Luther's Pride Part 48 (Alt) (Patreon)

Luther waited for Emily to continue, but she proved hesitant to speak. If she spent any more time smoothing her skirt, she might wear a hole through the thin material and the many layers underneath. 

“What about your mother did you wish to discuss?” Luther asked, trying to demonstrate patience as he prompted her. 

Emily opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, and opened it again. “How familiar are you with the political and governmental structure of the empire?” 

Luther considered the question. He’d learned it when he was young, but it had never been important to him as a child. His father wasn’t a noble when he left the empire. He’d missed his father’s rise to power, but now that he considered what he knew, there were parts that contradicted sense. 

As a lord, the Raefendale valley was far too large for him to preside over. He should be a marquess or a count, but his father never received such titles. It was odd that he swore his oaths to the duke, and not to an intermediary vassal. Likewise, the number of lords in his territory who paid tribute to him seemed large. 

“I studied the matter many years ago, but that was before I traveled. My position among the nobility appears to be unique. I’m assuming you can tell me why aspects of my inheritance don’t align with what I learned when I was young?” Luther asked. 

Emily nodded. “Yes. As I’m sure you can tell, the duke has no great love for non-humans.” 

Luther nodded. 

“Your father being fey was unprecedented,” Emily said. “But his speed and skill with his sword were an end to every argument against him. So, the late Duke Beaudivere, Owen’s father, made a compromise and granted him the title of lord after the old Count Raefendale passed away without an heir. It was an insult, and a joke, but your father accepted it.”

“The late duke made him a lord, not a count, as an insult against my father not being human?” Luther asked. “I can only assume that the son inherited his prejudices from his father.” 

Emily nodded. “Likewise, any viscounts or barons on good terms with the duke who did not wish to swear fealty to your father swore to other counts instead. Raefendale shrank a great deal in those days.”

“So where does your mother fit into this?” Luther asked, curious. 

“My mother was the late count’s sister,” Emily explained. “She married Count Burville, against my late uncle’s wishes, relinquishing any possibility of inheriting Raefendale in exchange for more secure arrangements. Now, the only way for her or her children to carry on her family’s legacy is through combat, or…” 

“Marriage,” Luther supplied the word that Emily held in reserve. 

Emily nodded. “That is one of the many reasons Criella invited us to meet you, I imagine, and the only reason Lucas accepted. He had every intention of marrying you, or killing you, to claim your title and take the title of Count of Raefendale for himself. As I’m sure my mother does. She sees Raefendale as her family’s legacy.” 

Luther steepled his fingers as he considered her words. “A legacy my father took from her, but one that the current Duke Beaudivere might have granted to your brother.” 

Emily nodded again. Relief that she didn’t have to say it settled over her shoulders. “Now that he’s dead, my mother will insist that I marry, which is one reason I asked to stay here. If she believes I am courting you, I buy myself time to avoid her forcing the issue, and spare you from her machinations.” 

Luther furrowed his brow. “So you’re proposing that you and I court each other?” 

Emily blushed, looking down at her hands. “Or at least pretend to do so for a while.” 

“It occurs to me that I have been abysmal at courting you, if you feel the need to suggest we pretend I have a romantic interest in you,” Luther said. “Have I not made myself clear in such matters?” 

“You’ve been less pursuant of romance than a suitor might be. I didn’t want to presume,” Emily said. “Besides, your intentions toward me have been less romantic and rather more political.” 

“Well, that’s a mercenary way of seeing it,” Luther said, but there was truth to that perspective. Getting to know her had been a matter of survival, with the promise of romance to come later. “But I wouldn’t consider my marriages to others to be the result of political machinations. At least, not entirely.” 

“They very much were, from my perspective,” Emily said. “You only invited them to dinner because of your inheritance, not because you met them or received word of their merits from others.” 

“Well, that is true,” Luther agreed. 

“And they agreed to marry you for a chance to share in your title, lands, and wealth,” Emily said. “Their motivations were political. Your looks and charm didn’t hurt, but they were hardly the motive for marriage.” 

Luther had to agree, though he couldn’t speak to his wives’ motivations better than they could. He couldn’t deny the role that politics played in his maneuvering and marriages, no matter how much he disliked acknowledging them. No one wanted to admit they had formed their union for political advantage rather than personal enrichment, even if it was the reality. 

“If I marry, I want it to be because of the love between myself and my partners,” Emily said. “To that end, I suggest a courtship, for as long as you’ll allow me to remain here as your guest. If, at the end of your hospitality, we have developed beyond acquaintances and friendship, then all is well. If not, then I will take my leave and pursue my romances elsewhere.” 

“Of course,” Luther said. Though it was kind of her to warn him that if or when she left, her mother would become his enemy. “You are welcome here, Emily, and I hope over time we will get to know one another better.” 

Emily smiled. “Thank you, my lord.” 

Luther chuckled. “You don’t need to call me that if we’re courting.” 

“As you wish, Luther,” Emily said. She bowed her head, then lifted it. “Now, concerning Duke Beaudivere, might I suggest you give the staff the day off?” 

Luther raised an eyebrow as he followed the implications and consequences. The excuse would, of course, be celebrating Criella’s mighty victory. She wasn’t a servant, but the servants loved her, and after a bout such as the one everyone witnessed at sunrise, they’d want to celebrate. 

