Marianne Newhook closed the door to her room gently, putting away the light din of the party occurring in the main hall of the castle. Nyrene was at that party, and she imagined that Sharra would join her once she returned from escorting Farelia to her husband’s manse in the city that expanded beneath the walls of Castle Greyrook. In her letters to Marianne, Farelia Newhook had told her that it wouldn’t be necessary for her to have rooms both at Greyrook and at Clement Braughtley’s estate, because she’d be spending most of her time at court. However, when Marianne arrived, she found the opposite to be true. Farelia was scarcely at the castle, leaving her handmaidens with little to fill their days in terms of work. It didn’t seem to bother Nyrene and Sharra, who had no trouble keeping themselves busy – Sharra by gossip, and practicing her dances, and Nyrene filled her days teasing men and taking naps. They were content, it seemed.
Marianne missed her sister dearly. She’d come all the way to the capital to spend time with her, and it felt as though there was so little of it. It reminded her of her years practicing medicine at the Temple of Grigor near Ralmeere, when time spent with Farelia was terribly difficult to come by. Then, when her studies were complete, she returned to an empty castle, where her parents told Marianne with stone faces that they’d sent Farelia to the capital to be a handmaiden to Princess Jeselle. She was so unsure why it was sudden, and Farelia did little to clear things up in her letters to her. She told Marianne to not worry, that it was of her own accord, but Marianne was suspicious. Farelia was so well respected in Ralmeere, she was like a queen. Some seemed to give her more reverence than Lord Andrew, or her mother, Lady Bernea.
The exhausted noblewoman turned, yawned, and collapsed onto the bed, her low heeled shoes falling weakly from her feet. Marianne Newhook’s room here was a simple one, but still befit a young noblewoman. An ornately carved single-bed was pressed into a corner, neatly made with simple white bedding and a large pillow resting at the head. At it’s foot was a chest that once held the majority of things Marianne owned when she arrived in the Gandoran capital, but the items therein had dwindled as she slowly unpacked more and more. Now it only held a couple of well-worn books, an equally worn corset, and a simple silver necklace, a gift from Sir Victor.
Past the chest and against the wall was a modest vanity with a tall mirror. Marianne kept numerous bits of jewelry and vials of perfume on its surface, with makeup materials filling the drawers. Truth be told, it was mostly empty. Marianne learned that she didn’t own nearly as many beauty items as most ladies who lived in Greyrook did, and was hardly catching up.
The other wall, opposite the bed, presented a large wood closet that housed much of her clothing, and a spacious desk with a single low shelf above it. It was as large as any desk she ever owned at her family’s estate in Ralmeere, and Marianne adored it. It was her favorite part of the room, and she’d stored numerous books on the shelf, and stacked additional ones by the legs. Currently, the book on the desk was opened halfway through Meditations of Valera, an autobiography of a noblewoman-turned-bandit queen some two hundred years ago. Valera was clearly an eloquent scholar, and her ideas on leadership and life’s purpose apparently appealed to Farelia – it was her favorite book, and she’d recommended it to her sister. Marianne read it because it made her feel close to her.
Gods, she wished she’d gone with Sharra and her into the city. Marianne saw Farelia only this morning, but she missed her dearly already. At this point, Farelia was probably in Clement’s arms as they drifted off to blissful dreams. She considered how challenging it would be to move into Clement’s mansion. It couldn’t be too disruptive, could it? She’d miss Sharra and Nyrene, certainly, but it’s not as if she’d never see them – plus, she’d be around Farelia more. Marianne made a silent bet that Clement owned a reading desk just as nice as the one in her bedroom. She could’ve brokered the idea as they traveled from Greyrook. Instead, she stood in the courtyard with Nyrene to watch military men strut about.
Still, she got to see the prince. And she had to agree with Nyrene – he was certainly something worth seeing.
Marianne’s chest heaved through her teal dress as she exhaled deeply. She wondered how the party was going. She couldn’t hear much of it from her room, but she suspected it would be going long into the night. The parties at Greyrook always did, even when the prince was off at war.
