The Conjured and the exiles

By the time Lord Darcia and Daen returned to Bala it was on the day of rest, snow had fallen, light airy flakes that clung to hair and eyelashes. And so after taking care of her beloved mare, then a very welcome lunch folowed by a long hot bath to soak aching riding muscles and warm up freezing limbs Daen set out to find her dark lord. A footman opened the door to her Lord’s Private chambers. As she passed Daen herd the younger footman comment to the other ‘There goes Lord Darcia’s woman.’

She scowled; she hated when people called her that, or Lord Darcia’s girl, and even worse Darcia’s wench! The wench bit she was sure had come from Vespa. She held her head up higher; it didn’t mater what they thought. But color still heated her cheeks. Her smoldering rage was quenched before it bloomed when she stepped in to the warm atmosphere of Lord Darcia’s private study.

Lord Darcia was sitting at the large wooden desk that dominated the one end of the room set up on a dais. His elegant dark brows were furrowed in concentration as he scribbled away with ink and quill. Daen had never really taken this room in and as he was not paying attention to her she looked around. It was large, airy, with door like windows running along the one side which during the day would make the room very light. Right now the thick heavy dark burgundy drapes were closed against the swirling snowy night. A fresco was painted on the ceiling depicting what Daen supposed at the time was a mythical scene, although she did not recognize the story. Behind Darcia’s desk was a large book case, and racks for maps or scrolls. The whole room was totally free of clutter. Below the dais was a fire place with two deep leather chairs in front of it.

Drifting about the room like a cat Daen found the cabinet with the collection of liquores and wine bottles. She recognized the one silver based bottle that contained the cherry flavored drink that her lord had given to her when she had been attacked. A sword rack was on the one wall, armor too, many of which Daen saw were fairly old probably antiques. Along with the blades also hung a riding whip Daen noticed dourly. Rugs covered much of the floor, and deep furs by the fire place. It was an opulent room, fit for a prince, despite that the room felt business like, but with the fire burning and the curtains drawn it felt homely in the way most of the plaice did not.

The dark haired noble finally looked up from his work, signing off with a flourish and glanced up at her. ‘Daen. Feeling warmer now?’

‘Somewhat.’ She replied.

He indicated to a wooden pitcher by his elbow. ‘Mulled wine?’

‘What is it?’ She asked curiously coming closer, when she did she noticed the rising sweet scent of something spicy and fruity.

He flashed her impossibly white smile as he poured out two goblets of the steaming liquid. ‘It’s hot wine, with some spices, fruit juice, and plenty of honey.’ He said as he held out one of the goblets to her. Daen took the warm beverage and took a tentative sip. It was as delicious as it smelt, warming, rich, heady, and sweet. She took a larger mouthful, enjoying it thoroughly. Lord Darcia took a sip of his own, his blue eyes smiling over his rim at her as they drained off the hot spiced wine. ‘Any good?’

‘It’s delicious.’

‘Have some more then.’ He chuckled and refilled her goblet. Picking up one of the scrolls he had been working from the desk he handed it to Daen. ‘Now let’s see how your reading Chade had come along.’ He indicated to the two chairs, but Daen preferred to sit on the deep fur rug close to the fire than perch in the chair that was to large for her. Once they settled Darcia in his chair, Daen leaning companionably against his legs he invited her to read the scroll out loud.

She let out a disgruntled sigh and cleared her throat after skim reading over the hand written document. ‘The Duke of Marchadia, Lord Darcia of Bala, Genral of the western army, and defender of the passes, request the pleasure of the company of..’ The hand writing changed to Darcia’s confident slanting style, ‘Lord Kane Sindri, Knight of Marchadia, and his household..’ It changed back to the formal neat scribe’s script. ‘On the twenty ninth of Dwimis, in this the sixth year of our emperor Saron the thirteenth, to the Blanegawd followed by the winter feast ball and the on the night of the Noshirnos. Entertainments will be provided for the week as part of the celebrations.’

She looked up wondering what it all ment. He smiled at her. ‘Good you only struggled with two words.’

