A/N: Hey you lovely people! I swear-all I want to write anymore is historical romance. The plunnies are flowing like mad and I can't quite figure out what to do with them! If only I had more time not at work where I could start hammering some of these out, but alas-yesterday I worked 17 hours and my sleep schedule has me a bit delerious. Cross your fingers for me I get some writing time this weekend? Your feedback gives me so much life C: Happy reading Xx
Beta love to NikkiB and Kreeblim Sabs
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~oOo*oOo~
Hermione - no - Duchess Hermione Riddle sat with her hands folded in her lap, her mind reeling from the rush of events she'd just endured. Lord Black had officiated the ceremony, if one could call it such. The only people - and she used that term loosely - present were herself, the duke, Lord Black, and a small creature referred to simply as Kreacher.
And that was all.
Well, she wasn't exactly complaining. Direct interaction with people made Hermione uncomfortable to begin with and she was especially scared of the citizens of Wiltshire who appeared to consist of an entire community of magical individuals, each species more frightening than the last. Suppose a werewolf kidnapped her and tore her throat out? Or perhaps she would meet a fatal end with a blood-sucking vampire? There appeared to be nowhere safe to hide in her new kingdom. She missed the comfort of Ballycastle, even if she was just a nobody there. At least she knew what to expect. At least she knew what was expected of her!
She was just human.
Were there other 'just humans' here? Surely she couldn't be the only one, not if King Lucius demanded his royals to wed ladies from neighboring kingdoms in order to secure a truce. If that occurred, perhaps there were other normal people like herself. Dare she hope?
The ceremony hadn't even seemed like a ceremony, not really.
There were no flowers or spectators or cake! She certainly wasn't wearing a ring, at least not a visible one. She hardly looked the part of a duchess in her simple dress and unadorned hair. Her shoes were far too large and lent to her by Cecilia. She was certainly no vision. She thought about the words Lord Black had instructed them to repeat.
Blood of my blood,
And bone of my bone,
I pledge you my body, my spirit, so we shall be one.
On my honor and my magic.
Hermione still felt the tingling around her ring finger where a golden intricate sphere had appeared to circle around the digit before vanishing completely into her skin, but not before leaving a stinging burn in its wake. Her new husband had informed her quite smugly that they were permanently bound in the most ancient of ways. Did it really apply to her? She had honor, sure, but magic? She was decidedly lacking in that field. Maybe it was just him that was bound to her. Wouldn't that be a hysterical turn of events?
A bit hairy at the heel, isn't she? Lord Black had inquired of her husband, to which he had replied, She is ill-bred, yes. Lord Black had peered at his godson as if he'd sprouted another head, but commented no further. Hermione had wanted to shrink into the black wooden walls. Of course she knew she was unworthy, even among magicfolk with their bizarre traditions. Would she be bound to live a life of constantly being reminded of this? She couldn't help but think bitterly how this was not what she had agreed to.
Her fingers flexed over the cushion of the lounger she sat on. The piece of furniture was his—her husband's. Salazar Castle was not so different from Castle Black judging from the interior. It was still dark and dreadfully garish. The rooms seemed in desperate need of a female touch. There were no decorations whatsoever. Just furniture and more furniture and ridiculous crown molding. It looked in need of a sound cleaning as well. She itched to do so herself, but thought better of it. That surely was below her new station, but where were the servants and what did they do all day? There was dust for days!
The castle was no longer just her husband's - no - according to the vows they had both uttered, this castle was her home as well. Perhaps she could make an improvement here, at the very least. It would give her something to focus on in an otherwise abhorrently planned itinerary. It wasn't as if she wanted to ever leave the premises. Perhaps she could waste away inside these walls and never encounter another magic person again, save her husband.
Well…
...She was slightly curious.
