Soulmate Stories

The room is thick with the smell of incense and sex. The fabrics draping every surface are supposed to conjure images of exoticism and bronze lanterns hanging from the rafters cast everything in a soft glow. Conjuring an image of the desserts of Sharia or any of the other almost mythical kingdoms. Women's voices, soft or high, the sounds of laughing or moaning heard even through the thick wooden door in the entrance. The building from the tips of its tiling to the deepest layer of foundation is debauched. St. Pauls-Street filled with the sound of drunken revelories with men falling about here and there isn’t much better. I have to take in a few breaths before I can even touch the handle. 

My hired couch is already gone by the time I am stepping over the threshold. I try not to let the sound of the hooves stomping away dishearten me. I have to do this. I have no choice. I need to do this. My sister's happiness depends on it. I take one more calming breath, steadying myself then with all the confidence I can conjure I am entering the den of sin. My head held high. 

No one even glances at me. 

For once I am glad for my plain features, this is a place for pretty women and with my two wide cheekbones and thin features no one gives me a second glance. It helps that Samantha has given me her ladies maids attire. I am sure most simply assume I am one too, if it was known that the daughter of a baron had entered such an establishment. The scandal alone would be getting me stares if not my appearance. Still, I am glad for my plainess; it helps keep me concealed and obscured from view. My walk determined and with a clear objective must also help with such. 

I look around curiously at the forbidden world obscured from view from us women of finer blood or more inbred at least I think with mild amusement.

 There are women scantily clad, cleavage exposed and I turn away a blush creeping across my face. There are men drunk as skunks stumbling around, leaning over the pretty girls or else in alcoves and corners. Grunting and thrusting. I blush even more but let nothing stop me from my destination. 

I feel sweat on my palms though and my heart is already beating a mile a minute. Before I even make a choice that I know will irreparably condemn me to the monstrous heir to the duke's side.  The rumours of the francian rake circle in my head one more time, a thousand chittering voices filling my ears as I make my way across the establishment. I do not stop though even as my stomach begins to turn and I have to rub my sweat palms into my skirts or else they might start dripping. 

Joseph is by the stairs to the second floor like I expected and I can see surprise on his face when he recognizes me. I think that is the reason he lets me pass. Gliding past him before he even has time to react. For a moment he sits there as I start climbing the stairs. Wide eyed and staring. I am turning the corner when he realises he has let me through and as he starts to get up, to stop me. I grasp my skirts in my hands, the mens slippers sturdy on my feet and start sprinting. I can hear him fall behind me and know that he is after me now. I start heaving myself up taking two steps at a time, then when I hear him begin his pursuit three. Running with all my might. 

I can barely see the dim light casting everything in long shadows. Sweat sliding down my face and my arms as I run. The steps polished to perfection are almost slippery and for one instant I almost fail before I have even begun. My left foot slipping on the landing. I almost fall back but instead I use the motion to hural myself up and into the hall. Then I am off again, my feet pounding into the wood panelling, my chest heaving for breath.  

There is commotion behind me. A man’s voice yelling but I pay it no mind. I just run and run. As if my life depends on it sprinting through the halls. Nicer and more opulent than those below. With oaken doors that gleam by the light of the little flames behind me. 

His footsteps are like the dogs of hell after me but I just run harder. Faster. I know if this doesn't work I will be ruined. The shame of it could even ruin my family. But then Alice's face is conjured in my mind and I know with everything in my being that I can’t stop. That I must succeed. 

Even if as I run I have to put the nausea aside, the thought that I am linked to an almost-devil raising gooseflesh on my skin. 

I can almost feel Joseph breath on my skin and despite my exhaustion I push myself to move just that little bit faster. My hair obscures my vision almost as much as the dim lights and for a second I worry that I have missed the correct door. 

My arms ache from holding my skirts and my legs start to quiver so unused to such exuberance of motion. 

Joseph does not yell. Just lets his long legs length, one stride after another. His heavy footfalls right behind me, pounding into the floor alongside my own. Oh! What a racket we’re causing. 

He is catching up. I can almost feel his arms outstretched behind me, his hand inches from me. Reaching and reaching as I run. 

