S. E. Aeghann
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Luther's Pride Part 44
🕑 Added 2025-11-19 13:00:11 +0000 UTCLuther, Helena, Jowangshin, Eira, Rhosyn, and Criella dressed in the library with haste. Their discarded clothes were among their less refined garments, so smoothing them was enough to make themselves presentable.
Luther opened the library doors to find no one nearby, and it wasn’t until the group reached the kitchens that they found any servants. They ate a light, quick breakfast, enough to fuel their stomachs but not weigh them down, and then Criella prepared for battle. Wulfric took her and Luther to her apartments, the guest suite nearest the offices, to dress in her armor and prepare her weapons.
Criella had barely placed her breastplate on with Luther’s help, fastening it, when someone knocked at the door.
Criella was decent, even behind the changing screen, so she told the knocker to enter. “Come in!”
Wulfric made it two steps into the room before he hurriedly divulged his information. “My lord, your guests have arrived, and Duke Beaudivere is among them, along with his spouses.”
Luther’s lips drew into a thin line. Raoul had mentioned the duke as a levied threat. His hatred of demihumans, particularly asmodeans, meant Criella would never get a fair trial at his hands. Did it also mean that if she won against the Feothe clan, she’d have to face the Duke’s scrutiny or even challenge?
That was preposterous. The Duke had no claim to challenge her, or Luther, for that matter. So why attend? Surely he hadn’t married someone as low in society as the Feothe clan? Alarm filled Luther with its heart-rattling anxiety, and Wulfric must have seen it in his eyes.
“The Feothe Clan and the Duke’s family are two separate groups we did not account for,” Wulfric explained. “I have the servants preparing quarters for the Duke, as I expect he will wish to remain after the bout, if not to spend the night, then at least for the day.”
Luther nodded, still processing every potential issue that might arise during the duke’s unexpected visit.
“The good news is, his arrival saves you from having to complete the journey to the duke’s estate to swear your fealties,” Criella said, coming out from behind the screen.
Wulfric nodded.
Luther ran his hand through his hair, ruffling its already disheveled appearance.
“Wyll is waiting to prepare you for your audience, my lord.” Wulfric bowed and departed. Luther didn’t blame him for not waiting for Luther to dismiss him. The Duke’s arrival whipped the servants into a frenzy of cleaning, polishing, and preparing. The kitchens would no doubt be working double-time.
How many spouses did the Duke have? They must be a mighty union to hold such an office. Such information was precisely the type of intelligence he’d turn to Criella for, with her knowing the local politics and people far better than he. Yet she was preparing to fight a battle she had slim odds of winning, and he might lose her.
“I can see the panic on your face, Luther,” Criella said, cupping his cheek in her hand. “You need to do better at masking your emotions.”
“I will, when I’m before others,” Luther said. “But I’d never be able to wear a mask you couldn’t see through.”
Criella kissed his cheek. “Go on, Wyll is waiting, and I need to prepare. We can’t spend every second together until I enter the arena.”
Luther disagreed, but he saw the wisdom in her words. He cupped her cheek. This wasn’t goodbye. He had to remind himself that Criella was a capable duelist, and with the added power from Luther and his other spouses, she had a decent chance if she moved quickly.
“I love you,” Luther said, staring into her eyes.
“I love you, too, husband,” Criella whispered the last part so softly even Luther wasn’t sure he heard it.
Wulfric turned around as they drew closer to each other. Luther kissed her, and she kissed him, the two of them wrapped in each other’s arms as their tongues danced together and their lips molded to each other. The world faded away, and the connection between them hummed with power. If half her clothes weren’t metal, Luther would have ripped them off then and there. Instead, he allowed her tail to wrap around him, then stepped back when it slid away. He released her hands last, only when he had to.
“I’ll see you out there,” Luther said, catching his breath and doing his best to keep the tears behind his eyes. “Kill every last one of those bastards. No mercy.”
“The only mercy I’ll give them is that of a quick death with a sharp blade. They may die in dignity, and relatively painlessly, that is the only mercy left.”
Luther smiled. Criella wasn’t a warrior, but she had the heart of one beating somewhere in her chest. He prayed to the gods above that it would be enough.
“I love you, Criella,” He said again as he left.