It was only natural to be so, she rationalized. Wiltshire was to be her new home and she knew next to nothing about it. Everything she had heard back in Ballycastle was wrong. Obviously she would need to explore the kingdom, but she could start with Salazar Castle. It was not near as large as Ballycastle, and from what she could tell, dwarfed in the shadow of Wiltshire Castle, but it was substantial at the very least. Her husband would no doubt appreciate such enthusiasm in the form of her desire to explore.
Speaking of which, the man in question - or the wizard, rather - chose that moment to stride back into the room. She studied him carefully, her eyes darting up to stare at his face, taking note of the strong curve of his jaw and the strange shade of his eyes.
"Like what you see, Wife?" He flashed a rather dark grin.
She slid her eyes back to her lap. "I'm sorry, Your Gr—, Thomas. I didn't mean to stare."
He chuckled. "By all means, stare away. I can't fault you for your interest. It's only natural."
She looked up once more, catching on to the teasing lilt in his voice. It occurred to her that he was rather arrogant. "How kind of you, Your—, Thomas."
He whipped his head around, a stunned expression on his face when he took note of her snark. "I realize you have had a trying day. I've taken the liberty of preparing your chambers. Perhaps you'd like to retire to them now?"
"A trying day," she repeated, tasting the words in her mouth. "You mean finding out that the man who has asked for my hand is actually a magician who lives in a supernatural kingdom? I believe you neglected to inform me of that part, Your—, Thomas."
He rolled his eyes in a very un-duke-like fashion. "The proper term is wizard. Magician is insulting."
"Pardon me."
"I believe I promised to take care of you, did I not?" He leveled his menacing stare on her and she felt herself shrink back, despite her ire. "In return for your agreeableness and obedience, might I add, as well as your unwavering loyalty. I will not tolerate any of my people conspiring with my enemies."
"Conspire with your enemies." Her eyebrows rose to her hairline. "I don't even know how to go about performing the simplest tasks in this realm. I'm not even sure if I stepped outside that I wouldn't be gobbled up by some terrifying monster. Yet you believe I would bypass all of those obstacles in order to conspire with someone more terrible than you? Please forgive my surprise, Your—, Thomas."
He listed his head in a motion that reminded Hermione of a predator evaluating its prey. "You're quite a feisty thing, aren't you? Not nearly as quiet as I first pegged you for."
"I apologize for my shortcomings." Alarms rang in her head, warning Hermione that she should probably stop herself from inciting the wrath of such a man, but she was hardpressed to follow her own advice.
He ignored her rudeness and moved to a crystal decanter that stood on a table by the fireplace. He poured himself a glass of copper-colored liquid, before pouring another and passing it to her.
Her eyes raised up questioningly.
"I'm sorry I don't have wine." He inclined his head graciously. "But I find where wine fails, firewhisky improves the situation splendidly. Do help yourself."
"My Lord." She pressed her hand against her chest, aghast. "Even in my former station, I was never permitted to indulge in strong drink."
He raised his eyes skyward. "I am your Lord and ruler now," he needlessly reminded her. "If I say you can partake in hard spirits, you can, but only with my permission."
Hermione took the glass and wrinkled her nose at it. It smelled strong and looked thick in texture. She'd only before sipped wine left over in the glasses she cleaned as a girl, and she hadn't much cared for it nor had she seen what the fuss was about.
Thomas raised his glass in the air. "To our new marriage," he toasted.
"To our marriage," she said with less enthusiasm. She tipped the glass back and devoured the contents as he did, only to come up sputtering a moment later. The liquid burned down the base of her throat and she could feel it still even as it trickled into her stomach. "It's horrible!"
He laughed, the rich, but dark sound setting her nerves on high alert. "It's an acquired taste, but you shouldn't drink it all."
She placed the glass on the side table next to the lounger, feeling abruptly dizzy, not bothering to point out that he drank it all, as well. Her heart dropped when she heard the no doubt pricey crystal crash to the floor. "I'm sorry, Your Grace."
Thomas reached for the pale stick in his trouser holster Hermione had at one point somehow mistaken for a sword. Looking back, she realized it may have been a glamour of some sort. He trained the yew wood at the glass pieces laying on the floor, and she watched in shock as the cup righted itself, pieces flying together, and became whole once more.