There I think, door six. I turn as sharply as my feet allow. Almost tripping on them as I do. Slamming into and through the entrance.The door bursting as I fling myself into the room. A woman screams, the sound high pitched. She is one of the occupants on the bed. I ignore her. Turning instead to the man next to her and falling into a deep curtsy as I do so. Joseph is behind me. His hand reaching for my arm but before he could haul me out of the room I let my voice carry. Strong and desperate. 

“Lord, I beseech you, strike a deal with me.” I am panting one breath and another. The only sound in the now still room.

 I can feel their eyes on me all incredulously. All surprised. 

I peek out of my auburn locks and see that the courtesan is staring at me like I have grown a second head. I think Joseph is looking at me the same way but I don’t dare let that stop me. 

I glance at my target and for a single second his beauty strikes me still. Dark hair falls softly from a forehead clear and golden. Eyes pale as the moon with striking shoots of obsidian through them. A mouth thin and long, plush lips. A wicked glint to it. A straight anglican nose. I brush the shock off a moment later glancing more closely at his features. Searching for his reaction. He is staring at me as the rest of those in the room are. But with a glint to his eyes. Amused maybe? Surprised? Interested? 

How beautiful he is I can’t help but think. How much I once wished once to reveal all to him so that beautiful face would turn my way. How foolish I was. 

“My lord.” I hear Joseph behind me falling into a bow. His leg extended and all. “Let me remove this woman.” 

I freeze terrified and hopeful in turn. Scared beyond my senses and squaring my shoulders. If I must, I will fight. I will hit and punch. This is my sister's last hope and I will not go down without putting up as much of a fight as I can. I am nothing compared to her, a bumbling awkward creature, she is the light of our family and I will not allow it to go out. 

Still I hold my breath. Scared witless by the thought of failure. My stomach turning with fear? Dread? Anticipation? I do not know. 

For a long moment Lord D’Armagnac stares at me. His eyes felt heavy as ankers around my ankles. No one moved, not the courtesan still half exposed clutching the sheets to her chest. Joseph presenting his leg behind him nor me still bent in a deep courtesy.

With a tilt of the great lord's head it was decided. “Your deal, ensure it is of amusing quality, it needs to be to allow me to forgive you for interrupting my night, La Fillette.” 

A shiver crept down my spine at his voice. Like velvet and silk. Red and dark and deep all at once. Born for sin. My muscles relax slightly at winning even a marginal chance at success. 

“M’lord?” Joseph's question behind me almost startled out of his bow. 

The great lord doesn't even glance at him, keeping his eyes on me. Waving one finely boned hand toward the manservant. The dismissal is clear. I know Joseph wants to protest further but he is smarter than that, leaving without a word and closing the door softly. 

I do not let my tired knees relax but glance up staring at his chin instead of his piercing eyes. 

“Oh m’lord you have my gratitude. Thank you!” 

I almost move to embrace him but catch myself in the last moment stilling my body before it can rise from my curtsy. 

For a long moment the lord's eyes assess me, seeming to weigh my value. 

“I was growing bored, La Fillette” the courtesan breathed sharply beside him as if insulated but we both ignored her. “Know this is the only reason I have permitted you in my presence. Now La Fillette amuse me. What have you come for?” 

The stupid happy smile of success falls from my face and I straighten it into something approaching calculation. “Humbly my lord, this conversation would be better in private.” I glanced over at the courtesan who seemed to have collected herself and now was staring at me with cold eyes. 

He raises one fine dark brow as if amused by my answer but his lips do not twist and his eyes remain faintly interested. As if staring at a particularly interesting bug. “Dear lady, I will be the judge of that, now if you would please?” 

I shift, finally rising from my knees when I realise he will not give me leave to, straightening my back until it can go no further. Folding my hands neatly in front of me as if they were a shield. 

“My lord, the conversation I wish to have with you will in consequence reveal the identity of your soulmate.” 

His eyes widen almost imperceptibly and then as if a candle flame is suddenly blown out his faces darkens with a cold fortitude. He stands slipping from the sheets with the grace of a panther. I avert my eyes, the blush still prominent on my face. The glimpse of his naked form hightins the already prominent red further. The only indication of my unease. 

He slips a green silken robe on beautiful, and expensive. One that was sitting in a pile on a chair close to the bed. With little golden embroidery throughout. He must have paid a king's ransom for it I couldn't help but think. For evening clothes!