‘That’s because I have never come across them before.’

‘Noshirnos, means the night of the long dark.’

‘Oh do you celebrate that here as well?’ Daen asked excitedly. ‘We called it something similar in Nheim, we fasted for a week to mourn the lack of light and then we had a feast on the day after to mark the return of the sun.’

‘We feast on the actual night in the empire, celebrating the moon, and the coming end of winter.’ Darcia answered.

‘What is the Blanegawd?’ She asked.

‘First blood. It’s the first hunt following Noshirnos, it’s supposedly good luck if you catch something on that day. And that good fortune will be shared with anyone who eats of meat caught that day. That's why we invite anyone within the city to participate.’ They talked for a while on the differences in holiday customs between their lands. Darcia knew quite a bit about other cultures as well. They reminisced about various memorable events, sharing anecdotes and in the process they drained off the rest of the mulled wine, then sent for some more and some more after that. Daen felt a cozy fussiness settle over her, and knew herself to be well on the way to being more than just a very tipsy.

‘So it’s a full week of holiday then?’ Daen questioned hopefully. Darcia sometimes forgot how young the girl still was and he curled his lip in amusement at her child like enthusiasm.

‘Something like that.’ He smiled but continued with bitter humor. ‘Though I doubt I will have much free time to actually enjoy most of the festivities, my nobles like to keep me busy with politics.’

‘Your nobles?’

‘Yes, and Sir Sindri, the man on this invitation…’ He plucked the scroll form her fingers, ‘is one of the most boorish men you would ever care to meet. Not all my nobles are like that, but he is a belligerent old fool, with an axe to grind, and nothing better to do but vex me.’

Daen let out a small chuckle. It was rare to hear her lord speak so disparagingly of anyone. ‘I take it you don’t like him?’

‘I would like him well enough if he was not so pigheaded.’ Darcia said leaning back in his chair, and rubbed his temple, closing his eyes in a dramatic gesture.

‘Sounds like someone I know.’ She laughed. The noble opened one blue eye and looked down at her and then flicked her on the nose with a single long digit.

‘Imp!’ He admonished.

‘So how come you have nobles underneath you? I thought you were all the same?’

‘What do you know of the nobility Daen?’

‘Not much, they ware masks, they are powerful, and they know sorcery. You’re the first noble I have ever really known.’

‘I see, I suppose I will have to lift your ignorance.’ Darcia waited until her attention was fully concentrated upon him. ‘There are seventy five noble houses; they make up the Imperil court. Twenty seven of these families then form the high court, the Arcanum. And it is predominantly from members of this court that there are the ones who are the most proficient in sorcery as you so naively put it.’

‘And the emperor’s family is from the Arcanum?’

‘Naturally.’

‘Are you?’

‘You don’t ask small questions do you brat?’ He replied. Daen sat practically dancing as she sat on the floor. The noble laughed softly. ‘Yes. In fact the emperor is my cousin.’

Daen wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or intimidated. She was suddenly bursting with questions. Who were nobles, what did they do, why were they different. Darcia inclined his head towards her; he knew well now the expression on her face. ‘How much do you know about the history of the empire little one?’

She answered carefully. ‘It was founded over two thousand years ago, after pressure was placed upon the midlands from marauding bands of barbarians from the Hys-b-dry. It became necessary to have a central power, over time the first emperor Darcus Cator united or defeated the various warring factions, he then chose from among his followers his new nobility. They were said to be chosen for their fighting prowess or skill with magic.’

Lord Darcia let out another laugh at her naive account. ‘I suppose it was something like that. I may add the history of the Imperium to your reading list.’ He mused. The girl rolled her eyes in disgust. ‘So…what is a noble and what do they do. Well that depends entirely upon the noble. We are supposed to help govern and defend the interests of the empire within our own domain. In my case I am a Marcher lord. So I regulate and guard the passes of the whole Marchadian’s. I am also the Marshal of the western armies of if we go to war I an expected to lead that part of the Imperial forces. And so I have a large amount of political power despite the fact that my land is not especially productive. However many nobles just have only one city or a town or a handful of villages rather than a whole dukedom. Directly under me are twelve or so other lesser noble family’s who hold land off me in the Marchadian’s helping me govern this huge teritory. I am their overlord; they swear to me first and then the emperor. ’

Daen let out a drunken yawn. She tried to stifle it but Darcia saw. ‘Bord are we?’

