The Execution (32 page)

She turned
from the paintings and found herself in front of a
very rare
floor-length Chinese amalgamated mirror. She paused,
regarding the woman that gazed back at her with such uncommon eyes,
darkly damp and bottomless. It was not a moment of vanity—just
detached consideration.

Walking absentmindedly to the bed, she
looked it over and concluded that it was all things Adorno aspired
to be—ornate, enormous, and vulgar. It was immense, an imported
four post Baronial Tudor of blackest mahogany with satin ropes on
each post. The bedding was imported Yuan Dynasty silk, very
expensive and rare. The bed skirts were finished with ermine. It
was lavish and obscene, and utterly predictable.

On the bedside table was a book. She
ran a delicate finger across the text of Cent Philippe de
Vigneulle’s Nouvelle Nouvelles, which lay opened and face down. It
would appear her master required inspiration when it came to
eroticism—just another observation.

Younger than Adorno, hardly even
eighteen years, Nicolette belied her youth with a very strange and
otherworldly carriage. She was mystifying and provocative in an
effortless way and truly seemed to be untouchable with an
extraordinary detachment. She not only did not belong here—she
belonged nowhere.

It was peculiar the way she shrugged
to no one in particular as she pushed the rare book gently to the
edge of the table, allowing it to fall to the floor. She stared at
it, then stepped upon the erotic volume, cruelly breaking the
spine. Nudging the damaged book gently with the toe of her slipper,
she slid it beneath the bed skirting, an annoyance for Adorno
later.

She knew Adorno—knew his small heart
and his dirty little soul. She questioned it not, only observed it
like one might observe a dreadful accident involving people you did
not know.

Nicolette wasn’t like the onlookers at
the executions, fascinated, drawn in, horrified and morbidly
curious. She was detached and, even though trapped within his
castle, wholly outside of Adorno's jealous grasp.

This queer
aloofness made people whisper. It also made Adorno insanely
possessive and bedeviled of Nicolette. He must own her
completely.
There were many he could have
instead of her, and many that he did defile, but he truly wanted
only her.

His obsession was not lost upon her
and she was well aware that it consumed him.

She turned only slightly as Adorno
stomped from the bath chamber, his servants in tow.

Adorno stopped in his tracks,
instantly taken aback, as he always was, by the strange and
ethereal beauty standing before him. Without words, nor the notion
of foreplay, he advanced upon her like a jackal. He was immediately
aroused and fairly desperate for he’d been thinking incessantly
about her for the past hour—since he’d murdered Jamner.

The servants hastily shuffled from the
great chamber.

Nicolette knew Adorno’s timing; she
knew that his ability to consummate the act wasn’t always
predictable. She lifted her chin, tilting her head only slightly to
examine the length of him.

Fully aware that she unnerved him, she
had a way of putting him off guard, and she could do it with a mere
glance.

This only served to mildly enrage and
excite Adorno even further.

Without words he shoved her back onto
the bed and pounced onto her, roughly and ineptly stripping her
clothes from her. He flung the expensive and now torn garments to
the floor. Then he tied her to the massive frame, yanking the
bonds, spreading her legs far enough apart that he could see the
wet and delicate folds between.

He remained totally clothed, only
revealing the small and pale penis he’d forced on so many others.
None, however, aroused him as she did.

Mounting her, Adorno thrust himself
desperately in and out, grunting as he tried to coax a climax from
himself. He was desperate, but could not own her. Digging his
fingernails into the transparent white flesh of her shoulders, he
entangled his fingers into the inky blackness of her untamed hair,
yanking himself in and out of her.

Even as his crowning excitement fast
approached, he could not completely capture his domination of her.
He shrieked, his face contorted, his desperation complete as his
excitement peaked. Grunting, he squealed his rapture and finally
pulled from her to collapse back onto the bed.

Bound,
Nicolette lay there, looking away from him,
looking out the still open window. The white flesh of her shoulders
exhibited the red welts of his clawing battery and several even
seeped blood. She watched two starlings that had lit upon the sill
intending to nest there.

“
Tell me what you feel.
Tell me that you are satisfied!” he demanded.

“
Beyond compare, my lord,”
she said, turning back to him and smiling coyly. Her piercing eyes
haunted him as she seemed to blink too slowly. She controlled him
even as she lie there naked and fettered to the bed.

Adorno seemed mesmerized by her, as
though she was an addiction he could not be rid of'—a sweet poison
he desperately needed in his veins.

Despite her rape of only moments
before, Nicolette was aware that he'd done this to many others, but
others never more than once. She knew that it was her he wished to
own and command completely. Never in his many efforts had Adorno
produced a child. This fact did not surprise Nicolette at
all.

He slapped her cruelly across the
face. “Don’t look at me so long!”

Her head jerked harshly back, fragile
upon the thin, pale neck that carried it. She relaxed against the
silk coverlet again. “Yes, my lord, as you wish,” she whispered,
slowly opening her eyes. The silken smile played so subtly on her
lips, her eyes remained steadfast on him.

“
You mock me! I know you
do!” he raised his hand again.

“
No, my lord. I simply
desire you again.” She spread her legs even more, inviting him back
into her.

Adorno might have been aroused, but he
would not be capable again for at least a day. He jumped from the
bed, securing his trousers as he stormed from the room and motioned
for his guards to release her once he’d left.

* * *

Moulin entered to free her of her
bonds. He was embarrassed by the sounds that he’d only moments ago
been privy to—and by the degradation that lay before him. Pulling
the coverlet quickly over her nakedness, averting his eyes as he
did, he tended to her modesty before loosening the
bonds.