I have unleashed the beast I think to myself. Even I have heard of this man's hunt for his soulmate for the one whose life is interwoven with his own. Even I have heard of his enemies seeking her, seeking a way to kill the beast by taking her life. By taking my life. 

Still I try to ensure my thoughts do not show on my face. He ties it slowly letting the tension in the room increase. The courtesan who must know she is removed from whatever consequences befall me even shifts. Until the air itself feels almost unbearable. The room suddenly sweltered. 

My stomach flips once then another time, but I choke down the bile rising in my throat and try to collect myself into something better than a scared girl. 

The robe falls like fine trimmings on his frame exenterating his fine masculine figure. Thin but muscular, a knight's build. I can’t help but notice as he stalks over to me all long legs and cool eyes. 

I stand my ground, biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself from squeaking in discomfort as he looms over me. He stares straight into my eyes blue on green and I don’t turn away. Squaring my shoulders once more. Reminding myself that he is my only choice left. Or else Alice is doomed to marry that ugly, cruel count. Still he is so close I can feel his breath rustling my hair and cooling my sweat coated forehead. His thick, powerful body almost towering over me in height alone. My eyes only come up to his chin but I do not let that intimidate me more than necessary. Trying to remind myself that if he hurts me, he will only hurt himself.

Then again, I think he will also know I am his fate and the ruse will be up. I swallow my throat dry and parched. God is a cruel master, to have binded me to this man. 

Still, if only one of us gets to live a life free from overbearing men it is better her than me. Better the brittle and ugly daughter than the naive beautiful one. It is the only thing I know to make sure that my mother will not weep. To me that is worth everything in the world. 

 So I stand in front of this beast in a man's skin and hold my ground. 

“If you are playing a game, dear lady, you will regret it.” His voice is a knife in the night and the room once conjuring images of erotic pleasure now feels more like a inquisitors chamber. 

I lick my lips, gathering my voice so it doesn't shake. “No my lord, I play no games, so will you strike a deal with me?” 

His eyes cut through my skin as if trying to pry the truth from my face alone. He suddenly smiles, a cruel wicked smile promising ruin and it lights up his whole face. For a moment I am forced to catch my breath the beauty of it aspering. There is amusement in his eyes once again and I know he has caught my appreciation of his male majesty. The blush creeps further along my face until it is reaching down to my shoulders. 

He does not break eye contact with me as he orders the courtesan out of the room. His voice is sharp and commanding. The woman doesn't complain, throwing a pale shift over her head and sliding up against him as she passes through the door. The motion is sensual and with secret promise. If it was possible I blush even harder but Lord D’Armagnac doesn't even seem to notice. 

His eyes now entirely focused on me making my stomach flip and not in a good way. For a second the worry that I will throw up on the great lord consumes me and I press my lips firmly against each other. 

Suddenly, as the door is closing his arm shoots out clasping my wrist in his long calloused fingers. I flinch almost throwing myself away from him but his grip is like iron and he doesn't relent. Half dragging me over to the chair a few steps away, the one his night clothes were resting on. I protest, trying to wrench my arm free but he will have none of it pushing me bodily into the chair until I am sitting and then with a promise of pain in his eyes if I am to move he lets go. 

Standing before me, looking down at me with that careful study again, the hair on my neck prickling. I can smell his recent liaison in the air by the bed and it just makes me even more nauseous. I think I might even be faintly green. 

But I don’t dare disobey sitting primarily and neatly as I can in the surprisingly comfy chair. Trying to centre myself once again. He moves away after it seems he thinks I am thoroughly intimated and he is not wrong. Opening the cabinet by the bedside and grabbing a bottle of amber whisky and two artistics glasses from the little space. Sitting down on the bed in front of me as he does so. 

He does not inquire if I wish for one instead simply pouring the liquid in one glass and the next, the light glinting off it strangely. Neither of us speak as he goes through what seems a familiar routine and I sit perfectly stock still until he is offering me one of the cups. I do not take it for a second simply staring at the liquid. 

“My arm is sadly one of men and does get tired, take the drink La Fillette.” It is an order and I do not disobey.

Taking the beautiful glass stiffly with sweaty palms. 