“And I love you, Luther,” Criella answered, sobering as she spoke what might be her last words to her new, secret husband.
The door closed behind him, and Luther took a moment to steady himself in the hallway. To his credit, Wyll waited patiently for him to straighten, and when he did, Wyll led him quickly to his apartments.
His wives were busy in their chambers, bustling through their outfits with their maidservants, preparing to present themselves to Duke Beaudivere and his family. Wyll, likewise, began the task of gathering Luther’s finery as he washed himself to make himself presentable.
Luther was in his trousers, vest, and tailcoat in record time. The various pieces of jewelry he chose to wear from his travels had purposes beyond decoration, but he didn’t explain that as Wyll complimented his selections. A ring on each hand, an amulet beneath his shirt, a torc on his left wrist, a timepiece in his vest pocket, and a rapier in its decorative sheath on his hip.
His gold-trimmed suit was black velvet, the gold threads embroidering patterns reminiscent of natural vines and leaves, which was much like his father’s style of finery. Wulfric had prepared a wardrobe from his measurements, and it appeared the fabricators had assumed his style matched his late father’s preferences. Luther didn’t fault them, or even protest. Though he intended to make adjustments to the next order of clothing he submitted.
Among his spouses, Helena was the first to be ready. The tall woman with thick muscles wore a spotless white gown that matched her platinum blonde hair. She pinned her hair with jeweled clips that kept it close to her head, and swept it over her ears before it cascaded behind her in waves to the middle of her back. The top of her dress couldn’t hide her massive breasts, but it covered them to a collar that cinched around her throat, where a silver band with a single diamond rested as a choker.
Jowangshin wore the red robes of her office as a priestess of the temple. Her formal regalia draped over her tight underwrappings, then billowed in folds of silk that rippled with her movements. As the nearest member of the clergy, they’d likely ask her to perform the ceremonies for the fallen after the challenge—an unfair request, really, given her friendship with Criella. No, he couldn’t think like that. Criella had a chance to win this challenge, and he’d do everything he could to see her the victor.
Eira and Rhosyn wore matching silver gowns. Eira tied hers with sashes of blue silk, the shade of a blue jay’s wing. The sash belt matched the ribbons on her sleeves and in her straight ebony hair. Rhosyn’s dress matched Eira’s, but her sashes and ribbons were the red of maple leaves. Both looked somber and remained quiet as they entered the apartment’s common room. Eira refused to meet Luther’s eyes.
“Did you look?” Luther asked Eira.
Eira shook her head. “No, my lord. I do not want to. Please don’t—”
“I won’t ask you,” Luther assured her.
He understood. Luther didn’t know the spell that Eira used to look forward into the future, and what its ramifications might be, but Eira had the notion that whatever she saw was doomed to happen. So he didn’t press. The future might still hold hope while it remained a mystery, but to know what came next was the path to certain despair.
“From your finery, I take it that they’ve told you the Duke is here?” Luther asked.
The others nodded.
“The servants are in a tizzy over it. Apparently, he’s quite handsome, and younger than expected.” Jowangshin said as she adjusted her sleeves.
Luther sighed. Depending on the age, the duke’s youth might be a good thing. It meant his biases and prejudices might not be beyond alteration. On the other hand, it could mean that he relied more on older partners and spouses for guidance, who only reinforced detrimental beliefs.
“Any idea how many people we’re hosting for the foreseeable future?” Luther asked.
“Well, the five members of the Feothe clan, Criella, Emily, the duke, and his fourteen spouses,” Helena listed off the groupings. They had yet to see Emily this morning, but she was no doubt going to attend the challenge in the arena if her brother was fighting it. Then again, she came here for protection from the Feothe clan, so Luther had no intention of making her face them if she did not wish to see them. Others might consider her refusal to watch her brother’s death cowardice on her part, but Luther would never hold it against her.
If he didn’t have to be there to officiate the challenge, he might not risk sitting in the arena to watch Criella’s death. Even now, he hoped against all odds that fortune might favor her and that she might yet win this battle against their mutual enemies.
If, however, the Feothe’s proved victorious over Criella and killed her in front of him, they could expect no mercy from Luther. He would challenge and execute every last living member of the Feothe family, and anyone who loved or supported them.
