[THIS STORY WILL BECOME FREE ON THE 5th OCTOBER 2023]
Fara's husband, the Prince of Azura, is murdered and she's enslaved by his killer, Theodan, a warrior fighting a war he doesn't believe in - until her.
...
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She had displeased him in some way. Had left him wanting. For truly, when had she ever been enough alone to tame the lusts and desires of a male?
She could see no other reason why he would subject her to this... humiliation. And surely if he cared anything for her feelings then he would not have brought her here at all?
If she had thought they'd reached some place of accord and understanding then it had been but foolishness or delusion.
Wary, she gazed across the chamber at the figure standing by the great fireplace. His consort stood with her arms pulled tight around her body, gazing out towards the sea. Gazelle-like eyes distant, removed.
He had told her nothing when he appeared in the kitchen. He'd told Mor to prepare for Jhaan's imminent arrival and requested Fara fill a jug with water and meet him in the entrance hall. His tone had been cold and commanding, and he had barely met her eyes after the moment he'd happened upon she and Mor at the table. Afraid he may have overheard them and not wanting to displease him further, she had simply moved to do as he bid.
It had been all she could do not to drop the jug when she saw what awaited her. His hand placed tenderly upon Iaria of Asalla's shoulder, his eyes soft and filled with concern as he gazed down at her.
Her fingers had tightened into fists, her body trembling with quiet rage. With only a cursory glance in her direction, he requested Fara show her to the chamber next to his own while he "went to fetch her a soothing bath."
In absolute silence, Fara had led Iaria of Asalla up the great winding staircase of Teredia and into the chamber next to Theodan's.
Some great misfortune had befallen his consort. Something which had not been apparent under the dark rock and setting sun below but which she saw clearly now. Her face had been beaten; garish purple markings around her eye and cheek, her lip swollen and torn, her hair matted and dirty. A surge of pity rose through Fara the longer she looked at her.
On tentative steps, she moved toward her across the chamber. 'Are you thirsty?' Fara asked. 'It is but water, but I can fetch you some wine if you would prefer it?'
Iaria did not acknowledge the question at first, before turning her head, as though only now remembering she was not alone in the chamber.
'Water is fine. I thank you,' she said. Between them, the air rattled, tight and constrained.
Fara moved to the small table where a tray was pre-laid with a bowl and two cups. She poured the water and carried it across the chamber to Iaria. As she reached out to take it, Fara noticed that her fingernails were rimmed in dirt, a couple torn from their beds, the tips stained with hardened blood. Her hand shook as she brought the cup to her mouth and drank. Pity leaked further into Fara's bones.
'I can help you undress for your bath?'
Iaria's gaze softened on her then. 'Why are you being so?' Her voice too sounded scraped raw and sore. 'It is not in a woman's nature to be kind towards one who has injured her as I injured you.'