He places the bottle beside him on the table leaning back as a king might do on the bed. Surveying me as if he was surveying his kingdom. We are so close our legs are almost touching but again I do not dare scout away.

I steal myself taking a sip of the bitter liquid and try not to let my mouth twist up into an unpleasant frown. That twinkle of amusant however tells me that I again have failed at hiding my expression and so I don’t even try. Instead deciding I need liquid courage I down the shoot in one gulp. I cough and splutter a little and Lord D’Armagnac glances at me as if to move to help me but I waive my hand bidding him away. 

The whisky is high quality at least and I can feel it working its magic almost immediately. Helping me to steal my spine and face the dangerous foe in front of me head on. 

“Lord D’Armagnac, I have come to you with a proposition” He bows his head a little as if to say that he knows and wishes to move on with the conversation but I pay no mind to the insulting gesture. 

“I will reveal who your soulmate is if you promise to do me one favour.” I gulp gaining as much courage as I can. “No matter what it may be.” 

Another of his finely shaped eyebrows shoot up but the words I have said are done and there is no taking them back. 

For a moment I feel the wait of his years of searching pressing down on me, how ironic that though he has sought me for years. Paying all sorts of scoundrels and brigands to find me I am the one to inevitably deliver myself to him. 

He looks down into his drink letting it swirl in the glass, his fingers twirling watching the motion for a moment until he takes a long sip. Smacking his lips a few times as if the beverage is more important than our conversation. 

“That my dear is a high price, one I might not be willing to pay.” 

You fool I think, do you know how hard I have struggled to hide from you. How hard it was to come here to give up everything I have been working for, years of effort wasted. You have no idea what price is too high. For a moment my self-pity consumes me and I even contemplate turning away and fleeing from this man but I know he would never let me now. 

I lean slightly toward him gripping the glass a little too tightly. I know the desperation is now clear on my face but I can’t help it. My voice is almost pleading. “My lord, it is your soulmate.”

He glances at me, his eyes more intense than I had seen them. Now instead of cold disregard he first showed me, now they feel like daggers. The shallow amusement completely disappeared from his face. Oh god, I think, how cruel you are to condemn me to this man. 

“You are no maid, tell me your name girl?” 

 A prickle of awareness shoots through me that the man I am talking to is not just the heir of a duke but a very dangerous man by his own right. One who might try to take the francion throne for himself if the gossipers are correct. Still I push the feeling aside. Soon enough I won’t simply be a madwoman demanding a favour but part a member of his retinue. If it was possible the thought only makes me more uncomfortable. 

“No, My lord, I am the third daughter of the Baron of Furthinfare.” 

His eyes turn cold again, peering into my mind. “One of the petite noblesse? You could ruin yourself girl with this, ruin your family, the scandal would prevent even your sisters if you have them from marrying.” 

His voice is almost berating as if he is trying to caution me from choices I have already made. “I know my lord, but it is worth it to you and me, this action I take.” 

He peers even more deeply into me, taking a long sip from his cup as he does so. 

“Maybe, but what stops from declaring you have committed lesser perfidy toward me and have you tortured?” 

I breathe sharply, every hair on my body standing up at once. “My lord?” 

He glances away again, taking another sip. “Entice me La Fillette, show me why I should not force the name past those thin lips of yours?” 

I would blush again, feel angry but I am too scared.

I lick my lips again, twisting the glass between my hands, feeling the ridges biting into my skin grounding me. “Because, my lord, you would come to regret it.” 

He lets one of his arms hold his weight as if he was displaying himself for me. “Oh?” 

Twist, twist, twist goes the glass as I glance down to my hands. White as snow with how hard they are gripping it. “Yes my lord, so promise me.” 

I glance up then meet his eyes with all the determination I have, the determination that carried me out of my parents ancestral seat this dark night and to this man's hunting grounds. I know without a shadow of a doubt there is a fire in my eyes, the brown blazing with my very soul.

For a moment he just looks into them and then with almost grudging respect he lowers his own eyes. Peering into his glass. 

 “You will do me this favour for me, I beg you. It will not cost you so much.” 

He glances back up into my eyes, sweat breaking out on the back of my neck and my hair standing on end from the gesture. There is something now in his intrigue maybe? Broadening suspicion? I hope not at least. 