“Are you okay, my lord?” Rhosyn’s soft voice cut through his dark thoughts, and he looked at her to see fear in her eyes as she stared at him.
“Of course he’s not okay,” Helena said, clamping her hand onto Luther’s shoulder. “But he’ll pull it together before the duke and his family, right?”
The question was more of a command, but Luther nodded his acknowledgment. He had to feign propriety for a few minutes more.
Luther straightened and adjusted the fall of his tailcoat as he brushed his waist. He patted his pocket, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Don’t worry,” Eira said, taking his hand in hers. “We’re with you.”
Luther squeezed her hand, and together the group left the apartments behind and descended the stairs. Luther headed the V with Eira and Jowangshin on his right, and Rhosyn and Helena on his left. The Duke and his spouses in Luther’s hall raised their eyes to their descent.
Emily stood among them, having clearly met at least one of the duke’s spouses before their current, familiar conversation. They’d been holding hands and talking by the door, stopping when the Le Fey family arrived.
Luther easily singled out the duke by his regalia. His tailcoat was golden, and the material shimmered as he straightened. His breeches were tight enough to cling to his legs, and the makeup on his eyes enhanced their natural beauty, giving him an elegant, if somewhat foppish, appearance.
The fourteen spouses surrounding him were a small crowd of varying sizes, genders, and dress. Luther’s eyes scanned them all as he approached, but remained on the duke as he came to the bottom of the stairs. The spouses cleared and surrounded them, forming a wide arc as Luther and his spouses bowed and curtsied to the duke.
“Your grace,” Emily spoke up. “Allow me to present our host to you, his lordship, Luther Le Fey, and his spouses, Helena, Rhosyn, Eira, and Jowangshin.”
The duke, a young man just past twenty, eyed Luther, but did not return his bow. Instead, he let Luther remain in it as he conducted his passing appraisal. “Such a pretty man,” the duke said at last, returning the bow. “Is it true what Branan tells me? Are you deficient in your tastes?”
“We all have our preferences, your grace.” Luther straightened, released from his bow as his partners rose from their curtsies. He stood a head taller than the duke, but did his best not to look down on him as he met his gaze. They had the attention of the entire gathering, with every eye on Luther. He cut a fine figure in his tailored suit, but more than that, he had the posture and bearing of a man capable of using the sword on his hip to deadly effect.
“The rumors of your wit and charm are true, I see. That was such a polite way of confirming your prejudice,” The duke said as his eyes followed the gentle tips of Luther’s ears. “A pity, but that’s the fey blood in you, I suppose. Your father was so bigoted that he refused any partner after breeding your mother. I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky that you accept women. If half your father’s blood means half his prejudices, perhaps it will breed out in a few generations.”
The duke laughed, and his spouses laughed with him.
Luther’s spouses looked aghast, as did Emily, but Luther kept the smile on his face, calm and relaxed as his eyes darkened at the insulting mention of his mother. He had yet to discover the duke’s purpose in saying something so blatantly disrespectful, but he expected it was merely a demonstration of his ability to do so. This was a young man who’d never experienced repercussions for his actions and who considered himself untouchable. He must have had a powerful arcana and natural talent for magic, or he relied heavily on the small army of partners supporting him and indulging his behavior.
“Perhaps so, your grace,” Luther answered, his tone polite, as if the duke had conjectured on the weather. His comments had already confirmed that he was here because of Branan, whom he obviously conversed with at leisure. Friends, perhaps, or at least, associates. Though given that Branan was in his father’s employ, it made more sense if Branan was the duke’s informant on his father’s activities. One of his many friends and spies in the area, with enough power to be useful, but not enough to be troublesome to the duke. “I’m only thankful that I have better taste in lovers than many have in friends.”
Everyone in the hall stiffened, as if Luther had slapped the duke with his hand. The duke’s shock at the remark prevented an immediate response, so Luther continued.
“Please, forgive the abrupt introduction and departure, your grace, but I’m required at the arena for a challenge occurring at dawn. The Feothe clan has foolishly pressed a grudge against a local solicitor, and I must preside, as is the law.” Luther bowed his farewell.
“Oh, don’t be silly,” The duke said, laughing with his partners. “I’ll be the one presiding over the match.”
