The Iron Duke’s Ruin

First Demand

The corridor was really quiet. It was then that the truth of the trap really hit her. This happened every evening. She was always alone.

Her mother’s soft voice came to her, weak from her sickbed: “The duke is a hard man, but a fair one. Do your work well, and he’ll see you right.” Elara closed her eyes. Her mother saw a nobleman. Elara saw the predator in his eyes, the one that had looked at her and seen prey.

She pushed off the wall and continued to the small, plain room she now occupied off the kitchen.

This room used to belong to her mother. You could still smell the soothing oils and the soap she used, it was a smell that made her feel better. Elara lit one candle on the table where she washed her face. When she looked in the mirror her face looked white. Her eyes looked really big.

Elara looked like a girl who was really scared and did not know what to do. The room was quiet and the candle made funny shadows on the wall. Elara looked at herself in the mirror again; She was in her mothers old room.

Her fingers went to her hairpin. She pulled it out. Her hair just came undone. All these chestnut waves fell down her shoulders and back. It felt really personal doing this by herself in her room. She was just standing there, her hair over the place and it was like she was sharing a secret with herself. Her hairpin was still, in her hand. Her hair was free and that felt kind of nice.

The hair was a part of her she kept contained for practicality, for anonymity. Down, it was just… her. She met her own gaze in the glass. Tomorrow, he will see this. He would know she had obeyed.

The thought sent a shiver through her that was not entirely fear. It was a recognition of an dangerous game that Alistair Edger had started. In this game her compliance was a move and the Duke’s attention was the prize she both dreaded and in an shameful corner of her soul really wanted.

Across the estate in the north wing Alistair Edger stood at the window of his private study watching the moon make the garden look silver. He still held the letter opener in his hand its cool metal a contrast to the excitement in his blood. Alistair could still smell her in the library. Not her perfume, but the smell of starch, from her uniform, the clean smell of soap and underneath something that was just hers.

He had orchestrated it perfectly. The demand for evening attendance was a masterstroke, a claim on her time woven into the fabric of her duty. He owned her days; now he would own her nights too. They both knew the reason he gave was weak. The library was spotless.

He wanted to see if she would bend. And she had. That soft, reluctant “No, Your Grace” had been a surrender more potent than a kiss.

But the hair. That had been an impulse. A raw scrape of need across the carefully constructed order of his command. He’d watched the tight knot at the nape of her slender neck all evening, imagining pulling the pin free himself, watching it all tumble down. He wanted to see it loose. He wanted to see if it would make her look as wild and undone as she made him feel.

His eyes fell on the invitation that was on his desk. It had the emblem of House Vane stamped on it.

Lady Seraphina. The political alliance his advisors whispered was essential. A merger of lands, of influence, of cold, bloodless legacy. He pictured her—polished, elegant, speaking in calculated phrases. The perfect duchess. The thought left him cold.

He thought of Elara’s trembling chin, there was a fight going on inside her. The girl was trying to be brave. She was also very scared. He saw it in her eyes.

What really got to him was the way Elara's breath hitched when he got too close. That was heat. That was life. It was a damned inconvenient time to discover a conscience, or whatever this gnawing, possessive hunger was. He was a duke. He took what he wanted. Yet with her, the taking had to be a seduction. He needed her to want it, too. The game was the only thing tempering the violence of his need.

The next evening, the house settled into a deeper quiet. Elara stood before her mirror again. Her hair fell in a soft wave over her shoulders, as he had commanded. She had tried to re-pin it three times, her hands shaking. Each time, she heard his voice. ‘Distracting.’ She left it down. It felt like walking to the gallows in a wedding dress.

She walked into the library at the time. He was already there standing by the fireplace, which was not lit. He was a dark shape against the dark wall behind him. The room had the soft yellow light as before. It felt like she was walking into a dream or a trap that had been waiting for her all day.

"You are on time " he said, his voice deep and smooth breaking the silence. He turned to face her. His eyes looked directly at her hair. He looked at her slowly from the top of her head down to where her hair touched her arms.

She felt like he was touching her. She felt warm where his eyes had looked. He did not say anything about her hair. She could tell he had noticed it by the way he looked at her and by the way his jaw got a little tighter. "The high shelves on the east wall need to be cleaned, " he said.

This was not true. The shelves were clean.. If she cleaned them she would have to use the library's ladder and her back would be to him which would make her feel vulnerable. Elara. Said, "Yes Your Grace.” very quietly. She got the basket of cleaning tools and moved slowly trying to look calm but it was impossible with his presence.

Elara could feel his eyes on her as she climbed the ladder. The sound of her skirts moving and her hair touching her shoulders seemed loud in the quiet room. She looked at the books on the shelves and dusted them. She focused on the feeling of the cloth in her hand and the books under her fingers.

She did not hear him move. But the girl felt the air change. She felt warm. The ladder creaked a little as he stepped onto the step. Elara stopped moving with her dusting cloth in the air.

She could feel his body heat through her uniform. He was very close to her. If she leaned back she would touch him. She stayed still with all her muscles tight. She could smell him. He smelled like sandalwood, clean clothes and something sharp and male.

This smell was very different from the scent of the boys in the village, who smelled like ale. His own smell was expensive, powerful and attractive.

"You did what I said " he said, his voice low and close to her ear. He was not talking about the dusting.

Elara's breath caught in her throat. She looked hard at the title of a book: ‘Treatises, on Land and Legacy’ She could not speak.

"Look at me " he said. This was not a request. It was a command. She had to do it.