A/N: Super stoked about the reception for this story so far! Yes, Hermione is impossibly and innocent and wholly ignorant to the wiles of men. How can this be? *averts eyes shiftily* She should definitely be kept far away from the Duke... like miles and miles away. Hopefully someone intervenes before she's swept away from the only home she's ever known! But what would be the fun in that? *cackles evilly* Let's see what dear Thomas is up to... if he drops us any hints to speak of. Knowing him, I'm sure he won't make it easy to find out. Happy reading Xx
Beta love to NikkiB and Kreeblim Sabs
Shout out to followers, favorite-ers, and reviewers: Ikuni Hattori, fantasy4luvr, trinnyboppers, catalina05, annaea3077, SereniteRose, Arendora, ii-V-I, Gone With The Books, , closemind, Hermione Lyra Malfoy-Riddle, and the guests!
~oOo*oOo~
The rest of the evening passed in a perpetual blur.
Hermione vaguely recalled seeing friends she spoke to everyday, servants like herself, but they were gawking at her as if she were a dragon fresh out of a cave. Princess Daphne had declared her an conniving whore and ordered Hermione out of her sight, but the duke had intervened on her behalf. He had requested proper rooms be delegated to Hermione until they could leave in the morning. The king had argued the pair should be married before their departure, and then the quarreling had commenced.
It was unclear what the final decision was, as the princess was still screaming for Hermione to go, and someone finally came to escort her to what would be her rooms for the night. She could barely make out the vicious words being spewed back and forth above the hammering of her own heartbeat. The maidservant that led her to a room located on the fourth floor didn't say a word to Hermione, but she could feel the heat of her accusatory gaze the entire walk up the stairs.
The stunned chambermaid was left alone in the vast guest quarters, in a room that she herself had cleaned the day prior.
It was all very surreal.
Hermione sat herself rigidly in a chair and stared straight ahead at the fireless hearth no one had bothered lighting. A maelstrom of panic churned dark and insidious in her chest, only held at bay by her own disbelief. Had she imagined things? Had she experienced another...episode? Was she really here in the guest quarters, sitting by herself, and staring into the fireplace? She gripped the hem of her apron harshly until her knuckles were white, and slowly rocked back and forth.
There was no way this had happened. It had to be some vivid dream she had yet to wake up from. Her highly overactive imagination was on overdrive tonight. None of what she witnessed translated to the reality she knew. There was no way a lord from the neighboring realm would select a commoner to wed. As she stared at the ash in the fireplace, embers began glowing red. Her stare was fixated on them and the more she watched the hotter they grew, until they eventually snapped into bright orange flames.
See, she consoled herself. That would not have happened if I were really awake. One cannot simply will a fire into being. But everything felt very real. Her nails as they bit into the soft flesh of her hand, her apron pulling against her abdomen as she rocked, the heat from the recently appearing flames. She wasn't sure how long she sat there staring, rocking herself back and forth. If she stopped, perhaps she would be unable to keep the madness from descending, and so she continued steadfast.
She wasn't sure how much time had passed before a knock jolted her attention to the door.
Hermione broke eye contact with the fire but didn't stop rocking in her seat as she glanced at the door. What was she to do—get up and answer it? Bid the person to enter? She didn't fancy giving into anymore of these strange visions, so she ignored the persistent knocking.
Finally, the intruder decided to let themselves in.
"Madam," came the crisp voice. His Grace, the Duke of Salazar inexplicably strode across the room and came to stand in front of her. "Are you well?"
Hermione froze in her rocking, and to her surprise the chaos in her head quieted to a low hum. She was embarrassed at being caught in such an undignified position whilst in the presence of a nobleman, but why should a vision embarrass her? She pulled her gaze up to meet his probing one and startled. His eyes were the strangest shade of blue—dark and uncomfortably intense. It occurred to her she could never get used to such a gaze.
"Well?" Her voice rang in her ears. "Quite well, my Lord Duke." She couldn't bring herself to stand and face him properly as her station required.
The duke listed his head, silently studying her. Hermione resisted the urge to shrink back in her chair.
"I realize this is a bit unfair to you." One side of his perfectly bowed lips pulled up in a smirk that seemed to incredibly suggest he was embarrassed. "I didn't approach you before asking the king for your hand."
Hermione gulped, unable to accept his words as truth. How was she to respond to something she was unsure was even happening? She could ignore the strange occurrences, or rebel against them, but something in her head suggested she carry herself appropriately, just in case.
"The circumstances were highly unusual, I know, but I hope that upon my explanation, you will be agreeable."