The dark haired girl shook her head, and had the decency to look slightly sheepish. ‘No, it’s just the wine, and the fire, it’s making me feal drowsy!’ She accented this with a languid cat like stretch. The way her breasts strained against her robes and her body was silhouetted through the white gown by the orange blaze made the dark haired man shift on his chair, his hands twitching against the leather.

‘Perhaps you should go to bed.’ He said his voice carefully low.

Daen missed the innuendo completely, and nodded. ‘I think I might.’ Darcia helped her to her feet but by tugging her slightly, the not very sober girl tumbled forward. She studied herself by placing her hands on his broad shoulders. Looking up she found his face scant inches from her own. She blinked rapidly trying to make sense of the rush of feelings and images flooding her muddled mind. But what fascinated her most was the redness of his lips, red from the wine they had both shared. His breath smelt of it, spicy and with a hint of bitterness under all that rich sweetness.

‘Do I get a goodnight kiss?’ He asked. Daen couldn’t comprehend his words at first. It seemed like a long time, but perhaps it wasn’t, but her mind felt slow, like treacle. Kiss, lips, words dark and warming like the wine, his lips just hovering over hers waiting, did he taste like the wine? She decided to find out and closed the distance. Although she felt numbed by the alcohol the kiss drew her in, the sensations drowning and suffocating her.

He did taste like the wine. But that drifting thought was lost when his tongue began to stroke hers with increased and slightly messy fervor. She moaned in to his mouth, and he groaned in response. He drew away for just long enough for her to draw breath, ‘Breathe.’ He chuckled his own exhaling hot on her face, ‘You always forget to breathe.’ before returning to once again attack her lips. They got up as once, Darcia holding the young woman’s hand, his hand was calloused and warm, her own was small and engulfed his. Not able to stop himself he stole another kiss from her as they passed through the door, leaning down and cupping her cheek. The kiss caused her to swoon against the door frame.

Darcia wasn’t sure how far to take this tonight. The girl was not entirely sober, but hope blossomed in his breast as her now bold hands groped and explored over his clothes, urging him on. Easily he picked her up and deposited her in his bed. She bounced up in to the air, causing the young woman to let out a whoop of laughter. As she rolled about on his bed giggling in incomprehensible drunken mirth the dark lord thought she had never looked more beautiful. When she settled down he crawled above her, stalking her like a panther until he hovered above her trying to decide where to start on this banquet splayed in front of him. Daen had her arm flung across her eyes, she hiccuped, ‘I feal queasy.’

Darcia sat back quickly only just avoiding a head butting. Daen’s hand flew to her mouth, ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’ She had been fine until she lay down, and then Daen had found that the room had begun to spin. Lord Darcia was not completely sober himself, and he took a moment to work out what was imamate. Finally his mind stuttered to work and he grabbed a ornamental chamber pot passing it to the girl not a moment to soon as her rosy face flushed pale and she promptly jettisoned her dinner.

‘I didn’t think of that.’ Darcia sighed, and the grate lord was left holding back the hair of his beloved as she heaved wretchedly. Softly he spoke to her, stroking her hair and back as she apologized profusely. When she recovered a little he forced a load of water down her and then let her sleep. It was the best cure for a hangover though life as not she would have a sore head in the morning. Settling against her he couldn’t help chuckling about the situation.


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Gaius sat in his study; a roaring fire warmed the room until it was almost stifling. Upon his large mahogany desk a map was spread, its curling ends were weighed down with books. His gray head was bent in perusal of this chart when his daughter in law burst in to the room. Sienna's eyes were almost black with her fury; her thin eyebrows almost satyrrish in appearance, her lips were drawn in to a thin line. He looked up wearily, wondering which servant had annoyed her to this extent.

