Fate War: Alliance (5 page)

“How are you feeling?” Cole’s voice brought her feet back to the cold stone washroom floor, but her head continued its lofty journey.

“Silly,” Samantha said and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Why did she say that?! Her cheeks flushed vividly. She had the vague idea that this was what it felt like to be drunk and wondered exactly what was in the tea Cole had made.

“Good.” Cole smiled, the first real smile she had seen from him. That, and the twinkle in his hypnotic sea green eyes, caused an unexpected flutter in her stomach. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling in return. “In the bath then.” He held her hand for balance as she stepped into the dark waters of the tub, then he turned away to give her privacy as she removed the towel. She lowered herself slowly as her skin adjusted to the hot bath water. She hissed when her bottom reached the surface, the burning so intense, she didn’t continue her descent.

“All the way,” Cole called over his shoulder. Samantha reluctantly obeyed and was instantly gratified. The warm water seeped into every bruise, every tear in her body and leached the pain away. Without her consent, her mouth released a sigh of contentment. This was the best bath she had ever had. She breathed in the rich steam wafting from the waters and felt her muscles melt in their depths. Even her thoughts became hazy in the relaxing water.

“May I wash all this out of your hair?” She should have been surprised when his voice was so close to her ear. She didn’t care about the proximity, and she didn’t feel like she had the strength to open her eyes to see exactly how close he was anyway. Samantha was fairly certain she was nodding in consent.

The sensations of warm water flowing over her hair, and gentle hands working in lather penetrated Samantha’s dulled senses. It was comforting. Intimate, but safe. Funny, she didn’t remember Cole turning the water back on, or even him having removed the numerous pins holding her hair in place. It didn’t matter. Fingers caressing her temples, forehead, scalp and base of her neck dispersed what little tension remained. Her body was so heavy now, and she was so tired. Surely she could allow herself to relax for just a moment while he worked.

****

Cole sat on the edge of the bed staring at his sleeping and naked wife. He laughed inwardly at the irony. A naked woman in his bed for the taking, and he was anything but aroused. He had been right about her body being an optical illusion, but he had no idea the extremes. His eyes traveled from her protruding knees to her boney thighs. He could probably encircle one in both his hands. He frowned at her sharp hipbones that looked like they could perforate her skin at the slightest strain and the sunken space beneath her too visible ribs that should have been a soft feminine belly. She had no breasts to speak of. He still couldn’t figure out how she had cleavage in the wedding dress.

For the wedding, her body had appeared perfect, but Cole hadn’t liked the pretentious hair and makeup. Now seeing her in her raw form, her body was troubling, but her face; though overly thin and in need of a touch from the sun, her face mesmerized him. High cheekbones tapered to a slightly jutting chin, set with a small mouth and perfectly plump lips.

As pale as her skin was, he guessed her nose would freckle if she spent any time outdoors. It was small and slightly turned up, and he had an overwhelming desire to reach out and tap the end.

He restrained himself and touched her hair instead. It was long and straight with all of the curls washed out, hanging to her waist. Twirling a silky fine lock between his fingers, he studied her face more. Eyebrows just a shade darker than her corn silk hair made perfect crescents above her almond shaped eyes. Green eyes, he recalled, that moved restlessly under her closed eyelids. Her face scrunched suddenly in pain, maybe fear. It must be a nightmare. He swallowed the lump of regret in his throat that he might play a role in that dream

The movement made him hesitate, thinking she would wake, but Cole knew she wouldn’t. The sleeping draught he made her earlier would have her unconscious until tomorrow morning. He chuckled thinking about the chore of waking her up in the tub and getting her to the bed. The tea had a way of making one lose their inhibitions as well as causing an eventual deep sleep. She probably wouldn’t remember anything after getting into the bath, but Samantha had giggled the entire time he dried her off and steered her by the shoulders to the bed. That laugh was a jewel he would hunt for in their future. He frowned knowing it would be a hard treasure to find in the life thrust upon them.

He sighed and let his gaze travel back down her body to the mound of soft curls between her thighs. He promised he wouldn’t touch her, but this was something he had to do. It felt wrong all the same, but he took her knees and parted them, pushing back and to the side to expose her.

“Thank God.”

He exhaled a relieved breath he didn’t know he held. The towel he had placed under her only had a faint pink tinge and as he explored her swollen tender folds he was more relieved. The damage was not as bad as he assumed.

More than once girls were brought to his country manor for treatment from the nearby village of Sagewood. Their injuries had been grievous, enough to turn even his iron stomach. Seeing such young girls, their womanhood torn and defiled from being forced had left him thinking he had done the same to Samantha. She did have a few tears, and he was glad he had treated them with the bath. In a few weeks’ time she would be fully healed.

Sighing in relief he placed her legs back to a more demure pose. He pondered the woman before him. When she woke up she would be mortified that she was naked. For a moment he considered redressing her in her wedding clothes. He discarded the idea and decided he would burn them instead, a satisfied smirk touching his lips. While unlacing the gown, he had seen the indented and bruised flesh caused by the cruel garment. He had gasped in horror at her tortured body as her ribcage reformed before his eyes. He hoped to never see her in a corset again and shuddered at the thought. Since her other belongings had not been brought, he dressed her awkwardly in one of his undershirts and a pair of his short underpants. She would undoubtedly be concerned that he dressed her, but it would be better than her waking up naked.

The clothing was thick wool, and that combined with it being oversized gave Samantha a look of fullness she lacked. Yes, Cole decided, with some weight and some sun she would be very pretty. He reached over and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He smiled and traced a finger along the soft skin of her jaw making a connecting line between three small beauty marks. Very pretty. It was a shame they had to meet under these circumstances. He would have enjoyed seducing her. Such a shame.