Her eyes drew down to his hip where he carried quite a large sword at his side. She marveled at how vivid her imagination was.
"Your imbecile of a king hoped to trap me into a marriage that would be advantageous to his kingdom. Regrettably, my own sire has been pushing the burden of marriage on me as well, so selecting a wife was prevalent on my mind."
Out of the corner of her eye, the sword seemed to have morphed into nothing but a pale, yew stick. Upon further inspection Hermione found that it wasn't a sword at all, but merely a piece of wood he carried. It was more proof that she wasn't seeing things properly. Steel didn't change to wood.
"Of course," the duke paused to pull out a chair from the table and sit down to face her once more, "I only mean to take a wife of my own choosing...a wife with certain traits I find suitable."
"Traits, my Lord?"
"I would prefer my wife to be obedient...to be of calm countenance...with the ability to care for herself, me, and our future children. I don't wish to wed a spoiled brat, you see."
Hermione nodded. Those all sounded like perfectly reasonable traits to request in a wife. Was he saying Princess Daphne did not possess those traits? What of the most important trait, one she was most assuredly lacking—noble birth? "What of station, my Lord, and...nobility?"
"King Lucius does value those attributes in a potential suitor, to be sure, but there is one attribute he desires above all else," a gleam passed over the duke's sharp blue eyes, something that looked awfully close to triumphant, which only served to baffle Hermione.
"Your Grace?"
The dark gaze intensified, and Hermione got the distinct impression he was concealing something from her. "It's nothing to concern yourself with at the moment, just rest assured that if we wed, you will be cared for and never find yourself wanting. Are you agreeable?"
She puzzled over his words and made a valiant attempt to make sense of them. The reasons he offered seemed to be made without thought and purely out of spite, if she had heard him correctly. "I am to be...a punishment," Hermione swallowed thickly, "to my king and your sire? A rash political move, Your Grace?"
His smirk widened. "Not at all." His tone was smooth and reassuring. "That's just a perk to many other benefits. You needn't worry about being cast aside. Unions in Wiltshire are...extremely more binding than whatever services are practiced in Ballycastle. Our vows are ancient, and there is no breaking them."
Hermione eyed the handsome duke dubiously. The Duke of Salazar spoke many pretty words, and she had always been told to be wary of men who spoke pretty words.
"I do not see how you will not incur the wrath of your kingdom over such an unusual selection in a bride, my Lord Duke." She clamped her mouth shut, horrified to find herself addressing the nobleman so reproachfully. He probably would think her ornery.
His eyes narrowed. "I can assure you, madam, I am well aware of the impact my choice in Duchess will have, and I have considered everything." The duke leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees gracefully. "But tell me: have you considered what would befall you if you did not accept my offer? Are you of the belief the king will forgive this transgression at my behest?"
"King Charles has been most kind to me," she hazarded carefully.
"King Charles offered you to me for the night as soon as you left," he bit back harshly. "In a last-ditch effort to saddle me with his pampered princess of a daughter."
Hermione gasped.
Eyes sparkling, he continued, "So eager was he to wed me to one of his daughters, he would even throw in an innocent girl in order to secure the transaction." He sat back, chin jutted out confidently. "There will be no forgiveness here should you decide to stay."
She visibly deflated, a stabbing pain throbbed inside her head.
The duke seemed to take pity on her. His eyes softened imperceptibly. "How old are you, madam?"
"This is my seventeenth year, my Lord."
"And what is your name?"
Some giddy part of her wanted to laugh. The man had asked for her hand, and he didn't even know her name. "Hermione, my Lord."
He raised his delicate brows, bidding her to continue. "And your family name?"
"I'm an orphan, Your Grace. I've served in the castle ever since leaving the orphanage six years ago. I have no family name."
"Then tell me, Hermione with no family name—what holds you here?" He smiled, displaying rows of impossibly white teeth and her heart stuttered in her chest. "When you might travel and learn new lands. When you may elect to trade your cot in for a manor in the spring and a permanent quarters in a castle more extravagant than this. The clothes you wear will be tossed and burned in the fire in favor of luxurious gowns in every shade. There would always be a feast prepared for you nightly, and a doting husband to attend to your needs."
Hermione sank her teeth into her lower lip. The man said things that sounded far too good to be true. Surely there was some catch to all of this?
"I would take care of you, Hermione. You have my word as a gentlemen."
She thought about the way his prince had taken care of Princess Astoria. Did she dare believe he would actually do all he promised? There was something about the duke that struck her as decidedly dark. "I'm worried you will find me lacking," she was compelled to tell him. "There is no way I could ever please you, Your Grace." A stab of sadness sparked through her chest at the truth of her words.
