Horse hooves struck the wet stones with a tired rhythm. Lady Matilda pulled the reins of her gray horse as she gazed at the walls of Valmont Castle looming in the distance. She dismounted from her saddle, wiping the road dust from her leather gloves. Behind her, Martha followed carrying heavy fabric bags, her breath choppy from the long shopping trip. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the edge of her dirty sleeve, then said:
"My lady..."
The creaking sound of the iron gate interrupted her as the guards pushed it open. The inner courtyard filled Matilda with tenderness, and it seemed larger than she remembered, making her feel nostalgic as if she hadn't lived here for the past eight years. Since the moment of her marriage, she had lived here inside this castle, never leaving except this morning... to shop.
But the spray from that central fountain that cooled the heavy air always caught visitors' attention. The stable boy hurried to take the horses, and Matilda headed toward the main entrance.
The peaceful sunset rays flooded the courtyard, prompting Martha to raise her head and look at the sky before bowing: "My lady, would you like me to ask the kitchens to prepare the evening meal?"
Matilda shook her head as she climbed the stone entrance steps, her hand sliding on the cold banister: "Later, Martha. Let me settle in first." Throughout the journey, she had been thinking only of a warm bath and a soft bed.
"Don't forget to send me warm water."
Martha nodded and headed toward the kitchens. They parted at the top of the main staircase.
Matilda lifted the edge of her long dress as she climbed toward the upper floor, heading to her bedroom. When she arrived, she pushed the door behind her and removed her woolen cloak, throwing it on the upholstered seat near the window, and did the same with her leather gloves. Her fingers played with strands of her chestnut hair, trying to free them from the metal pins that had held them all day.
She headed toward the gilded mirror hanging above the small fireplace. Her face looked pale, tired.
Suddenly, a strong hand clamped over her mouth from behind.
Her chest was pressed hard by a solid arm, and air was squeezed from her lungs. She tried to scream, but fingers clamped cruelly over her lips. Her eyes widened in terror. Despite standing in front of the mirror, she couldn't see who was holding her from behind. Another arm encircled her waist and pulled her back violently.
Her feet moved frantically, kicking the air, as she tried to bite the fingers blocking her breath.
Her heart began beating frantically until she imagined she could hear its beats in her ears. He turned her slowly, and in the dim light she saw his familiar face. Her eyes widened further.
She gasped: "Dorian?"
She said with difficulty through his fingers.
Dorian Fogg loosened his grip slightly, but didn't release her completely. His black hair hung over his forehead, carved with divine care, but what distinguished him were those silver eyes—those gray eyes that always carried a mischievous yet fascinating look. That damned man was handsome to the extreme degree. Attractive despite his face being clean-shaven and beardless, unlike most masculine knights. He wore a long white robe with a pointed hood, making him look like a thief.
He said in a low, rough voice: "Calm down."
Matilda pushed his hand away from her mouth and stepped back.
"H... how? How did you get in again?" Her voice was trembling. Her gaze jumped toward the door, then the window, then back to his eyes. "If anyone sees you..." She swallowed with difficulty. "The guards, Martha, anyone..."
He said while taking one step toward her: "Calm yourself, Matilda. It's easy when one knows all the passages of this castle."
She backed away fearfully until her back hit the edge of the bed. Her hands felt the soft covers behind her while her eyes watched him.
"What are you doing here?" She tried to make her voice more firm. "Aren't you supposed to be with the Shah's battalion fighting against..."
He placed his finger on her lips, silencing her.
"The Shah's battalion?" He laughed softly. "Sometimes, real battles are far from battlefields."
Dorian tilted his head slightly, then added: "I came to the capital... for you."
Before Matilda could comprehend his answer, she felt his arms encircle her waist.
Then with one swift movement, he lifted her as if she were a small child, not a grown woman. The world turned upside down for one moment. Her body rose upward, her feet swinging in the air, her chest colliding with his.
A strange feeling swept over her. Her body electrified in the places where his hands touched her.
He placed her gently on the edge of the bed, but he didn't pull away.
His knee brushed against hers, and his right hand settled beside her thigh on the embroidered fabrics.
The distance between them didn't exceed a single span.
Matilda tried to gather her breaths.
"Dorian, this..." She swallowed hard. "My husband, if he finds out..."
"Your husband, huh?"
His eyes gleamed with something akin to amusement.
Then he extended his hand and touched a lock of her dangling hair.
His fingers were cold and clean, just like his bare chin that didn't resemble other men's, his strange hand cleanliness contrasting with the other knights' hands, cracked from wars.
This man is suspicious... this person!
He said in his calm and controlled voice:
"Tell me, Matilda... how's your married life?"
He twirled the lock around his finger slowly.
Matilda's tension increased. "Dorian, listen..."
He interrupted her:
"Has he started neglecting you, huh? Have the wars and duties preoccupied him until he forgot you?"
Then he calmed a bit and leaned back, scrutinizing her facial features:
"I saw you this morning... shopping alone."
"Ah, I forgot, actually with the whore Seraphine."
She wanted to respond, but she couldn't find the words.
She said, hesitantly:
"He's... busy, I mean, his duties in..."
He interrupted her again with a tone laced with sarcasm:
"Being busy doesn't mean neglecting the one you love."
Then he drew closer a little, his eyes staring into her pupils:
"Here I am, nothing distracts me from you... when I want."
And suddenly, he moved quickly toward her.
He grabbed her wrists with his clean hands and pushed her back forcefully, so she fell onto the bed.
"Dorian! No!" she screamed, but her voice choked when he leaned over her and silenced her with a violent and hungry kiss. His lips pressed against hers insistently, as if carrying months of suppressed longing within them.