'Where is he?' She demanded angrily stamping one, bejeweled buckled, high healed shoe.

'Where is who my dear?' He asked patiently. If Sienna thought that he knew where his son was then she was sorely mistaken. Who knew what gaming hells his son frequented in the hours after twilight? And if the rumors that Gaius had herd to do with his son were even just partially correct then he didn't want to know.

'My Gladiator!' The red haired woman exclaimed.

'Your gladiator?'

'Yes, my gladiator, who you brought for me! Where is he?' She scowled. 'I was told that he was healed. But when I ordered that he be ready to await on me this evening I was informed he was not there!'

Gaius looked up scratching his head in thought. 'Oh, Leoff Sheld. I sent him to captain Nadar.'
The young woman looked incredulous. 'You sent him to Sidana?'

'Indeed to Cawriad. I have hired him and his stable mate on as soldiers; it’s a waste to have such young talented men in the arena.’ Gaius explained. But his daughter in law only grew more incensed.

‘You gave him to me! He was mine to do what I wanted with!’

‘You almost got him killed.’ The old man pointed out. ‘He was expensive an investment. You don’t just throw away talent like that.’

‘So you’re taking him away from me!’ Sienna pouted angrily.

‘No, I have a use for him. My decision has little to do with you my dear. Though I assumed that you didn’t want him any more since you were so careless of his life.’ Gaius explained. ‘If you want I will buy you another one, we can go to the sales in a week’s time and…’

‘I don’t want another gladiator, I want Leoff!’ Sienna screeched.

Gaius was unfazed; he was used to his daughter in laws fits of temper. ‘Well it’s to late now, what is done is done.’

‘But he’s mine, I want him!’ Sienna continued. But she knew that arguing with Gaius would get her no where. When Gaius did not answer her ravings, his face impassive, she turned on her heal and stalked out of the room, slamming the door, and then every other door on the way to her room. Some of the doors Gaius noted she slammed twice when the desired loud crash was not achieved. She was odiously spoilt, and hot tempered to a fault, but it was as effective as a child’s tantrum, for much the same reason. Gaius was master here, Sienna had no power on her own, and only what was given to her by the head of the household. Worse than that her position was still tenuous at best, though her family connections were valuable, and her dowry of land in the Sidana was very useful, but she had yet to produce a hair. Until she did she was potently expendable. Terent was his only son, so it was imperative that he continue the line, otherwise all this would be for naught!

Gaius supposed he would have to find the girl some new babul to amuse her otherwise she could be a misery to live with. Knowing Sienna she was just peaked that her new toy was taken from her, like a child denied a treat for bad behavior, in a few days time she would have forgotten all about it. He was glad that her temper was much like lightning, rather than the continuous grumbling of his thunderous son. Temor would not listen to reason, he was to set on his own revenge, and so when he caught wind of his fathers plan he had insisted in been involved in the orchestration of Darcia’s downfall. Hopefully captain Nadar would keep his heir out of trouble. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt his son to experience a bit of military discipline for once, to finally hold some rains of responsibility. But Gaius had his doubts, his family were not distinguished for there military records.

Earlier that week he had come across his son in his study looking over the charts and letters, ‘What are you doing in here Terent?’ He asked angrily, annoyed to find his son invading his privacy.

‘Father, father, father.’ Terent tutted waving a letter at him. ‘You have been busy. Will it work?’

‘Will what work?’

‘Using our men to start a war?’ His son seemed exited.

‘If no one finds out that we have a hand in.’ Gaius said with meaning. That evening he managed to get his son to promise not to say a word. But Gaius did not trust his son to keep quiet, he could not afforded a breath of this plan to leak out, and so he did not protest to much when his son decided that he wanted to take a more active role in the proceedings. Out of the way in Cawriad where there was no one to tell, or at least no one who would get news to Lord Darcia.

His plans were set. First he needed to provoke Lord Darcia. To do that he would use the guise of a pawn, this game peace came in the form of a knight named Lord Sindri, one of Darcia’s vassals on the south eastern border. It was a well know fact that Sindri had strong imperial leanings. It would be easy to convince him to attack, if just for revenge.

