Chapter 69
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The keep, quiet enough already, fell into a silence more profound than ever—still as a tomb.
And then, as surely as night follows day, the evening arrived.
As faithfully as the night itself, Jayden sent his message—a command to fulfil that day’s duty.
She wondered, with a flicker of petty satisfaction, whether he would be so diligent in managing his own affairs if Caligo were to drive a blade through his back. The spiteful thought lifted her spirits, if only a little.
Marie busied herself alongside Fiona, preparing her for the night ahead. With a worried expression, the maid tended to her mistress’s bedding and helped her into her nightclothes, just as she had done the previous evening.
Though ignorant of the precise circumstances, Marie was dimly aware that the relations between the Grand Duke and his bride were far from ordinary. She also knew, despite never having laid eyes upon him, that the master of this keep was a man so brutal and fearsome he was called the Beast.
Proud Fiona had never once complained, but Marie had witnessed her mistress return from her husband’s chamber night after night, utterly spent. And now that the venue had abruptly shifted to her lady’s own room, the maid’s anxieties had only deepened. For that morning, she had seen the ruined, soiled bedclothes and the livid fingerprints encircling Fiona’s wrist.
Though not entirely inexperienced with men, Marie had been fortunate enough never to encounter one so savage. Her heart ached for Fiona, forced to submit to such a husband.
Thus, she attended to her mistress with the solemnity of a squire arming a knight for battle.
She carefully brushed Fiona’s lustrous red hair and helped her into fresh cotton garments. As was her habit, she reached for the vial of oil.
But then, realisation dawned, and her face drained of colour.
“My lady….”
At the maid’s trembling voice, thick with dismay, Fiona turned, puzzled.
“The oil… it is finished, my lady.”
Understanding struck Fiona immediately, and her face stiffened to match Marie’s.
It was no exaggeration to say that the oil alone had made her encounters with Caligo bearable thus far. Without it, she might have endured the agony of being torn apart each time, let alone accommodating that monstrous appendage.
“There is no way to obtain more? Even now?”
She knew the answer even as she asked, but hope compelled her. True to her fears, Marie shook her head.
“We brought only a small quantity to begin with… The last vial must have been used yesterday. I could request more when supplies next arrive, but when that might be….”
In other words, there was no help to be had tonight. An unforeseen calamity.
‘Perhaps I should just bury my face in the pillow and expire on the spot.’
But even that indulgence was denied her. The hour of Caligo’s arrival drew steadily nearer.
“I shall manage somehow. Do not worry. You may go.”
Despite her inward urge to tear her hair out, Fiona spoke with forced composure. She did not wish to alarm Marie further. But the truth was, she had no solution whatsoever.
Marie left the chamber, her expression one of helpless regret. In the darkened room, only Fiona remained, utterly alone, with no defence against the husband she must soon receive.
‘Damn it. What am I to do?’
Once Marie was gone, Fiona clutched at her hair with both hands and began to tug, desperately scouring her mind for some solution.
And then, a thought struck her. Her grip on her hair tightened.
There was, in fact, a way to moisten herself without oil. The primordial lubricant that, by nature’s design, should seep from a woman’s body to ease the union of man and wife.
The trouble was the means of obtaining it….
“Ugh!”
The mere thought of it made her want to die of shame. Yet the rational corner of her mind acknowledged that there was no other remedy.
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