"No need to worry, Duchess." He extended his arm in offering and she took it reluctantly. "Allow me to escort you to your rooms."
She soon found that the aid of his arm was a small grace she was actually thankful for. She seemed to have completely forgotten how to walk and she stumbled so hard at one point, she nearly brought him down with her. Yet, Thomas was graceful, and appeared to be more than capable of balancing them both in their journey to her mysterious chamber.
"You know." His voice was edged with amusement and something else she couldn't identify. "I must congratulate you—you're turning out to be more interesting than I originally anticipated, and I'm rarely incorrect in my deductions."
"Rarely?" She gripped him firmer, willing the hall to stop it's treacherous spinning. "Perhaps it's a sign you should hold off on making deductions before you actually know something for a fact."
"Such sage advice coming from a former commoner."
Hermione wrinkled her nose at the quip, and continued walking through the next doorway and into another hall. She felt a small tugging, like a prickling at her skin, but ignored it. Thomas, however, stopped in his step.
"What's wrong?" She eyed him warily.
His eyes drew to the doorway above their heads. "This entrance is heavily warded."
"Warded?"
"Meaning it is off limits to intruders. Gives them a rather nasty jolt backwards. Feels similar to being punched in the chest. Any additional attempts result in burns and skin sores."
Hermione's mouth fell open. "You did this?" Her gaze turned accusatory. "And you were going to let me walk right through them, neglecting completely to warn me?"
He twisted his shoulders in a shrug. "I wanted to see if they'd work on you… you know… since we are wedded now. Perhaps the vows make you immune to my warding."
"Perhaps?" she echoed. Her hands fell to perch on her hips. "You would leave such an experiment up to chance?"
"Do you have a better solution for finding out?"
She stammered for words but came up short.
"I thought so." He craned his head, and she felt his familiar assessment as his eyes raked over her. "Interesting indeed, more and more by each passing moment."
Hermione held her head as high as she could, feeling mild annoyance at his flippant concern for her well-being. Take care of her, indeed. She didn't know if she was even comfortable with her husband showing so much - interest, as he called it - towards her. She was beginning to believe the man was just as brilliant as he was arrogant. Brilliant, arrogant...and maybe a trifle insane.
"It's just this way." He pointed to a set of stairs that led to another hallway.
It's a bloody maze, she thought. How will I ever make it to breakfast in the morning? She tried to memorize her steps and think back to where she had just come from, but she was beginning to feel turned around. The liquor wasn't helping.
"Those are my chambers." He gestured to a hall on the opposite end, with maybe eight doors resting along it.
"All of those?"
"I have many needs."
She stared at him blankly.
He noticed and sighed. "You know, a Potion Chamber...Astronomy Tower...office...bedroom...second bedroom...bathing chamber...that sort of thing."
"Dear God." He was a bit high maintenance, in her opinion. "So should I need you, start at the beginning and work my way down the line?"
"Be sure to knock first."
"Aren't there any servants in this castle?" Her voice may have come out whingy, she wasn't sure she cared at this point. She still felt fueled by the foreign firewhisky. "I haven't seen a single person since our arrival."
"There's Hokey," he said as if this Hokey was all a castle of this size needed. In Hermione's mind, Hokey was doing a horrible job, or maybe just overwhelmed. "She is a house-elf like Kreacher."
Hermione winced at the thought of one of those ugly creatures. She would have to speak to him about getting more help. Maybe human help? Surely he could afford it.
"These are your rooms." He gestured grandly to the end of the hall, with three doorways gracing the walls. "Do with them what you please, as they are yours."
"You're most kind." She glanced back at his end of the hall, making silent comparisons. He had a good five more rooms than she did, but what did she need more than one for? If anything, maybe one would end up being a nursery. She shivered at the thought. She was equal parts fearful and intrigued by the notion. The promise of pain made her want to run for the hills, but surely producing an heir was now the largest of her responsibilities. "Which room should I take?"