Years of pouring poison words in to that man’s ears had dome wonders, the man was a fool, a fool who thought he was more important and powerful than he was; but that had its uses. Lord Darcia had on coming to power striped a large amount of the duties and hence rights from his own nobility, favoring the townships over the old aristocracy. Gaius of course had sympathized with the lesser noble though he had tailors with more right to ware a mask than Sindri was.
Gaius intended to send his men to attack towns on the Marchadian’s south eastern border. But having spent time with Sindri it would seem as if it were Sindri’s men attacking the towns he was so jealous of. Trying to conquer the now free towns his ancestors once lorded over. Perhaps Terent could be useful after all. He had intended to rite a letter to Sindri promising support to rebellion against his overlord. But a letter was evidence, so if Terent could go instead it would be highly useful. Words could be denied, and even if anyone did believe them he could simply say that Terent was being young and foolish. Sindri also did not trust the Chancellor complexly, but if Terent, his only son showed up with men in tow then Sindri would have an apoplexy at this offer of help.

Lord Darcia of course would not simply allow his vassal to attack the independent towns, and so would put down his rebellious vassal. Sindri beveling that help was on the way would fight, war like man he was. Darcia would lay siege to the knight’s pitiful excuse for a castle.Of course the emperor would not be able to ignore this, and by preventing messages from reaching him, and forging some documents the emperor would then have to subdue his out of hand Duke.
Not that the emperor needed an excuse, Gaius had already seen to that, there was no one bit of legislation passed that Lord Darcia would agree to in the past two years. And he had made it as awkward for him as possible the last time he visited with his cousin. The emperor loathed the duke, loathed him almost as much as he was jealous of him. In a few weeks it would all begin, the downfall of the Darcia family. Terent even if just nominally could be the one to lead the imperial assault, that should please him, and would bring more glory to the Edouard name. Things so far were going perfectly to plan. Through the night the temple bell rang out its mournful tole across the city, a death tole.

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Daen sighed it had been a long and stressful day, work at the temple had been hard, it was one thing to say she would use her powers it was another thing to actually use them when she felt so uneasy. It was frustrating, all the things that had come so easily now she was struggling with, unable to concentrate on them, it was like trying to force herself to jump off a high ledge. Darcia had been right, Daen woke up feeling like a cat had slept in her mouth and horses had trampled on her head. She scored the light, and went like a dead thing out in to the morning. Her lord had woke her briefly at his rising, kissing her temple. She had some recollection of the prior evening, none to her credit, and she cringed at her own behavior, she had practically thrown herself at him! And then she had disgraced herself, ye gods he must find her repellant. After dinner she had been subjected to yet more of captain Vaspa’s malicious mockery and blushing already from her dark lord’s whispered words at dinner and the prior nights events, she hadn’t stood a chance.


She brushed out her long mahogany hair sitting in front of the dressing table, she brushed vigorously as if that would not only untangle her hair but her life using the polished wooden brush that Lord Darcia had given her what seemed like so long ago. Her bottle of sent was on the table in amongst Darcia’s other possessions. Idly she looked through them, a cut throat razor, a pot of shaving foam, his own comb. One lone strand of noir was trapped in its teeth. Why did his hair fascinate her so? She pulled it free and wound it around her fingers, then ran it through her palm, it tickled, and just as his hair brushing against her thighs had tickled as he worked an unforgettable miracle on her… She sighed her thoughts had been like this since then, constantly drifting back to that night.


She physically shook herself out of those thoughts and dressed for bed. But it was no good, as she tossed and turned in the bed that smelt of him. Smelt of all the things she defined his presence with, strength, darkness, heavy suffocating desire, warmth, maleness, and oh so much more than that. She was throbbing. Almost like an itch, a burning; a desire that was eating her alive. And is scared her. Was it some spell he had cast upon her that night? It felt like it, the way her heart beet faster when ever he was close, the way his sent made her week at the knees, the way one look from his piercing eyes could leave her aching and wanting. He had rescued her from the fires of execution only to burn her alive with his desire.