The duke got up quickly, and in four short strides, he was kneeling in front of her. He took her hands in his and rested them on her lap. Hermione suddenly forgot how to breathe. She should throw herself before him—a nobleman should never go to his knees for her!
"Hermione." Elegantly long fingers stroked her own, sending shivers whispering down her spine. His pleasant scent - cloves and sandalwood - permeated her senses. "I don't believe you will displease me. You need only listen to me always, and there will be peace between us. Do you think you will disobey me?"
"No, my Lord," she breathed, her chest rising and falling in shallow pants.
His mouth twisted in a devastating smirk. "Then we shan't have a problem, shall we?"
Her skin felt hot where it came into contact with his. She felt her face redden.
"What is your decision?"
She thought about it. He was actually giving her a choice, instead of just telling her she had to go with him like the king had. She never wanted a husband - she never wanted to endure the pain of bearing children - but it seemed it was in her favor to accept. There was no way to know how she would be regarded in the foreign kingdom of Wiltshire, but surely it would be a warmer welcome than if she stayed...eventually. She feared the handsome duke, and the effect he had on her, but the man seemed - for the most part - sincere.
Hermione nodded. "I accept your proposal, Your Grace."
The intimidating man she agreed to marry straightened from his crouched position until he was towering over her. He gazed at her like a hawk might eye its prey. "Call me Thomas, Hermione."
He leaned down and places a chaste kiss on her lips. She froze at the foreign sensation of lips brushing her own, especially ones belonging to someone so heart wrenchingly handsome. It was soft and fleeting. She hardly had the time to react, but it was sweet and decadent and quite possibly the single most intense moment of her live. Simply put—it took her breath away. Her eyelashes had fluttered shut and it took him brushing her cheek with the palm of his hand to open them again.
"Get some rest." Amusement and something more sparkled in his eyes. "We leave first thing tomorrow."
Hermione didn't sleep a wink.
~oOo*oOo~
The incessant arguing had Thomas seconds away from throwing an Avada at the vexing Muggle, but Thomas held it together and in the end he got his way as he knew he would. There would be no silly wedding in a church delegated to him by a Muggle King. He would request Lord Black to officiate the ceremony in the ancient Pureblood way, and he'd better do it quickly before his Sire caught wind of Thomas' plans.
The next morning could find he and his doe-eyed fiance sitting in a coach headed back to Wiltshire.
The coach had cost him a pretty galleon, and it wouldn't be needed the entire way, but he required it so long as they were within the realm to keep up pretenses. Once free of the warded kingdom, he would be able to use Apparation once again.
He chanced a glance at his Intended, who was staring with wide eyes at Draco, who sat across from her, as he attempted to regale Theodore with his tales of debauchery from the night before.
"Do shut it," Thomas told him with an air of authority, despite his lower rank. "I know we started this trip with just us boys, but there's a lady in our presence now. Surely you can pull some charm from your princely bag of tricks?"
Draco snickered, exchanging a meaningful glance with Theodore. "Pull some charm, in front of a Muggle?" He let out a snide laugh. "For what reason? Father is going to murder you when we return home, and I'm going to enjoy every minute of it."
Thomas could sense the girl tense beside him. She was utterly terrified. He debated Imperio'ing the prince to act the gentlemen Thomas needed him to be. And possibly slip her a Calming Draught while he was at it. He needed things to go off without a hitch, and certainly before King Lucius caught wind of his plans.
"Our dear prince likes to joke," he tilted his head to speak in her ear, amused to find gooseflesh spread across her neck with his words. His bride was proving to be quite responsive, and that was an exciting prospect.
"And you do not jest, My Lord," she said so quietly, he had to strain to hear.
Thomas couldn't help but chuckle at her ability to remember things. She was sharp too, and that could come in handy on occasion. "No, that I do not." He continued to watch her as she sat rigidly straight, her eyes as large as saucers, the oversized cloak she had been given effectively swallowing her up. "You have nothing to fear from them," he gestured to Draco and Theodore, "they mean you no harm."
"None at all, My Lady." Theodore was the picture of sincerity.
"My apologies, My Lord." She fiddled with her hands in her lap, her long lashes sweeping over her cheeks. "This is highly unusual, for me to be in the company of men without a female escort." There was a clear tremor in her voice.
Draco gaped at her, his face gearing up to laugh, and Thomas shot him a dark look to shut him up.