Luther couldn’t host the duke and his family without servants. They’d have to return home, and the burden of hosting the pompous oath ceremony the duke wished to perform fell on his household, not Luther’s. It was a good idea, and it bought Luther and his spouses time to recover their strength and spend time together. 

He stroked his chin, considering the suggestion. 

“Luther!” Criella said, glaring at him from the doorway. “Oh, hello, Miss Burville. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were in here. Please forgive my annoyance; it’s not at you.” 

Emily had looked frightened, but she recovered at Criella’s assurances as she, Helena, Jo, Eira, and Rhosyn entered the parlor. 

“Why aren’t you at the pyres?” Criella asked. 

“I have no intention of aiding the Feothe clan, even in death,” Luther said. “They were miserable, petty, and deserve to rot in the realms below.” 

“That’s Emily’s brother you’re talking about,” Jo said. She didn’t disagree with him, but Luther could tell she disapproved of his behavior. 

Emily frowned. “I agree with Luther for my own reasons. It might be rude, but rudeness is the least offensive comeuppance my brother deserved.” 

Jo looked taken aback, but recovered as realization wiped her face clean. Emily’s expression at the mention of her brother made each of them realize there was something more to her not joining the Feothe clan than her preference for Luther. 

“My apologies,” Jo said.  

Emily nodded. “It’s quite all right.” 

“Rudeness aside, the duke expects us,” Criella said. “Your tardiness is a stain on your reputation, Luther. They will say you are without decency or manners, and whether or not you care for them, you need the nobles to think well of you if you’re to succeed.” 

Luther reclined on the sofa and put his foot on the end table. “I’d belch, but I don’t seem to have it in me. Will a fart do?” 

Eira and Rhosyn giggled. Criella appeared beside him and smacked Luther on the back of the head with her open palm. She exhaled through her nose in one sharp breath as Luther rose, turning in his seat and rising to his feet. 

He rubbed the back of his head. “Now that was rude.” 

“Make an appearance,” Criella said. “You don’t even have to sing. Just stand there. Please, Luther, for me?” 

Luther sighed. “That is an unfair manipulation,” he protested. “But fine. After this, however, you and I need to spend more time together.” 

“After this, you have to swear your fealty to the duke,” Criella said, adjusting Luther’s lapels and straightening his clothes out of habit. The affectionate pats culminated in her using her nails to sweep his hair off his forehead and tuck it behind his ear. 

Luther sighed. “Then, at least promise me a dance.” 

“Each of us expects one,” Helena said, looping her arm through Luther’s. Jo took his other, and the rest walked behind them, following them out through the manor to the arena where the servants, the duke, and his spouses watched the pyres burning. 

A collective of local priests and priestesses stood closer to the pyres, singing the song of ascension to guide the souls of the dead into heaven. The tradition reminded Luther of his father’s funeral, and he reached behind him to hold Criella’s hand as he watched. She held his hand, but remained behind him, letting him know she was there for him without drawing attention. Likewise, he was there for her, supporting her as the pyres burned and the sparks danced into the sky.

“Rhosyn, please send a message to Wulfric,” Luther said. “Let him know I want him and the servants to take the rest of the day off to celebrate Criella’s victory.”

“Of course,” Rhosyn said, closing her eyes as she cast her spell. Criella couldn’t protest, but she squeezed his hand to signal her confusion. 

The songs continued, the bodies burned, and at the end, the servants dispersed while the priests cleansed the site. Luther had hoped for a reprieve, but he received none as the duke approached. 

“Luther,” the duke said. “My man tells me you’ve given your servants the day off, in celebration?” 

“Yes, Your Grace,” Luther said. “I thought it only proper to celebrate Criella’s might. The servants are fond of her.” 

The duke’s eyes slid past him, then returned to Luther with resignation. “Very well, I must confess I do not approve of her methods, but even I cannot deny she won an arduous battle today. I would have thought her victory impossible had I not seen it with my own eyes.” 

Luther looked past him to see Criella, who was still holding his hand and her tongue. “Did you hear that, Criella? Duke Beaudivere is even singing your praises.” 

The duke’s mouth pinched at that, but he moved on. “Tomorrow night, Luther, I expect to see you at my castle for your oath ceremony. We shall throw a ball, and you are to be the guest of honor. I am eager to see how you fare among the members of good society after spending so much time outside of the empire.” 

Luther chuckled. “I’m sure I shall be just enough of an uncouth barbarian to amuse you, Your Grace.” 

The duke scoffed as if Luther had made a dry, droll joke. “I’m sure. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe it’s time my spouses and I depart. Tomorrow, Luther, I shall see you tomorrow.” 

Luther bowed, and the duke and his spouses left. He stood at the edge of the arena alone with his wives, watching the priests cleanse the embers. “Well, tomorrow shall be interesting,” he said, looking at Criella. “But if I’m not mistaken, that means we have the rest of the afternoon and tonight free? Whatever shall we do with such freedom?” 

Criella chuckled, her tail caressing Luther’s calf. “You’re not subtle, are you?” 

“Not with you,” Luther said. “I lose the need for subtlety when I’m alone with my wives.” 

Helena put her arm around his shoulders. “Alright, let’s go fuck then.”