I will not succumb; I will not just lye down and let him have me like that! She thought desperately knowing it to be a lie as her fingers such to touch her own wanton flesh. Imagining it was his lips and his tongue touching her in the most intimate of ways.


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His necessary interlude with the girl, though massively enjoyable and very progressive had put him behind on his duties. Duties he could no further afford to shirk off. And so upon returning to Bala he dallied not with the young woman, no mater how much he desired to and returned to the grind stone. Right now he was reading through some imperial litigation, most of which he would be ignoring, but it was still important to read the articles, and his vassals would want to know. Darcia would never sign anything until he had read through all of it; he did not put it past Chancellor Gaius to try to slip in something that shouldn’t be there, hoping that the dukes well know astuteness failed him the once.

The chancellor had tried that once before when Darcia was still a young man hoping to take advantage of his unprotected youth, an old buzzard after a hatchling raven. To bad for Gaius that Darcia was born with tallons. The chancellor had offered him the ability to hire mercenaries once again but not mentioning the condition was that he would lose his prince like rights over his own lands. The chancellor had been furious to find out that Darcia had insisted on seeing the full documentation, not being swayed with cunning old mans diverting conversation, ‘Oh those, they are just little formalities, you know how much they should be paid if injured, nothing important, now if you sign here…’ Darcia had ripped the charter in two, and informed the Chancellor that he was not that desperate.

Darcia’s mind strayed back to dinner had almost forgotten how enjoyable it was to share a meal with his subordinates. Now that he could go mask-less in front of Daen, he could once again take his evening meals in the dinning hall. The young woman in question had sat to his left, and he noticed that her curious green eyes barely left his face as he ate. Under her scrutiny he wondered whether he had managed to get something on his face. He raised an elegant enquiring brow at her. ‘Daen You’re staring.’

Her cheeks had flushed hotly. ‘I…I’m sorry I didn’t mean to be rude, it’s just that I have never seen you eat before.’

He’d lowered his voice, leant in to her by a fraction, lest anyone else overhear, and said his eyes still holding hers ‘Now that’s not entirely true now is it?’

Her color deepened further and she looked away, her long eyelashes fluttering. It always amused him how swiftly color would creep in to her cheeks when embarrassed or aroused. He had been a bit disappointed that she didn’t flirt back, in time she would. Veoine was right, she was a skittish filly, it would take time, and patience to tame her. He was sure that if he had a fortnight to lavish the same sort of attention that he had given her two earnings prior then she would give in to his demands. But life was not so simple; both had other more pressing demands upon their times. And the girl’s sleep was still fitful, he would not deny her what rest she could gain. For now it was just about enough to have her willingly in his bed, able to hold her and soothe her troubled soul. The rest would come in time, and their previous encounter would give her something to think about.

‘Master.’ A voice in his mind like crackling hearth logs.

‘What is it Bherith?’

‘Look master!’ Bherith’s vision filled his minds eye. Bherith was still in his room, hung up above the fire place. His single eye could see the whole room clearly despite the solid dark. Upon his bed lay Daen. At first he thought something must be wrong if his sword was showing her to him. Perhaps she was ill again? Perhaps she was having a nightmare? The girl lay under the coves, writhing, her legs kicking at the sheets, her chest was panting and straining.
His weapon took him in closer, close enough to see the blush on the young woman’s face. Her eyes were heavy lidded but not quite closed. The soft moan she let out and the movement under the covers suddenly rested in his mind. He found himself achingly aware of what the girl was doing in his bed.

‘Amusing is it not master?’ His sword said. But Darcia barely headed him, his entire attention taken up by the pleasure filled expressions on the girls face, the way her hair spilled wantonly across the pillow, the way even her exposed throat was flushed pink. And the sound of her soft panting moans. He felt himself harden at the vision of his little witch giving herself over to her own pleasure so unashamedly.

‘Bherith, why are you showing me this?’ He asked desperately, guilty to watch, but unable to look away. Just what was his demon playing at?