Marianne wondered if Jason Algrave had taken off his armor. Surely he would have. Marianne was no Spearmaiden, and had never worn plate, but she scarcely could imagine that it’d be comfortable for festivities. He’d definitely would have taken it off, or perhaps had one of his numerous squires take it off of him while he had a flagon of wine in his hand. Yes, that’s probably how it went. Jason likely had a woman, a cute blonde or fiery redhead giggling and fawning over every jape until he pulled her into his lap as he sat at the seat of honor. Maybe it was even Nyrene. Nyrene expressed interest in the prince, and Marianne had no doubt she’d act on those desires if given the chance. Sure, she was sleeping with Kent Bragg, who was likely at the party himself, but that would not halt Marianne’s dark haired friend. When Marianne had arrived, Nyrene Pryce had been being courted by Darvin Hatley, and he was spending most every night in her bedroom. The next week, it’d been Philbar Felgariss, and after that it was Sir Granden, a shift captain in the Algraves’ royal apartments. He was married, and nearly twice her age, from what Sharra told her. “Nyrene’s always looking for the next thing.” Sharra had said in a conspiratorial voice.
Would Jason be interested in a woman like that? As far as Marianne knew, the prince had varying appetites. Jason Algrave had been at war for two years when Marianne arrived in the capital, but stories of the dark prince’s promiscuity still echoed through the innumerable halls of Greyrook. Nothing explicit, or extensive – just hints of the man’s unbounded appetites. It was clear he frequently spent his free time in the company of numerous women, but on some level, that was to Marianne’s expectation. He was a prince, after all, and any prince is going to enjoy his selection of suitors. Still, Prince Jason seemed to be a private man, and Marianne’s friends hadn’t interviewed nearly enough serving girls to uncover more about him. Frankly, Jason hadn’t been much of a topic among the girls until recently.
Still, Marianne’s thoughts wandered. Prince Jason had just come back from war. Surely he’d have a woman tonight. He’d probably drink himself into a stupor while whispering bawdy jokes in the ear of the girl on his lap. As the party wound down, and the partiers either slept off their own drunkenness or stumbled off into the night, he’d bring the girl back to his room. They’d joke and giggle together as he pushed her to the furs and he kicked off his boots. He’d pin her down, his wide frame covering her entire body as her dress ran up her body, her now-exposed bare legs wrapping around his powerful waist. They’d share a deep kiss, where her hands would stroke through his magnificent mane of black hair and down his trunk of a neck…feeling his hardened and chiseled arms and chest, dancing across the wide field made by his dark tunic, appreciating every manly inch. Her hands would look so, so, small against his body, and it’d take an apparent eternity for her fingers to travel ever downward, until…
Marianne’s eyes shot open, and she exhaled deeply once again. She felt hot, and sticky, a layer of sweat seemed to coat every inch of Marianne’s porcelain skin. The Lotus Room was located high in Castle Greyrook, and despite the stone walls, Marianne felt engulfed by the heat of the night. Summer had only just arrived in central Gandora, but a heat wave seemed to already grip the capital.
Visions of Jason Algrave’s handsome face continued to dance in her mind as she got up from the bed.
In an effort to combat the sinister heat of her bedroom, Marianne unclasped the brass at her shoulders and pulled her dress unceremoniously over her body. The thicker material of the top landed on the thin red rug that covered the stonework floor with a light thud, and the flow of the long skirt followed shortly afterward. Marianne’s fingers deftly undid the hook at her back, and freed her chest from an unspectacular white brasserie. It, too, was allowed to drop.
She left herself in a set of plain, silk, snow-white underthings that stretched upward at her hips to her upper waist as she stepped over the pile of clothing at her feet. Reaching upward, she tilted her head either way as she pulled low-hanging gold earrings from her ears, which she dropped onto the desk. They were a birthday gift from Farelia some years back, and Marianne found herself wearing the set more and more these days.
Marianne was now unencumbered, but the heat continued to have a hold on her. She took short steps across her room, where moonlight flooded in through the window, and threw it open after unhooking the latch at its base. She closed her eyes and leaned slightly out the window, allowing the cooler night air to float into her chambers. Bumps ran across the skin of her shoulders, arms, and chest as she took another deep breath.