“As you wish, your grace, I didn’t seek to presume,” Luther bowed. “I take it the challenge is the reason for your visit, then?”
“And the fealty ceremony, of course,” The duke said. “You’ve signed the papers, and everything’s ready, if you’re ready to take the knee and swear your loyalty to your lord.”
“Of course,” Luther said, nodding. “Should that be now, or after the challenge?”
The duke chuckled. “Where’s your sense of pomp and ceremony? Eh? Where’s your pride, Luther? We’ll have the ceremony later. It should be a grand affair, with the new lord of this shire swearing their service to me and the empire. It’s a sacred occasion, and certainly due more attention than the quick execution of this devilspawn.”
To everyone’s surprise, Luther’s smile remained unaltered. Once the mask was on, it didn’t change its features. “Of course, my lord. We’ll make a party of it, I’ll see that my man sends out the invitations to the people at once.”
“There’s a good man,” The duke said, nodding his approval. “Or half of one, anyway.” His partners laughed again.
Luther gestured to one of the servants standing by with a tray of drinks, and they stepped forward. He took a flute of the alcohol-infused juice. “See that Wulfric’s informed immediately.”
The servant nodded and vanished faster than a diving falcon.
“Come along, everyone!” The duke shouted and turned on his heel. “Branan always puts on a good show.”
And with that, the duke and his company led the way to the arena, with Emily and the Le Fey family following behind. They filled the seats, and Luther spotted Criella standing at the edge of the packed earth. Her armored breastplate was the most metal she seemed to wear, with armor-plated leather covering her shoulders, thighs, and arms. She bore a sword on each round hip, and one on her back, with sheathed knives secured on her forearms, abdomen, and belt.
Branan and his spouses stood on the other side of the arena, dressed as they were when they fought the Verdells. Lucas was the only new member of their clan, and he wore very little armor, if any, from what Luther could see.
Members of the duke’s union approached each party with the papers for them to sign, and each party signed away its final rights to withdraw the challenge. Luther didn’t realize he was clenching his fists until Helena and Eira put their hands over his. Each tightened their grip on his arms, as if holding him in place. He didn’t know whether to thank or curse them for it. He had no doubt Helena would keep him in place if he tried to rush to the field.
The officers returned the papers to the duke, who signed them as presider without looking at them. He was here for the entertainment and eager to get on with the show. Luther’s stomach snarled at the thought. His pulse accelerated with every step Criella took. He reached out and seized his connection to her, sensing her presence with his arcana the same way he could his other wives. He didn’t meld his spirit to hers for fear of distracting her, but wrapping himself over her spirit was the closest he could come to holding her hand.
Criella entered the arena first. Marne, Raoul, Branan, Seahild, and Lucas entered from the opposite side. The duke and his partners took the raised center seats, leaving Luther and his spouses to sit on Criella’s side, while servants from the household and a few locals who heard of the affair watched at the railing, in seats, or from nearby.
The Feothe clan formed a tight cross with Branan at the center, Raoul furthest from Criella, Lucas closest to her, and Marne and Saehild on either side. Criella looked to the stands and made eye contact with Luther. She said everything she needed to with her gaze, and he answered her in kind. Then she turned her eyes onto her enemies as the duke rose to his feet.
“Good morning! It falls on me to preside over this challenge, and I’m eager to see us begin! The Feothe family has dutifully served me in the past, and they seek justice for the mistreatment they suffered at the hands of this solicitor for her dubious dealings with her former clients. We stand in witness to this challenge! May justice be served! May the mighty prove victorious! Kill her!”
None of Luther’s family, nor his servants, applauded. Their silent glares killed the brief, pathetic applause the duke’s spouses gave, even as he laughed at his own wit and sat with a cheer.
And with that, the battle began.
Comments
Trey
The antici.... pation.
Patrick Olsen
Damn I can't wait to see what happends i agree duke is a pompus asshole but with right partners he should be a one man army
Flamethrow
By his deliberately disrespectful attitude and comments, the duke seems intent on provoking a challenge by Luther. All power to Criella!!
S. E. Aeghann
https://discord.gg/JB662sws
Frankenf4rter
Wow! This is an intense story. How do I get a link to the discord?