His eyes roved over Hermione, his Intended, finding that he liked what he saw. He could hardly make out her figure in the large cloak, but he saw that she was slight, a result of years of difficult labor no doubt. Her hair was hardly as smooth as a princess', but it was brushed out from the bun he had seen it in yesterday and half of it was pinned up as befit a lady of her future stature. Her face was interesting to look at - not conventionally beautiful - but intriguing nonetheless. Her nose was small and dainty, with a light splattering of freckles splashing across it and falling to her cheeks. It was hard to see her lips, as she had a dreadful habit of gnawing on them, but they appeared plump and he remembered them being soft against his own. Her eyes were liquid pools of amber framed by thick rows of lashes. She was pretty in a symmetrical sort of way.
And her shoulders were shaking.
"Yes," he said, remembering her earlier concern. "The situation is not common, but no matter. You are with your Intended, a sworn knight, and the Crown Prince. You couldn't be in safer hands."
"You're most kind, Your Grace."
"Please, call me Thomas." He reached out to stroke a stray lock of hair and she froze as if petrified. Her curls were rather wild. What a splash she would make at Court! She looked like no one else he'd ever seen. Certainly not the raving beauties that pranced around Court, but he found he liked that about her. She was exotic and different… raw and untamed. "Do you mind if I call you Hermione?" She had never granted him permission, after all.
Her eyes flew to his. "What else would you call me, Your-Thomas?"
This time Draco couldn't keep from laughing to Thomas' annoyance. Even Theodore seemed to be fighting a grin. Did they think the girl unassumingly clever? No one was more clever than him.
"I don't know," he retorted coldly. "How about My Lady, madam, My Betrothed, Her Grace the Future Duchess of Salazar, darling...shall I continue?"
Hermione blinked and refocused, as if just realizing she would soon be given that title, and with it the duties that followed. "No, My-Thomas."
He rolled his eyes. His Intended was a dodgy wisp of a thing. She would be eaten up alive at Court left to her own devices, but so long as she listened to him dutifully as a wife should, she would fair well. More importantly, her presence saved him from having to deal with the cunning ways of royal females, and someone else dictating his personal life to him. He'd outsmarted them all by selecting a no-name with no family or support. She would be forced to turn to him for everything. There would be no nefarious games going on under his nose, she wouldn't dare try such a thing.
His happiness renewed, he draped his arm around her shoulder and tugged her closer. He let go in surprise when she squeaked and pulled away from him.
Out of nowhere, a greedy gleam appeared in Draco's grey eyes. "Merlin's balls." He stared at her in disbelief. "Innocent as the driven snow," he sang, jabbing Theodore in his chainmail-clad arm. "You clearly like them blissfully unaware, don't you?"
"More importantly—without the pampered agenda of a princess," Thomas answered with a snarl.
"Sometimes I find mine and the agenda of princesses align quite pleasantly," Draco said silkily.
"You're acting like a child," Theodore chastised the prince before looking over to Hermione. "My apologies, My Lady. He's rarely found in polite company."
Thomas said nothing. The girl had proclaimed to be seventeen—surely she couldn't be that innocent. He frowned at the notion. Perhaps she was a virgin, he'd neglected to demand her to be checked as he had every right to. It wasn't really high on his priority list, but a welcome perk he supposed. She served as a pawn, too desperate and soon to be too grateful to ever betray him. He did not require her purity, but the idea of her being unsullied did have its appeal. He did however, require her consummation. He hoped she would not be as flighty as she appeared. Surely a chambermaid working in a castle would not be so very sheltered.
He could hardly expand on it now as the coach came abruptly to a stop.
The driver got out and came up to the opened window, casting a dodgy look into the car and clutching his cap for all he was worth.
"We're to the falls, My Lords." Worry rolled off of him in waves. "The bridge looks a bit worse for wear."
"Prince Draco." Thomas flashed a smile. "You'll need to tell your father about this."
The blond ignored the demand and followed Theodore as he left the coach. Thomas nudged Hermione to follow after them. She shot him a confused look, but made to comply just the same.
"My Lords?" the coachmen asked as he saw them exiting, brows knitted together in confusion.
Thomas said nothing initially as he withdrew his wand and walked over to where the man stood. "Your services are no longer needed." Imperio. A jet of wispy green light shot out from his wand and collided with the man's head. "You've delivered us safely, now return to your kingdom. Oh, and do give me my galleon back."
The man plucked a piece of gold from his pocket, depositing it in Thomas' outstretched hand before walking in a daze back to the coach. He made short work of turning the vehicle around and taking off down the road.