When he was King he would put an end to these brutal and archaic traditions once and for all. Cole’s smile faded, and he stood slowly, looking past Samantha.

When he was king? He didn’t want to be king. Being king meant the end to everything good in his life. There was no way he was going to start thinking like that. But when he was king he could make sure this didn’t happen to his daughter.

Daughter? Children?

“Damn it!”

Cole strode to the door that led to his study. What had gotten into him? He had only been married for a few hours, and ideas of children and responsibility were swirling in his head, the very things he wished to avoid. His hand paused on the handle, and he looked back at his sleeping wife. He should be sleeping in that bed. It was
his
bed. He took a step toward it, determined to use what was his.

“Slag it.”

He pivoted and stomped back to the study door. Turning the handle, he went in search of linens to make sleeping on the sofa in the adjoining room more comfortable.

Cole limped down the castle corridor toward the kitchens rubbing his lower back with one hand. In his other, he held a leather bound folder. The halls bustled with black and white clad maids and servers about their morning duties. Trays of food clattered upon porters’ shoulders. They left trails of delectable aromas as they passed and caused telling rumbles to emit from Cole’s stomach.

Reaching the kitchens, Cole located a cook and left breakfast instructions. He could have just used the transaphonic, but he was afraid of waking Samantha. She should sleep for several more hours considering how he underestimated her weight when calculating the dosage of sleeping draught. Neither of them had eaten since some time yesterday morning, and that would add to the potency of the herbs as well. She would be famished when she awoke, just as he was now.

Cole grabbed a sweet roll from a basket. It made him miss his country manor when no one swatted his hand away and implored him to wait until it was served. The castle was so formal and stuffy. Still the roll was good, and he devoured it as he headed back the way he came. He slowed as he reached another hallway and fingered the clasp on the leather folder. It contained the dossier that was hand delivered to him daily while at the castle. He also received a weekly schedule when at his manor. In the past he had never even bothered to open them. He hadn’t cared what duties were expected of him before, but last night had been a long night.

He was exhausted, but couldn’t find a comfortable spot on his makeshift bed. His thoughts had wandered to his future and the responsibilities of his station. In the early hours of the morning, after much internal debate, he had come to the conclusion that he had to stop denying the inevitable. He should start participating in his circumstances and find what good he could do for his country instead of complaining about the bad. But that had been in the middle of the night while he was stressed and tired. In the light of day, he wavered.

A scurrying porter bumped Cole and sent the folder sliding across the hall. The porter spun with a scowl, which quickly turned to fear as he realized with whom he had collided.

“My Lord! Forgive me.”

“It’s fine. Carry on.” Cole placated as he stooped to retrieve the dossier. The porter scuttled away, and Cole inspected the folder. It lay open in his hands, so he decided it wouldn’t hurt to read it. The first page was a list of names, and as far as he could tell, excuses. He recognized most of them as dignitaries and other officials that were out of the city on business, but also noticed some listed as illnesses. He let out a contemptuous snort when he realized that most of those too ill for duty were perfectly healthy enough to debauch themselves last night in the War Room. He also noticed his name listed as unavailable too, the reason “Binding Time”.

He and his new bride, more aptly his wife, should confine themselves to their quarters for sixty days. The Binding Time was another archaic tradition that chaffed at Cole. He could think of nothing more mundane and suffocating than spending sixty days indoors in the same suite of rooms. The custom meant well for new married couples. They could get to know each other well with no outside responsibilities. It was also another way to ensure conception and parentage of said child.

Cole smirked as he scanned the second page. He snapped the folder shut and tucked it under his arm, strutting off down the hall. There was a meeting being held in the War Room, and he wasn’t supposed to be there. He was “confined to quarters”. Well, today was the day to start acting like the future king, taking things seriously. This meeting was as good a place as any to start.

He reached the room and swung the door open without knocking. Every head turned in his direction. A voluminous man standing before those gathered, the chest of his red dress jacket verily dripping with bars of color and metal, stopped speaking mid-sentence, his tiny rat eyes squinting at the intruder. His face was always red, like anger waiting to escape just below the surface. Unfazed by the twenty or so pairs of eyes upon him from the highest ranking nobles in two countries, Cole sauntered into the room. He dropped into an empty seat and slapped the leather folder loudly onto the table, then took a moment to scan those staring at them. Most looked exhausted with dark circles under their eyes, no doubt from copious drink and nocturnal activities.

The speaker, General Crom, cleared his throat and continued his diatribe. Attentions slowly turned back to the front, but Cole could still feel someone staring at him. The gaze bore into him like hot coals on his face. He found his father glowering in his direction. He suppressed a smile, but tipped his head in recognition of the man, then turned his attention back to the General.

Cole couldn’t hear what was being said over his own internal triumphant congratulations on seriously slagging with the Arboreal King. It wasn’t that he hated the King. No. He hated the King. The man was hypocrisy incarnate. He stood for everything Cole loathed about the society they ruled. Meaningless, cruel tradition and worthless division of class and labor. When Cole was king…SLAG! He had to stop thinking that way.

He took a deep breath and tried to focus on General Crom’s gravelly voice.

“…even with the possible amassing of Fate soldiers on the Nakona borders, those barbarians should keep them busy for the next few years. This will allow for our newly forged alliance to begin sharing and dispensing information and technology, integrating soldiers and supplies, sharing resources, etcetera.” The general gave a noncommittal wave of his hand. “As for the rescue of Arboreal spies being held as prisoners of war from their Fate captors, we should be receiving information today or the next on the success of that mission. We will call a meeting to discuss any pertinent information if and when any is gleaned on their return.”