The girl’s vigorous writhing was beginning to twist the covers off her body. And slowly she was reveled to his voyeuristic gaze. She was wearing her long white night gown; rucked up and disheveled. The laces at the front had been undone, and reveled were her perfect pert breasts. Coral flushed with rose. Her one delicate hand was nimbly playing with her exposed nipple; her touch was gentle, fingers softly swirling over her aural. The sheet finally was kicked off and Darcia saw that the girl had her fisted hand griped between her legs and was grinding her core against it, her hips rotating, as her thighs griped hard.

He let out a low groan as she opened her legs, revealing the center of her desire, glistening with moisture. His hand moved to his groin, he was painfully hard already. Without preamble he undid the fastenings of his trousers and fisted his weeping erection. He would not last long tonight. He could still remember all too vividly the previous evening, the way her thighs had quivered and then quaked, just as they did now. She was sobbing now as her fingers began to flick back and forth over her swollen petals. He bit the inside of his cheek to stifle the moan that rose from deep within him.

The noble lent back in his chair, throwing his dark head back as the erotic scene progressed in his minds eye. The young woman now had both hands working on her engorged flesh. Two fingers pumped in and out of her slick channel, as the other digits danced over her petals like a harpist fingers over strings. And oh she was singing out; soft notes of pleasure, quiet moans, low groans, and high pitched ‘oooohhhhssss!’

Her movements were growing more and more desperate, and so was he. Hid hand pumped harder, his grip nearly painful. His balls tightened up towards his body, and his buttocks clenched hard, almost as hard as he gritted his teeth all the signs which precluded that his completion was close. The girls head was thrashing on the pillow, her back arching off the bed in her own private ecstasy. And then she called out his name. His own back arched as a spasm passed over him, and he surged violently in to his own hand, in a rush that left him lost for breath.

It was a few moments before he regained himself. When he did he was angry with his blade. Just what had he hoped to achieve by showing him the girl like that? Why did his demon insist on tormenting him with visions of her like this? As gratifying as it was to know that the young woman was thinking of him in the final throws of her passion, it was not helping. He was already stretched to braking point, never had a courting taken him so long. But he would not submit to his own baser instincts, he would spare her that, he was a man who prided himself on his iron strong will. He would wait, but his patience was wearing thin, like ice in spring his façade was cracking. Up until Midwinter’s day he would give her to, on the dance of the long night she would be his.

By the time he had gone to bed, the young woman was fast asleep. Apparently reaching orgasm was the best way to stay her nightmares. He looked at her longingly, wondering how she could look so damnably innocent after what he had just watched. But she did, her face relaxed, and her plump lips slightly parted, her hair spilled out about her rich and messy, her hand was curled in a tight ball by her head. She was like a child sometimes, her naivety could be astounding, perhaps that was what he loved most about her, that even after all she had been through, she didn’t truly believe in evil. But her naivety on this account could be dangerous, especially when his demon was concerned.

Darcia picked up his blade. Sometimes he wondered what his life would have been like if he had never made a pact with it. But Lord Darcia was not one to longer long in what if’s. 'Bherith, you have eaten the souls of countless young women, what do you intend for the little one?'

'Concerned?' The demon asked somewhat amused.

'Should I be?'

'Nothing will harm her. You already decided that did you not?' The sword replied.

'Not even you?'

'I think not, I'm very fond of the little mistress.'

'Little mistress hmh?' Darcia placed his sword back. Somewhat relived, he was finding his demons interest in the girl a little disturbing. ‘Do that again by the way Bherith and I will punish you.’

‘I’m trying to help, she wants you this proves it.’

‘I don’t care. Until she says the words I will not take her!’ Darcia scowled.

‘Humans, you have far too many sensibilities!’ His demon replied scornfully.


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a/n; Thank you for the reviews Luinil_Telcontar,Alicat1194, and Kynrael! Sory about spelling Mulled wince as mould, i think i had been drinking a we bit to much of it myself!

Ps; to Kynrael I agree with you I hate that Oblivion is so sterile of anything that might possibly constitute a relationship or sex! And I’m still completely in entranced by your story, keep updating!