"Well," he opened the first door with a flourish. "This is the Blue Room."
Her eyes wandered over the interior of the room in pleasant surprise. A blue canopied bed stood at the center, larger than even Princess Astoria's. Plush blue carpet lay in the middle of the room. Stepping inside, she found her feet sank into its softness. There were various bits of furniture: a sitting area by the fire, a blue and gold dressing screen decorated with the outline of birds, and a matching bureau standing on the opposite end of the room. There was a bay window with a blue cushioned sitting bench complete with golden pillows decorated with tassels—an ideal spot for reading. It was flanked by a bookcase dotted with tomes and scrolls. To the left of the bed was a golden tub that looked large enough to submerge herself in completely.
"Hokey will escort you to the village square in the morning, so you may select your own furniture."
Hermione gasped. "Why would I need more?"
"To replace what you don't find to your liking."
"I like it very much, and don't wish to replace anything," she rushed to assure him.
"Wonderful, but there are the other rooms to contend with." Thomas glanced through the open door. "Not to mention you still need to make a trip to get fitted for dresses and such. Perhaps I can have Lady Pansy escort you."
"Is she a witch?"
"Of course."
Hermione worried her lip. "Is she nice?"
Thomas scoffed. "Most certainly not."
She inhaled a large breath through her nose. "Lovely, but I really must ask you—do you really think it wise to spend your Galleons on something so unimportant?"
"Unimportant." His voice was dangerously low. "Are you insinuating that my new wife is unimportant?"
"Well, no. Just my wardrobe."
"I'll not have you look like a pauper." His lips curled in disgust. "Imagine what perception that would give people? And I don't mean to lock you up in a tower, so you will be mingling with royals as well as come across common people on occasion."
"You care what the common people think?"
"Of course." His smirk sent shivers whispering down her spine. "I call a ruler unwise and unfit who neglects to take into account the perception of the masses."
Hermione felt begrudging appreciation build in her chest, but then of course, he could be lying to endear himself to her. "Thank you...Husband. I think I'm ready to retire to my chambers now."
She hoped her abrupt dismissal was not to untoward, but started when she saw him smile, displaying perfect rows of white teeth, and step further into the room. Hermione took a resultant step back.
"Don't get flighty on me now, Wife," he said in a feline purr. "Not after I've been so kind and welcoming."
Oh no!
Did he mean to...was he going to...he couldn't possibly expect her to endure that...not after everything he'd forced her to go through already? She couldn't take anymore surprises! To say nothing of the fact that she hadn't had time to think about what it would mean to truly become a wife, in every aspect of the word. She needed more time!
Thomas did not seem keen on giving her what she desired most.
With each step he took into the room she took a step back until she found her back pressed against the wall.
"Don't fear, Hermione," he purred, his voice having dropped a few octaves. "I'll be sure to make things enjoyable for you."
And then his lips were crashing down on hers. This kiss was not like the chaste one from before that had took her breath away. No. This one was hard and fast and filled with a need that frightened her. His lips moved against her own forcefully, coaxing a reaction she wasn't sure she understood. What did he want her to do? She froze when she felt his hands come up to grip her face. They were warm and strong and entirely too much. She wasn't ready to deal with this!
He grasped the sides of her face and tilted her head. She jumped when she felt his tongue dart out to taste her lips. He stilled her as if calming a flighty mare, and held her more securely, which only panicked her even more. The feeling of being held - of being restrained - was foreign to her and she didn't much care for it! Heat raced through her veins, causing her to lock her joints in dread. What was happening? Why didn't he just...stick his sword in her and get it over with?
The offending appendage that was his tongue seem to have enough of tasting her lips, and pushed its way through and into her mouth. Now the panic really begin to set in. Standing rigidly, she was shocked at the intrusion. Her hands came up to grip his wrists which in turn were gripping her. She could taste firewhisky on his tongue and something else...something dark and distinctly masculine, intrinsically him.