Nicolette had turned her attention
back to the nesting birds and only noticed, as a matter of
circumstance, when the coverlet was pulled over her. As the bonds
fell gently away, she casually peered into Moulin’s distressed
eyes.

“
Monsieur—lovely
afternoon, is it not?”

“
Yes, my lady—it is
beautiful today.” Moulin was dumbstruck. He could not take his eyes
from her. When she swung her legs to the edge of the bed and sat
up, staring again at the birds, the small of her back was shown
bare. He knelt to collect her gowns from the floor, averting his
eyes, but had noticed the scratches on her. It enraged him
somewhere to the core of his being that he should defile her
so.

“
Do you pledge your
alliance to him?” she asked suddenly.

She turned, bewitching him again with
her gaze. It was blank, impassive, only a bit curious.

“
Your highness, of course
I...” he trailed off.

“
You lie as a matter of
preservation, sir?”

“
I—your highness,” Moulin
struggled, “he is your betrothed.”

She frowned. “So you ally yourself to
him as a matter of principle,” she said it more than asked
it.

Moulin looked at his feet.

“
Mmm. Oh, I see—and thank
you for releasing me,’’ she said it almost as an
afterthought.

Moulin nodded, still looking down and
laid the gowns across the foot of the bed. Then he backed from the
room.

* * *

Adorno recalled that distant
afternoon’s events with Nicolette as his party of close to two
hundred approached the enormous timbered gates of Duval’s
compound.

‘
Witch!’ he thought to
himself. She vexed him thoroughly and he would rid himself of the
whore upon his return. This he told himself again, and for the
hundredth time.

It took but a short while for the
guards to check clearance. Adorno’s forces were required to remain
outside of the compound but he, Moulin, and three assistants were
allowed to enter. From the fortress walls, Duval’s soldiers stood
at the ready, bows loaded and pointed at the army below.

Aware of Duval’s infamy and fortune,
Adorno was extremely curious of the goings-on inside the vast
compound. He’d heard of the extraordinary power and deadly
mercenaries Duval produced and possessed. Great power intrigued
him, and he wondered of the man’s methods. He had no desire to
replicate the hard work which had gained Duval such power—he simply
coveted it.

The smell of the compound offended
him, however, as did the conspicuous absence of any female. He
wished he'd brought Nicolette. He tried hard to ignore a momentary
pang of desperation as her fleeting memory triggered an awareness
of his inability to possess her. He considered that she would have
been glorious to dangle in front of Duval. For all must want her
after laying eyes upon her. In truth, most did.

He delicately avoided contact with
anyone or anything as he was escorted to meet with the master of
this intriguing, if not repugnant, court. If Duval was as vastly
wealthy as rumor had it, where was the excess? Where was the fine
dining and lavish furnishings? Where was his elegant chamber? Where
were the servants, and most importantly, where were the
women?

* * *

It was difficult for Adorno to
comprehend that Duval’s wealth was spent on power of a different
sort. The mercenary’s coffers were full of gold, and he maintained
many land holdings elsewhere, but his primary purpose was in the
maintenance of a mercenary army of significant size, outfitted to
the extreme. He craved power, and his purpose was to squash
outbreaks, destroy campaigns, and remove ‘problems’. This Duval did
with considerable appetite and finesse despite the meddling of law.
Provisions, training, and board for such endeavors required
tremendous resources.

Duval remained seated as Adorno
entered the massive hall in a flourish. He raised one eyebrow as he
scrutinized his visitor at length. The fair little man’s perfectly
manicured nails and immaculately tailored satin and Kashmir velvet
clothing were a sharp contrast to the other men in the
room.

The soldiers who were Duval's Guards
stood alert, frozen at attention, their hands callused from
wielding their weapons. Their bodies were robed with the heavy
leathers, armor, and stench natural to a mercenary.

Mildly amused and somewhat annoyed
that his time should be wasted, Duval rolled his eyes. He’d known
that Adorno had approached his compound for some time now and was
curious about the vanity of a man who traveled with such
force.

“
What is it you wish?” he
confronted Adorno straight away.

With a sweeping bow, Adorno presented
himself. “Monsieur, I am Adorno Benedict Antoine de Bourbon IV from
the Bourbon township and—”

“
I know who you are and
your reputation precedes you.” Duval cut the little man off as
easily as one might separate an over-boiled clam. “What is it you
wish of me? I haven’t time for trifling banter,” Duval’s expression
was unchanged—casual, as if he were chatting about the weather.
But, he was more than the tiniest bit curious about the cockscomb
preening before him.

Adorno froze, his smile fading to a
barely perceptible sneer which he quickly and wisely replaced. He
gestured dramatically. “I have need of your services,
Monsieur.”

“
You have need of my
services,” Duval repeated and paused. It was a statement, not a
question. He kicked his chair back away from the table and crossed
his arms across his chest. “It hardly seems you have need of armed
forces for you evidently employ a sizable army.” He gestured with
one arm in the direction of which the outside army might be
waiting. “True, it may be forced from the very people who feed
you—not that I take offense from a working model.”

Adorno hesitated. The jib was
completely lost on him and he shrugged, choosing to remain the
ever-gracious visitor. “It is not for my army, monsieur. You are
correct, my army is satisfactory.” He embellished with his arms
outstretched as he slowly began to walk down the length of the
great table. “It is more... a personal matter, shall we say. I have
need of, to put it delicately—protection.” He spread his arms in a
dramatic display and bowed slightly.

As he approached the head of the
table, one of Duval’s men instinctively stepped forward, extending
his lance to stop further advance from the visitor. Adorno glared
at the weapon, then at the guard, but refocused on his host. He
delicately placed his index finger on the tip of the lance and made
to lift it, but the guard remained steadfast.