Out of the corner of my eye I can see him start to turn the signet ring on his finger. The gold gleaming and the threat clear. That if he so wishes he could have me killed without anyone the wiser. 

I am gripping the glass so hard it hurts. My teeth are biting into my cheek until I taste copper and blood. 

Still for once in my life I do not break or bend. Simply stand firm. 

He is the first to concede letting out a little laugh. The sound is sharp and fast. A wicked indulgent smile on his face. As if he was humouring a puppy. 

“Fine, La Fillette, you have your favour, now tell me who she is, but know that if this is afib, I will hang you.” 

I know from the roots of my hair to my toes that the threat is not an idle one. Alice’s face appears in my mind, golden and gentle. Kind eyes. So naive, so pure. I know what my decision has to be. Even if it dooms me in turn. 

I take one deep breath holding it in for a few seconds and then releasing it letting the air sit in my lungs. I place the glass down on the cabinet next to me. The soft click of it makes this whole decision feel far more real. Lord D’Armagnac does not comment, simply watches me with curious eyes. 

It does not take me long to untie my clock. The knot is already loose from my earlier running. I let the heavy woollen fabric fall around me landing with a soft sigh to the floor. Still the lord doesn’t comment but now there is something approaching a shocked understanding in his eyes. I do not let it stop me letting my right hand softly roll up the sleeve of my left arm. I can’t bear to look at him now so instead I focus intently on the task I have set out for myself. 

Once the fabric is bunched up around my shoulder I turn to him. Letting the little flickering flame in the lantern hanging beside the bed illuminate the sparrow in flight on my shoulder. 

I cannot help but try to break the tension that now fills the room. The sudden impulse to make something light of the whole thing overtook me. 

“I am yours my lord, our fates our one.” Until death my mind can’t help but add. Fate is such a fickle cruel thing. Even days ago before the announcement of my sister's impending nuptials I can remember my determination to hide the mark. To remain free of this man’s control. Content with my life as a spinster, free to go where I wanted, to read what I wanted. Disregard and forgotten by everyone save my dear mother. 

There is a bitter angry thing in my chest knowing that I will have to give all that up. That I will probably never get a moment alone again. That I will be nothing but the property of this cold, hard man. Claws racking down my chest but then an unbidden image of my mother crying comes to mind. My sister marred with marks. Yes, I think, this is the only way.

I do not glance at him but I can hear him moving, clothing rustling, a glass clicking, his, as he places his empty drink beside my own on the cabinet. 

With barely a breath he is in front of me, kneeling before me as I sit as a statue of marble might. Not a twitch of movement. I let him run his fingers over the mark, the spark of awareness between us confirming its authenticity. Raising gooseflesh on my skin at the same time. I do not glance at him even now but through the corner of my eye and his enrapture expression makes me quickly look away. 

I have to press my lips together again keeping the bile raging inside me at bay. 

Once he is satisfied, he does not leave my space but stands to his full height before me, an executioner before the guilty. Finally after a few long moments I am able to find my voice, though it is a little shaky.  

“I am your god given.” 

“Oh.” His voice is almost kind. “Mon petit why have you risked yourself in such a way? Why did you not come to me earlier? Sweet girl?” 

He places a cool hand on my cheek turning my head to face him, his eyes no longer callously amused but searching and piercing into the very depths of my soul. My breath stops and I am caught in his stare enraptured all my own. 

“My life is your’s, my children may only arise from you, I would have had every reason to provide for you, to ensure your safety. Why did you not seek me out?” His voice breaking me from my stupor I lean my head away from his hand, his thumb having begun to stroke my cheek softly. He allows the distance instead resting his hand on my shoulder and I feel a flash of regret for moving away in the first place. The sudden intimacy of his new action is far greater than his previous.

I try to move away again but he gives my shoulder a sharp squeeze and I stop my resistance. I can’t bear to look into those searching eyes my earlier confidence having left me so instead I peer to the left of me through a window on the other side of the wall that lets me peer toward the blackness of the night. Heavy purple satin curtains framing the little flickering lights from the street below. 