She didn't know what to do as his tongue thrashed against hers. His hands drew down to cup the mounds of her chest and she yelped in outrage. There was something about his touch - there - something highly disconcerting, but she shoved the thought aside in preparation for the pain that would ultimately come. It had been enough to make Princess Astoria wail in agony, surely it would make Hermione wish she were dead!
He nudged a knee between her legs and Hermione clamped her thighs against him. She knew she was fighting him when she should be doing as Hilda suggested, reaching for the rod in the curtain beside her elbow and holding on for dear life until he got his passion over and done with, but she couldn't help but to resist him at every turn. He was hot and sinuous muscle and the scent of him did funny things to her insides, but he would ultimately hurt her, and that kept her on a fear-induced edge.
"Salazar's balls," he swore, pulling away from her. "What the bloody hell is the matter?"
Hermione took the space afforded to her and sank to the floor, an easy enough task thanks to the heavy feeling she had received from the firewhisky. She wrapped her arms around her knees, feeling like an utter failure as she looked up from under her lashes at him. "I'm sorry!" Her voice was thick with unshed tears. "I'm just afraid."
He ran a jerky hand through his hair. "Merlin, what can you possibly be so afraid of?"
"I know it will hurt." She ducked her head ashamed.
He wrinkled his nose. "Are you really a virgin?" He gaped at her and Hermione shrank under his stare. "It will hurt, maybe a little, but not completely. Bloody hell, we're married now, we have to consummate. The vows aren't complete until we do."
"I know." Tears shone in her eyes. "I know we have to, and I'm a failure for stopping it, but I'm just afraid of all the pain."
"All the pain?" He stepped back and she could feel his gaze intensify. "What...do you think it's just pain?"
She nodded sullenly. What else would it be?
He adjusted his collar, eyes narrowing. "I see." A thoughtful expression passed over his eyes. "I don't wish to cause you any distress." He leaned down and offered her his hand. "Don't worry about the consummation, that can come later."
Hermione allowed him to pull her up from the floor. She swiped at her tears. "But aren't we supposed to do it right away? What good is it to put it off the inevitable?"
"Are you telling me you're ready, then?"
She gulped.
"I thought so. No, we will wait, I think." A sly look flickered over his face. "I hear it's better when the husband and wife know each other closely, anyway."
"Truly?" Hope shrilled through her.
He nodded. "One step at a time. I won't force myself on any woman. I never have and certainly won't start tonight."
Hermione considered telling him she would never be ready, nor would she be more comfortable with the idea, but she would go through with it, as was her duty. She thought better of telling him such a thing. Maybe time was what she needed to ready herself for the trauma she would soon endure. "Thank you, My—, Thomas."
"Get some rest, dear Wife." He flashed a smile at her. "We have much to prepare for."
She nodded, breathing a sigh of relief when he inclined his head in farewell and left her blessedly alone. He really meant to give her time! He wouldn't demand his rights as she would have expected him to. Dare she hope he was right, and it did become easier to bear the act once a wife was comfortable with her husband? Whatever the verdict, Hermione could add another trait to Thomas Riddle.
He may be arrogant and brilliant and slightly insane, but he was also generous.
Perhaps he truly did mean to keep his word...and take care of her.
~oOo*oOo~
Pure as the driven snow.
Malfoy had claimed such a thing in reference to her, but Thomas had all but dismissed it. The likelihood of a commoner being found so virginal? It was even a rarity among princesses. She was terrified of being with a man.
She proposed a challenge, and he'd not had the pleasure of coming across a challenge in years. Before he could convince her that she would enjoy his attentions, she had to first warm up to him, but she was a feisty slip of a thing.
Thomas laughed into his glass of firewhisky. To think that a common chambermaid would be so bold as to question him...to sass him, as frequently as this one did, was amusing to say the least. He was used to girls putting up pretenses around him, all of which he could see right through. But with Hermione, there was nothing to see through. What you saw is what you got. There was no highborn daughter trained since adolescence in the art of tricking a man. There were no false laughs or carefully sculpted answers ladies thought he wanted to hear.
