Wicked Hunt

Chapter Ten, Part I

Halle: Alone

The bruise that she thought she would have on her inner left thigh was even worse than she expected. Halle held the small candle up to her skin and poked at the dark blotch. It stretched all the way to her knee and was turning the color of the sky after a storm. She sighed and placed the candle upon the bedside table. Adrian and Hector were leaving in an hour, and Halle was expected to wear a mask of happiness and see them off. It would be the last time she would see her brother.

Then she would be alone with her husband.

Last night had been like walking into a nightmare. Clive had led her from the smoky dancing to the field beside the citadel, his fingers wrapped round her wrist like a ring of iron. She'd been frightened but a little exhilarated. She had never been with a man intimately. Now, the time had come.

Yet, for all her hopes of tender lovemaking, Clive had hurt her. He'd led her past the crazed, masked people and through the tall dry grass. Once they were finally out of eyesight, he'd forced her onto her back. Instead of waiting until she was ready, he had jerked the thin fabric of her dress up above her knees with his rough hands and spread her legs apart. He'd barreled into her without warning, making her cry out in alarm and pain. Tears cascaded down her cheeks, a shameful waterfall that spilled into the dirt beneath her. Her back was ground so gruffly into the earth that a deep indentation formed. Clive had jerked her around and gripped her legs with such force, she was surprised he hadn't ripped them off. Then, after he'd finally had his fill and withdrawn, Halle drew into herself. She'd curled up onto her side and allowed the silent tears to fall more fervently. Clive had only gripped her chin and forced her face toward his.

"Your tears will go unheard from now on," he hissed at her making her cringe. "Your foolish brother has no idea what sort of hell he's just sent you to."

Then he'd forced her to turn over and lay on her stomach before assaulting her again.

He'd abandoned her there in the field, a crumpled shell that he had discarded and left to wither away into nothing. She did not know how long she had lain there in the ground, but no one had some looking for her. Halle had wanted to shrivel up and bury herself. Reluctantly, the dawn had drawn her up, and she'd slowly made her way to the keep, a beaten dog with its tail tucked between its legs.

Now, she had to face the morning.

Dot helped wash her. Bruce was not there to fill the tub up, but Halle was glad of his absence. She did not know if she could face his strange mismatched eyes, his leering smirk. Both women sat in silence afterward, Dot humming quietly as she mended the wedding dress where Clive had ripped it. Halle sat on the edge of her bed, drifting between sleep and wakefulness. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Clive overtop of her, grinning maliciously with the sharp antlers about his head.

He is like a savage animal, Halle thought. She looked about her room, seeing all its flaws now where before she had only seen endless opportunity. Before, Dunhelm had seemed a blank canvas, awaiting her mark to be bestowed upon it. Now, it disgusted her. She thought to make this place her home, prove to everyone that she could succeed and be a good wife. Now, she no longer cared. She did not want to leave her room and explore the endless halls and see the majestic views of the mountains.

"Perhaps we should go down for breakfast?" Dot's humming had stopped. Her words were gentle but in the sweet sickly sense.

"No," Halle whispered, clenching her hands together. She looked up from them, catching the unwanted reflection in the mirror. She did not know the pale, sunken-eyed girl who sat, perched on the bed.

"You must," Dot said, sighing and laying her knitting off to the side. "You'll need your strength." She did not say more, but the implications were clear. Her wedding night would not be the only night her husband visited her. Halle felt her fingers pop. She had squeezed them too tightly.

"I'm...not hungry." Her voice cracked. Who was she? What was this weak, broken thing that could barely speak without crying? Dot shuffled closer, and Halle sat back, creating more space between them. Hesitantly, Dot reached out and gripped Halle's clasped hands.

"Please," Dot said solemnly, staring into her eyes earnestly and willing her to listen.

For some bizarre reason, Halle thought of Bruce: the jagged scar on his arm, more evidence of his father's cruel violence.

"I don't want my father to be disappointed, because then he takes it out on me."

"You're just here to wear pretty dresses and be my father's newest plaything, and you'd better play your part well, little dove, or it will be hell for all of us in the keep."

She felt some connection to him, some kinship now that she had seen his father's true form. Listlessly, she nodded. Her eyes seemed glazed over as she allowed Dot to help her to her feet. Her thighs ached. A dull pain persisted between her legs, and she could barely walk, but she raised her chin, ignoring the throb in her shoulders. Her face set into a firm frown. She did not know if she could smile, but she let Dot lead her by the arm and out into the hall anyway. The air felt stale as it hit her face.

People passed her in a blur. She barely felt the weight of the stairs as they descended them. Twice, Dot turned and murmured something to her, but her words were hazy. Halle could not focus on what she was saying. The decorations were gone. No trace of the ceremony was left. No extra people milled about the halls. Everyone, it seemed, had left.

Even him? Even...Halle gulped. The Commander?

Finally, heat crept back into her body, replacing the still coldness that had clenched her since last night. The bath had not warmed her even though Dot had boiled it before filling the tub. The sun's rays bounced off her unnoticed, her temperature frigid and declining as if she had been frozen by snow. Now, she slowly began to thaw. Her fingers still felt numb, but color rose to her cheeks, startling her more than anything.

The sharp brutality that seemed to cling to all the men in Verlic did not touch him the way it did the others. There was a stark contrast to the Commander as opposed to her husband. Maybe that was why she felt continually drawn to him. She knew he was cruel. One did not become the Commander of Clive Palisade's Watch without being so. It seemed a prerequisite. Yet, there was something different about him. The strength of his harshness only excited her instead of scaring her. He wore the cloak of violence like a trait of survival instead of a badge of honor. He understood its necessity but did not prey upon others to pursue it.

Halle shivered, allowing the ice to return. Her cheeks cooled. Or perhaps the Commander did. Perhaps he was more like Clive than she knew. How could she? She had barely spoken to him. She acted like she knew him, yet she did not. She knew nothing about him. He could be a deranged murderer and worse than her husband.

A tall order.

"Here," Dot cooed softly. Her kindness was like a stab to the gut. She thought she would not be treated like a baby here, in the harsh Verlic world. She did not want sympathy, but after last night she almost craved it. It made her feel contradictorily weak.

The archway loomed above them, pointed and unwelcoming. Halle held her breath as Dot stepped aside and nudged her into the dining room.