"The coachman." Hermione raised a trembling finger. "He's abandoning us!"
Thomas strode up to his poor bride-to-be's side, tucking his wand back in his holster. "Not to worry," he said in a feline purr as his arms reached around to secure her by the waist. She gasped and her hands flew to his forearms, trying to prise them off of her. The mist from the impressive waterfalls wafted over them, causing Hermione to swipe at her face and at him as she twisted away from danger. He held her tighter, unimpressed by the striking view from the cliff and the wavering suspension bridge that seemed fit to break under a foot of weight as was its intention. "I told you I'd take care of you, didn't I?"
Realization dawning on her, she turned her head to face him as much as he allowed her to, her eyes turning stoic. "Will you throw me to my death?"
Thomas grimaced. "What a horrifying notion. Honestly, you're rather morbid, aren't you?"
Hermione didn't answer him, but merely stared. Beside them, he saw Draco and Theodore disappear with a pop. She didn't seem to notice, so focused was she on him, but she'd stopped trying to push him away at least.
Shaking his head, he called on his magic and smiled as he felt it bristle across his skin and lick over hers. With precise focus, he bent his magic to his will and pulled them both into the familiar draw of Apparation.
When he felt the space around him shift and the dimensions stretch, he relinquished his grasp on his frightened little-wife-to-be.
She wavered precariously before falling promptly to the ground, outstretched fingers flexing over dew-soaked grass. The falls were now only a distant sound some ways behind them. She pulled herself to her knees, and he tried to look at the scene from her perspective.
The kingdom of Wiltshire spread before them in all it's magical glory. As if on cue, he heard the howl of a werewolf. Hermione sat on her legs, making no move to get up as she looked down the hill and into the bustling city. The sky had darkened to dark blue, highlighting the vast amount of faeries that dotted the horizon. Crooked buildings and twisted spires stuck out against the skyline. A hag rolled a cart down the paved road below them, selling her wares. A goblin sat outside his exchange shop, counting silver. A portly witch shot spells from her wand at a trio of gnomes running rampant through her garden. Owls roamed freely through the air, scrolls and packages clutched in their claws. Far off into the distance where crude homes and thick forests gave way to the manors and lesser castles housing the elite stood the large castle he grew up in. Thomas could barely make out a Welsh dragon flying overhead before it landed on a turret.
Her mouth fell open.
"You'd better get used to my touch," he informed her warningly. "That's how we travel around here."
She closed her mouth and slanted her gaze over to him, eyes wild. "How, exactly?"
"By Apparation."
She nodded as if that made perfect sense. "Is this a vision?"
He snorted. "Hardly. There's nothing that impressive about it." He reached down to pull her back to her feet. "Now come on, then. Draco's already got a head start on us." He kept her arm in his as he pointed to a black building with a cauldron hanging from the door. "That tavern there has the closest Floo. We need to get to my godfather's house quickly."
He led her down the hill and onto the main road before darting under the covered walkway. It was a short and rushed walk to the tavern. The place was, of course, teeming with people. Hermione's eyes glanced from one table to the next, widening with each new glimpse that seemed to her more alarming than the last.
"It's not polite to stare, lovely," Thomas chided her. "Especially at vampires. They're prone to snap at you."
She tensed and he had to shove her in the direction of the Floo.
"We can go on a tour some other time." He pulled her inside the wide hearth and grabbed a handful of powder. "To Castle Black!"
Hermione screamed as the flames swallowed them up in a shock of green light before dimming and giving way to another scene entirely.
"My apologies," he called over his shoulder. "My godfather is quite the paranoid wizard. He doesn't allow direct Apparation except for him."
"This can't be happening," she said between coughs.
"Speaking of which," he didn't let go of her hand as they navigated through the garish parlor. "There he is now. The illustrious Lord Black."
"Thomas, my boy!" Sirius exclaimed, standing up to greet him with a cigar hanging from his lips. "I didn't know you had returned."
"Just arrived." Thomas reluctantly let the man pull him into an embrace - the only person he allowed such liberties - while still keeping his grip on Hermione.
"And this must be the lovely Princess Daphne."
Hermione stared blankly at him.
"Merlin's balls! That is...Princess Astoria?"
In a daze, she turned her gaze to Thomas as if he could tell her who she was. He didn't mind, he was happy to answer any questions that may be directed her way. She was, after all, a puppet.
"Neither," Thomas answered blithely. "This is Hermione. -No, just Hermione, and Sirius—I need you to marry us in the utmost haste."
~oOo*oOo~