She was honest, and that was interesting.
The sound of a man howling could be heard further into the dungeons. Thomas chanced a glance down the stone hall, eyes scanning the various cells the sconces lighting the walls revealed to him.
He was fortunate enough to discover Macnair's treachery. Imagine if the lordling would have scrambled to King Lucius with the news of Thomas' shift in allegiance?
No, that would never do.
No one need know where his loyalties truly lie. Thomas cursed his misfortune. He was caught between killing the man outright or using him as leverage much later. Each prospect presented with inherent difficulties. Macnair was supposed to be on their side - wretched coward - and yet he'd found it profitable to play the part of a double agent. Such a decision would prove to be his fatal end. Thomas did not tolerate deceit - at least, not when he was the one being deceived.
He had King Lucius just where he wanted. He had the Wiltshire royals just where he wanted. He could play any of the fine lords and ladies like a fiddle. Everyone scrambled for his attention, and would perform favors if called upon, no doubt. The Court was in a prime position for takeover, and if ever there was a time for new leadership—it was now.
King Lucius was old and more concerned with consorting with filthy Muggles in order to secure his power than doing so the correct way. The only acceptable way to secure power was to ensure you were the most powerful, and that no opponent stood in your way to propose a challenge. If the king needed to fall back on Muggles to fight his opposition, he deserved to be overthrown. Magic was the only thing that mattered. Everyone had their uses, but true power was something you were born with, like Thomas had been.
The sound of Macnair's cries were like a royal symphony playing at Court—he enjoyed the resultant melody. Thomas closed his eyes in bliss and listened to the sound of betrayal, ousted only thanks to his expert intuition. Was there a wizard alive capable of besting him? It was difficult to tell—the wizards currently in power sat behind thrones flanked by subordinates placed as pawns to do their bidding. Who knew if they were worthy of wearing such heavy crowns. Even Muggle kingdoms were utilized in the game of wizarding royals. Everyone served a purpose.
Thomas scoffed at their stupidity.
Wizarding kings would do anything to ensure they remained in power, but sometimes, what needed to transpire was the kings in question coming down from their untouchable seats of power and proving their worth. Very few kings were willing to take such a risk.
It was why no king held Thomas' respect.
No king save Grindelwald.
Magic was might and those who possessed it and could wield it unflinchingly over those that were weaker, those existing only to serve, were the ones who deserved to rule.
Thomas smiled.
His plans were seeing fruition. He had discovered a way to thwart King Lucius' plans for marriage, as well as spotted a spy among his own ranks. Who could stand against him and live to tell the tale, truly? Certainly no one he'd encountered thus far. He was always five steps ahead of his enemies. He noticed the gems hidden in shells of filth. No one else would take the time to look, and that was their own folly. Thomas excelled at inspecting all angles.
Coming down to the dungeons to hear the screams of his victims was almost therapeutic. He felt better already.
Thoughts of the innocent little woman laying down in her bed four floors above him permeated his brain. She was a bit of a wildcard, or more accurately, a challenge. He had plans for her just as he did all his puppets. She had no clue what was in store for her, to say nothing of what was lurking in her immediate future.
Seduction by his hands.
Had any woman or witch before been able to boast of resisting him? The answer to that was a resounding no. Hermione had captured his interest in more ways than one. Her innocence as well as her transparency was a welcome change to what he was used to. Of course it wasn't enough to captivate him forever, but it was more than her predecessors had achieved. What was more, she was a bound to him - if not fully, then she would be soon. The perfect puppet for a wife. When compared to his previous options, Thomas couldn't help but feel as though he'd dodged the fiery vengeance of a dragon. It was up to him to decide his fate. He wouldn't allow anyone else to ever hold an ounce of power over him.
~oOo*oOo~