She opened her eyes. The view from her window offered a wondrous view of the capital. At night, it looked a dark mass of round and sharp black shapes piled on top of one another, dotted with the tiniest gold and orange flames that illuminated the night. Marianne had never seen such a large city – Gandora City was, quite easily, five times the size that Ralmeere was. It stretched on seemingly endlessly.
Marianne had cooled, slightly, with the night air and thoughts of home. She was sad, undoubtedly so. It was an affliction, something that depressed deep into her very soul. She knew as much. Victor’s betrayal had left her missing so many things, and all her life seemed to be regular reminders of that, now.
She longed for touch. She longed for Victor. He wasn’t faithful to her, and he was out of her life, but the quickness of their relationship’s downfall continued to haunt her. It was as if he were there – smiling, speaking softly, naked in her bed. And then he was gone, leaving her with nothing. How could that happen? How could someone mean so much to another person, to fill every void in another’s soul, and then vanish so completely? The world seemed beautiful to Marianne as she looked out that window, but utterly cruel. Victor had left her with nothing. No smiles, no fondness, no touch. She was unfilled. Woefully empty.
Their relationship had only lasted a single year, but when Marianne Newhook thought back on her life, Victor still seemed to be the most significant thing, the most wondrous moment in her history. She still remembered when they met. Back then, Victor was still the simple, soft spoken young knight, shifting uncomfortably in his newly given chainmail and tunic, deathly afraid to take the wrong shift. Marianne had found him adorable beneath his uncertainty, though, and always made excuses to be around him. One day, she’d insisted that Victor had to be her test subject for bandage techniques. She brought him to her room, and wrapped cloth around a faux-injury on his forearm. After a few jokes, Sir Victor had felt brave enough to call her beautiful, and Marianne felt herself lean forward to kiss him. It was an instinct, a red-hot feeling that had been boiling within her since they’d laid eyes on one another. That adoration she had for the shaggy haired knight had her gutted day and night until that moment. In that moment, when she gave into her instincts, she felt so fulfilled. So desired. So loved.
It hadn’t been much longer after that, that she gave herself to him. Marianne had been between lesson seasons at the Temple of Grigor. Time spent in the lonely dormitory there had taken its toll on the young noblewoman, and when she returned to her father’s castle she intended to get as much of Victor as she possibly could. She didn’t intend to share her bed with him, not necessarily – but she did intend to kiss him. She remembered that late afternoon when she arrived in her bedchambers and immediately sent for the knight…Victor had given her shy gazes, almost ashamed to see her, but his dark eyes belied his true excitement. They kissed and kissed, Marianne trying to hold him as close to her as she could. She didn’t even notice when they’d collapsed onto the bed, with him on top of her. He’d been on patrol that morning, and smelled deeply of maple. The way his body covered hers, his bashful smile, the growing desire between his legs. Marianne found it utterly intoxicating. After their tongues danced through another kiss, Victor had asked her if she was sure.
She had been.
Sex was incredible to Marianne. She adored it, she admitted to herself. The way that she and Victor would articulate their love and admiration through twisting, thrusting, pulsing flesh most every night was something that had warmed her to her core. She salivated at the thought of him on top of her, gently edging her legs apart. She loved how he filled her so completely. His soft skin had felt so wonderful under her fingertips. She remembered how he’d grunt soft, cute, grunts as he took her, the way he shivered and shook whenever he finished. She remembered the look in his eyes when he gazed at her, as if her beauty was too much for her. Those feelings felt far away, now. She missed them.
Memories of nights long past flowed into Marianne’s mind with a returning heat that began laying claim between her legs. Her right hand crept down her body and ran over the softness of her thigh, and a sharp exhale escaped her red lips. Her chest heaved once again against the light of the moon. She lamented this unsatisfied feeling, this emptiness that Victor had left her with. How could he? What was it about that girl that caused him to stray? Had he ever thought about that night? Does he still burn like they did back then? That year felt so far away, now, and Victor was gone, while Marianne was empty.
Marianne Newhook turned, and got into bed.