That is why I think staring into those blue eyes. That is why I did not come to you, why I hide from your hunters. Once so long ago the taste of dust lingers on my tongue when I think of it. I thought of revealing this mark to you. To bask in such a powerful man - no boy at the time's attention. But then I realised that I would be nothing but another of your supplicants. No worse than that. \ I liked the thought of deciding my own fate to much to ever tempt the thought of falling within your grasp. What have done I thought? What am I doing? I say none of my thoughts out loud instead tucking them away deep in my chest, resigning myself to my fate. 

“My lord, that favour, you will do it.” 

He shifts down going to his knees before me once again and his other hand not on my shoulder cups my cheek turning me so my eyes are forced to lock with his own. 

“Of course, mon petite, tell me and it shall be done. This favour shall be my wedding gift to you.”

There is kind of relief on his face, in his voice even. An almost childish delight.  

Another shiver shoots through me at the dark promise in his eyes but this is what I have come for, what I have risked everything for so despite the guilt turning my stomach. I do not let the regret I have felt throughout my desperate choices stop me. 

“I need you to kill a man.” 

His thumb caressing my cheek stills, and his gaze turns as cold as the one he first gave me.

“Why?” It was a simple word but the command was clear. Resistance was futile in the face of his ice cold eyes.

I let my gaze turn impeaching, searching for any hint of mercy in those now cold eyes. When I find none I push the words out anyway. As if they were a force all their own.

“He plans to marry my sister.” I say it in a rush, the words almost tripping to get out of my mouth but he just raises his eyebrow, his thumb beginning to stroke the skin of my cheek gently.

“Mon petite, shouldn’t such a thing be joyous? Why ruin it?” 

I glance down letting the nail of my index finger dig into the flesh of my knuckle. “You do not understand.” 

“Then make me understand.” 

He moves his hand on my shoulder down, placing his large warm hand on my own, stopping my nail from digging into my flesh. I do not fight him on this letting him use his thumb to smooth the skin I had been harming with care. 

I notice his hands are calloused surprisingly so for a noble. Much less a duke's heir. Lines criss-crossing the skin as if someone had taken a whip to them. Thick rough skin on his palms and the pads of his finger. Indicating a life of manual labour not soft velvets and wine as I know he would have had. For a second it distracts me enough that I do not answer right away.

“He is a monster, he will hurt her, he might even kill her. His last wife.”  I glance up, meeting those eyes once again, some of my earlier confidence coming back. “She died, they say, from sickness but I know better, she had bruises my lord, I knew her, she was my friend and benediction” I couldn’t help but let some of the anger creep into my voice.

 “Did she have bruises. On her hands and arms and anywhere her skirts covered. I know that she was killed no matter what anyone says. He hit her so hard one day I think that she just didn’t get back up.” For a moment I am forced to collect myself, to gather my anger up back into that secret place in my heart that I am keeping it. 

“Please do not let my parents give my sweet sister to him, she is too good for such a life, please.” 

Tears start to well in my eyes but I push them down stopping the water works before they can arrive. “I will never ask you for another thing, so please kill him.” 

For a long moment he stares into my eyes searching and dissecting until he seems to come to his answer. For a moment I see pleasure in his eyes as if delighted that I have asked something from him. He raises his hand on my own from my lap and brings both hands to my face, clutching it between them. Ensuring I have no where to look but at him. 

The gesture and his sudden intimacy turns my stomach even more. I almost flinch again but suppress it knowing I have nowhere to flinch to. 

“What is his name?” 

“He is the count of Wenceworth.” 

Lord D’Armagnac snorts, the sound harsh. “That vile creature, oh, mon papillon, it will be my pleasure.” For a second longer his eyes are cold, hard diamond in his skull and then they soften. A gleam of petty fondness in them. The delight at first understanding what I was to him still lingering on his face. He is almost too wonderful to look at in this moment. The soft candlelight and his own joy only deepened his beauty. 

The tension drains from me suddenly slithering out of my skin like rain. I let my cheek rest against the duke's palm, almost falling into his embrace. “Thank you.” I cannot help but add. “Thank you so much.” 

A tear slides down my face, one I failed to keep contained but he just shushes me as if I were a babe and with a soft kiss lets his lips drag the tear away. He leans his head against mine, the feel of his forehead warm against my own. 

“Do not worry, I have you now, everything will be alright. I promise.”

I lean my head into his knowing without a shadow of doubt that nothing will ever be the same again. Alice, I think I am glad you are safe. Even if in return I will never be again.