled. Marianne must have prepared the room for them in advance.

She sat on the tile and warmed her hands near the flames. Kalen lounged on the couch and remained quiet until she turned to look at him. He stared off at a far wall, not seeing.

"Something no history book will tell you... is when Catholicism was establishing itself in the Europe's, there was a war between our kind brewing that divided us. Our sages disagreed with getting into politics of Man, but Eamon was greedy. At that point, my father had since taken over my training, fifty years after my mother birthed me. He brought me into his mercenary band and taught me the arts of subtlety and slaughter. Our factions were loosely connected to the churches at the time, and the Protestants didn't want the Catholics raising monasteries in their territories. So, while they waged political battles, they hired us to remove the old religion's influence, which meant the destruction of entire Catholic villages."

Caitlin waited for the worst of it, for surely he was getting to it.

"Each village contained a monastery. Parents would send their thirdborn daughters to them by the masses, in order to purchase their way into heaven. There were so many virgins all in one place, my father believed he could break any sympathies I might have had for mankind by ordering me to do terrible things-" Kalen cut himself off.

She rose from the floor, sitting next to him and draping a leg over his, "What did you do?" Caitlin leaned her head in the crook of his arm.

He pulled her in, "I did it willingly. I could say he forced me, but he did not. I took them all, tortured them for days with the help of my father's men, and when I finished, gorged myself on their lives. The aftermath was always so savage, survivors had to burn down the buildings to cleanse the space, and even afterwards the church refused to rebuild on the land. Locals believed Satan himself had come to steal the lives of lustful young women and unfaithful priests," the laugh that escaped seemed painful, "It is true evil, what I still carry inside of me."

Caitlin didn't say anything for a long time, when she finally did, her voice was strained, "When did this happen?"

"The nineteen hundreds? I have little sense of time in my memories. They are linear, and clear, but not always in conjunction with the calendars. People are so time-centric these days, it wasn't quite so at the time, and really, even, until late in the twentieth century." Kalen rested a hand on her leg, staring into the fire.

Caitlin thought about his story, trying to see his gentle nature, marred by his father's cruelty. An image of him covered in blood, staring past her at the man holding the knife shot into her mind. His teeth gleaming, eyes blackened with fury. It was in him, sure enough, but goodness was there, too. "It must be hard to forget." She realized, only afterwards, it was a silly sentiment.

"It is impossible to forget. I see every one of their faces, the fear in their eyes. Some were so very brave, but only human in the end. I cannot undo what I did, as much as I want to."

Caitlin did not feel the need to unlatch from him, feeling nothing where emotions should have welled. Kalen had tormented himself for centuries, so much that Caitlin had nothing to say against it. "I don't think worse of you for this." She admitted, "Everyone has something in their past, and surely for you to live so long, you have many more than the rest of us. I squashed a ladybug, once. Heard it crack against the floorboards and I cried for a week."

Kalen glanced down at her with crumpled amusement, "You really are curious Caitlin. After all you've gone through on my account, and you can still find humor here."

She shrugged, rubbing her sore shoulder, "I have to entertain myself somehow."

Planting a kiss on her head, he said, "Whatever god decided to unite us knew what he was doing better than most."

"Why were you ever so kind to me?" she asked suddenly, "You always could take what you wanted, you were used to it. Why wait?"

"Because of my mother." He brushed her hair back, "Because I didn't want you to go through what she did, what she lived with under my father. Until he got involved, I wanted you to come to me, to want me the way human lovers do. Last night was not an expression of love, and I'm sorry for that..." he trailed off.

"We still have three years, don't we?" Caitlin sat up on his lap, "Will you show me what an 'expression of love' looks like? I am not familiar." She held his face in both hands, staring into his dark eyes, "Will you do this for me?"

Kalen's hands traced over her figure, working their way up and encompassing her face, "Anything for you," he exhaled, dropping his head to her breastbone, "I am at your beck and call."

Caitlin curled around him and rested her head on his, "Then show me, before I become engorged with child."

His nose traced up her neck and he kissed gently under her chin, "So soon? You must at least permit me to change your dressing first." Kalen lifted her wrist, pulling the dry and cracked cloth from the wound, which started to weep again. "It may become infected,"

"It's the last thing I have of my mother's," she teased the frayed end.

"Perhaps..." he hesitated, "we could arrange for you to see her again."

Even Caitlin could sense her eyes bulge, "Really?"

"Permitting, of course, you come back with me after the visit, and she doesn't learn our whereabouts." He remarked, "You understand why."

"Of course," Caitlin's heart welled, "but I could see her again." She said in disbelief.

"As long as you let me change this," He held up her hand by a finger, "It is becoming unpotable as we speak."

Caitlin rolled her eyes, "You would think that," but she let him remove the pink fabric, seeing the marks his father's teeth had wrought on her delicate wrist. It looked worse than it hurt.

Kalen led her to the bathroom, rinsed her wrist off, opened the medicine cabinet and took out a roll of gauze.

"You know I can manage."

He patted the wound dry with a clean hand towel, "I do not mind caring for you, especially as this was Eamon's savagery. Allow me this, as recompense for his crimes." Kalen expertly wrapped her wrist until it was stiff with the white gauze. "It must be changed again tomorrow." He slid his hand down her back, kissing the bandaged hand.

Caitlin's skin came alive at his touch, breath quickening in anticipation.

"You are scared, Caitlin." He warned, opening the bathroom door for her.

"I am not." She lied.

"Your heart beats nearly out of your chest, I can smell the fear coming off you in waves." He drew her to the bed carefully, "I've never meant you harm, you know that."

She nodded, trying to still her thudding chest, "I know."

"Then trust me," he breathed, "last night was to quell my father, tonight is yours." Kalen laid her flat on the bed and leaned over her, his eyes lingering on her neckline as he kissed her shoulder gently.

Her bandaged arm hooked over his neck as she arched her back towards him; Kalen reciprocated and looped an arm underneath, pulling her closer. Fear only intensified the sensation of his touch. Pressed like this to his hardened chest, she was as malleable as clay. He was a predator, and if he so wished, could remove her from the equation with a single motion. But he would not, as countless nights had proven.

Kalen seemed happy to make her writhe at his touch. He gently drew open one of her thighs and thumbed her delicate flesh, she gasped when he found the sensitive nub.

"Careful," she exhaled, still entirely sore from their first go.

Still fully clothed, he chuckled and set her on his thigh, splayed open so her womanhood was pressed against him; he tightened his grip on her rear. "Oh, but I am, Caitlin." He murmured, stroking her hair back. "Say the word and I will stop."

Caitlin shook her head, ashamed at the heat welling in her loins. She remembered his unceremonious invasion, the thrust of his hips against her, and shuddered.

Kalen tilted her head back to reveal the soft flesh of her neck and kissed, making her breath catch. The hand that held her rear reached around and caught both her wrists, bringing them high above her head. "This dress covers far too much," he tore away the offending garment, revealing her breasts already tight with anticipation. He marveled for a moment, cupping and kissing one, then the other, teeth grazing against her nipples. "Your fear and passion are mingling," he brushed her cheek, "I am beginning to think you enjoy this."

She saw a gleam in his eye, threatening to go dark. Turning away, Caitlin couldn't admit what she knew was wrong, "I was taught that lust is sin."

"Then we are all in sin," he tilted her chin so they were eye to eye, his own were endless voids. "Your god is said to have created everything, even evils such as myself. What right does he have to punish you for accepting what he created?" Kalen seemed in complete control of his nature.