She tried to push him away with her palms, but he seized her wrists and pinned them above her head with just one hand this time, while he let his other hand roam her body with a frightening boldness.
His fingers passed over her neck, then slipped downward, feeling the swell of her breast over the thin fabric of her dress.
"Stop!" Her breaths were ragged, she tried to twist beneath him and escape his grip, but the weight of his body on top of her made resistance nearly impossible.
"Dorian!" she screamed, but her noble feminine voice came out weaker than she intended.
But Dorian paid no heed to her attempt. On the contrary, her resistance seemed to arouse his animalistic lust.
Then he released her wrists only to tear the delicate laces that tied the front of her dress, with a speed that suggested he was accustomed to such moments.
"You're mine, Matilda," he whispered in her ear, his hot breath teasing her earlobe.
"You've always been mine, and a ring on your finger won't change that fact."
Matilda's rapid breaths as she desperately tried to preserve her dignity and honor were pitiful.
In that critical moment, Dorian stopped suddenly. He pulled out a necklace that was hidden under his shirt, a thin black leather cord holding a small piece of shiny black stone, and in its center, a red eye like ruby glowing peacefully.
"Look," he whispered as he lifted the necklace in front of her face, "I still wear it since you gave it to me. I haven't taken it off for a single day."
Matilda stared at the necklace, and all emotions mixed within her—pain, fear, astonishment... but Dorian shattered all that when he caught her off guard and gripped the side of her thigh violently, his fingers quickly leaving a reddened mark on her bare skin.
It was painful, but she didn't know how she felt this strange sensation, pleasure... how she felt a wave of ecstasy coursing through her body despite herself.
She closed her eyes and surrendered to this bewildering feeling that mixed fear and pleasure in a way she had never known before.
Suddenly, Martha the maid knocked on the door gently.
"My lady, I've brought you the warm water as you requested," she said in her calm voice.
But no response reached her from inside. Matilda was completely immersed in a whirlwind of conflicting sensations, not knowing if this was pleasure, or pain, or both...
Martha waited a little, then repeated: "My lady Matilda? Are you alright?"
Silence still hung over the room. Anxiety began to creep into the maid's heart. She approached the door more closely and pressed her ear against it.
What she heard made her shudder.
"Ahhh,"
"Ahhhhhh"
There were faint sounds, moans and intermittent groans.
Martha was just a simple Bedouin girl; she had never had sex in her life, nor had her hand even been touched at seasonal dance parties. At twenty years old, in the eyes of those around her, she was considered to have missed the marriage train by a long shot. Most of her peers in the village had worn white and gone off to their husbands' homes, and some had already given birth to children.
As for her, since the moment she arrived in the capital and joined as a maid for Lady Matilda, she had been nurturing small dreams for herself; she didn't aspire to a knight or a noble, but just a kind man, a stable worker or a shoemaker, anyone who might notice her as she passed the water, or smile at her if she coughed shyly.
But she remained there, waiting.
And waiting...
No one knocked on her door, and no one paid her any attention. Even during holidays, when the girls would huddle in the corner whispering about the eyes that had glanced at them, she would stay silent, content with smiling... and waiting.
But this time she didn't wait; she thought her lady was in grave danger, perhaps in pain or dying.
Panic pushed Martha to shove the door open forcefully while screaming: "My lady! What's happening?"
She burst inside, her eyes darting quickly around the room. She saw the bed in utter chaos, pillows scattered and covers thrown on the floor. And in the midst of this mess was Matilda alone, covering her naked body with a white sheet, her chestnut hair spread messily over her shoulders.
Martha looked around the room and noticed the window wide open, the silk curtains flapping violently in the cold wind.
She hurried to close the window while saying in a trembling voice: "I apologize deeply, my lady! I thought you were in severe danger when I heard... heard strange sounds, so I feared for you."
She didn't answer her.
She turned to Matilda and was shocked by what she saw. Her lady's eyes were wide open, staring at her with a strange look.
The young maid felt her limbs stiffen as soon as her eyes met that gaze, as if someone had blown ice into her bones.
So she hurried toward the door while muttering: "I'll leave you to rest, my lady."
She closed the door behind her gently, her heart pounding fiercely from the tension.
Down below, outside the castle walls, Dorian had already departed, mounted on his black horse.
While holding the reins with one hand, he used the other to fasten the belt of his leather cloak, tightening it at the waist. Then he ran his fingers through his black hair, as black as his horse, to rearrange it.
He muttered to himself as he urged the horse to move:
"Oh, the timing of that nosy, foolish maid."
Then he pulled on the reins harder than necessary, making the horse neigh and speed up.
"Damn!" he shouted loudly,
"I've gotten attached to her more than I should."
He was talking to himself: "That damned Matilda... she thinks she can use me as she pleases. She wants me to spy on Melissa."
"About her friendship with her husband, she's afraid their relationship might grow closer..."
He paused for a moment then added quickly, correcting himself: "Her husband? No, no... that man isn't her husband, just a man sharing her bed, nothing more."
He sneered with a harsh look as he spurred his horse on the stone-paved road: "She hates seeing Melissa close to her husband, burning with jealousy like a little girl deprived of her favorite toy. And me? I'm the fool who pants after her like an obedient dog!"
He shook his head as he patted his horse's neck: "Isn't that right, Scath? Isn't your master a obedient fool in the hands of a woman who doesn't even deserve to touch his boot?"
"I... Dorian Fogg!"
The black horse startled and raised its head, letting out a neigh that seemed to agree, as they disappeared into the rising evening mist...