Fated Desire

*trigger warning 18+* Summer 35th Year of the rule of William Farview - WF35 ‘I know who you are.’ The voice came out of the darkness, deep and rumbling. It lifted all the small hairs on the back of her neck and set her heart racing. Sastra, Duchess of Milany and Khama fought to steady her uneven breath. Was there any point in denying the truth? Stood in the stables, straws snapped beneath her soft slippers as she considered her options. Scream, fight, run away or outwit the shadow behind her? The sweet scent of hay filled the air. It was dark even with the window shutters open. Only the faintest starlight reluctantly reached through. With uncharacteristic care, she turned, keeping her movements slow. She had made a terrible mistake. There was a man between her and the exit. Dread coiled in her middle, stretching tendrils through her body. She wasn’t much of a fighter, and couldn’t see a way round the man, not without getting closer. She definitely didn’t want to get closer. Screaming might work, but she was supposed to be stealthy, unnoticed. The tavern, separated from the stables by a line of trees, felt impossibly far away. All the voices of patron’s distorted by distance. A single mage-light hung from the rafters in the center of the make-shift barn casting pale blue light onto the space. Beyond it, were two rows of horses. She could hear them shifting in their stalls or nosing the last few pony nuts around a tin bucket. The main door in the central wall had been left open, hoping to tempt a breeze in the stifling summer night. The horses couldn’t help her. ‘Who might that be?’ She tried to sound bored, or imperious but her voice trailed away. Fear threatened to steal her voice. So much for trying to outwit the stranger. What if she tried to scream, and no sounds came out? The man was huge, easily a head taller than she was. His broad shoulders blocked out the light and cast him into silhouette. His hands were planted on his hips. He stood at least three paces away, but she could smell the alcohol as it rose from his body. Could hear his labored breath, panting as his gaze roved over her body, linger as it had no right to do. He had tangled dark hair, tied back from his face and a heavy set brow. ‘King’s niece,’ the man grinned, showing his teeth in the darkness, ‘I bet I’ll be the first man to have you,’ he started to close the distance between them. He wasn't even educated enough to know her name or title. He sneered, ‘I’ll most likely be the last as well. I’ll use you so well, no man will ever touch you.’ Panic flipped her insides; she grimaced with disgust. Men had looked at this way before, she edged backwards, her gaze fixed on the door. There had to be a way to reach it, she thought, a way to escape. How would she get around the man? Should she dart left, or right? Sastra had seen Lady Knights. But they always seemed so confident, so sure in their movements. She hadn’t been allowed to follow that path and her limbs shook with fear. As though the strings of her corset were pulled too tight. ‘I’m afraid that you’re mistaken sir,’ she was a terrible liar, despite the recent scandal that had led her here, the middle of nowhere. He laughed and continued his steady steps forward as she stumbled, trying to retreat just as quickly. The long skirts of her dress tangled in a rope left in the straw and she tripped. Landing on her rump in the pile of gathered straw, with a yelp. The scent of it surrounded her, straw, manure and urine. ‘No common wench would speak like that,’ he teased. She heard a soft hiss as she twisted, struggling against her skirts to scramble back to her feet. Her legs were weak with horror. This had to be some terrible dream. Soon she would wake up, right? The hiss had sounded familiar and realisation threatened to stop her heart as she stood, only for her legs to give way beneath her, as though they couldn’t support her weight anymore. She had always considered herself to be a strong woman, but panic made it hard to breathe. Sastra struggled to clear her thoughts, to form a plan. How could this be happening? How could it be happening to her? ‘Please,’ Sastra wasn’t too proud to beg, words tumbled from her lips, ‘please, you’ll be rewarded if you let me go.’ What could she give him, other than her body? The hiss had been the sound of leather sliding against metal. There was a jangle as his buckle came away in his hand. She’d been desperately hoping that she’d misread the situation and his predatory behaviour. But why else would he be removing his belt? ‘There’s no reward that can equal taking you, princess. I’ll not get this chance again,’ his voice was hard with resolve. Dark eyes glinted with desire as he closed the distance. Men had looked at her with lust before, but never with such an undercurrent of malice. Nor would they have dared approach her alone. Never would they risk the reputation of the King’s Niece and the death sentence that would follow his wrath. But this wasn’t a nightmare, she wouldn’t lurch up in her bed. She wasn’t safe in the Palace surrounded by guards. That was the life she had run away from. This was the consequence. He laughed again, watching as she struggled in the straw. Her long blonde hair shining in the starlight that snuck through the cracks in the shutters. She wore a deep red dress, in the most expensive, most elaborate fabric he had ever seen. If she wasn’t the Duchess, he was certain she was a noble woman of some sort. An innocent maiden who should never be travelling alone so far from civilisation. ‘Stay down,’ he ordered and she rolled to her knees, determined to fight and flee. As if she stood a chance. Sastra screamed as he grabbed her, struggling to stand again until the rope rolled under her foot. White hot pain lanced through her ankle. She staggered with another shout as the man grabbed her by the shoulders. He forced her down into the straw till it wouldn’t give anymore, then flipped her around. She screamed again, kicking back in her soft slippers as the warm leather strap of his belt was wrapped around her neck. She gasped, head pulled back like a dog on a leash. Sastra clawed at the leather, eyes blurred with furious tears as she felt the strap tighten, choking the air from her body. He knelt behind her, and she felt his thick burly digits dragging against the treacherous cloth of her skirts, tugging them up from under her knees until frustration saw him rip the side seem. Dizziness came in waves, each one crashing faster than the last. Maybe it would be better to pass out. Her fingers were numb, slipping helplessly against the chokehold. ‘Stop fighting,’ he growled, ‘and I’ll make it easier for you. Maybe I’ll even let you live.’ Sastra squirmed with her body, throwing her weight forward as his unwelcome fingers smoothed over the soft flesh of her inner thigh. Direct and blundering in their quest to touch the most intimate parts of her body. Something long and hard pressed against her bottom as he held her upright. So this is how it would happen, how innocence would be lost. Striped away by a brutish stranger, instead of willingly given to a loving paramour. She felt as though she were falling through the air as his fingers sought her centre. Darkness closed in on all sides as her arms fell limp, dangling from her body. She landed with a soft thump in the straw, his weight heavy upon her. Trapped beneath him, she managed to draw breath. Then she twisted, the belt no longer tightened around her neck, she gasped for air which burnt starved lungs and kicked away from her attacker, even as the man was picked up and hauled away. Tossed against the side of the stables like a rag doll. He thudded face first into the wall with a crack before dropping onto the ground. There was a glint of shining liquid in the dim light. Blood. An arrow stuck out from the man's back. The left side where it could puncture his heart. ‘Sas,’ it was a low, gently accented voice that she recognised before a familiar face ducked into her view. ‘Your Grace? Are you alright?’ ‘Jason?’ Sastra was on her knees, all her fear abandoned as adrenaline saw her shaking. She threw her arms around the man. He pulled her back to her feet. Whereas the strength of the stranger had been terrifying, the hard muscles of her saviour made her feel safe. With one arm, he hugged her tight. The other still gripping his bow. Sastra clung to the man, burying her face in his neck as relief threatened to steal her strength just as certainly as terror. Of course he was here. Of course he had saved her. The man she loved. The man she had run away for. His fingers were lost to the golden tresses of her hair as he pressed a kiss to her temple. ‘Are you alright?’ He murmured again, voice tight with fury. How dare someone try to hurt the Duchess. ‘I’m fine,’ she closed her eyes and buried her face again, wiping away the tears that burnt pale blue eyes. ‘Everything is perfect, now that I have you.’