The Duchess & The Damned - Prologue

Goodness. It feels as though this re-write has been in the works for ages now. Constantly evolving from the duology it was originally intended to be, Charles & Emilia's story is getting a new look, with new characters, new dynamics, new stakes, and new spice 😏.

Instead of a butler situation, we're going to go for an adopted brother situation - because who doesn't love one of those? (If it's you, kindly see yourself out 💖)

Anyway, this re-write has been a longtime coming, and I'm increasingly excited to see how tying it to the rest of the world I'm planning is going to turn out. If you're at all curious about what the story looked like before, you can still read some of it over on my wattpad!

Things To Keep In Mind

• This story is in an ongoing draft state. This means that (minor) updates to posts may occur at any time, as needed. Major updates will appear in highlighted text, in addition to having a blog post explaining why.

  • The final versions of these stories will be published and available for purchase when completed. Thank you for your patience!

The Duchess & The Damned - Prologue

"What's your name, lad?" Richard asked the young and battered boy sitting across from him in his traveling carriage.

His voice carried just above the melodic cycling of the large wheels. After what the boy had just been through, Richard couldn't bring himself to raise his voice any higher. Blood still stained his clothes. His hands. His gaze.

After getting word of a fire that had been started in a local orphanage, Richard rushed to the scene with a handful of his men, managing to save just one of the targets of the attack. An attempted silencing of a new era's generation.

A generation that he was helping raise to fight back with healing instead of hatred. When seeing the boy's eyes -- bright in the lapping flames that engulfed his kin ... How could he leave the boy to unleash that kind of hatred upon the realm?

Scowling, the boy turned his head away from him in loathing. Richard felt himself wince, his gloved palms loosely clutching his metal-capped knees with welling guilt. If only he'd been there sooner ...

He frowned when noticing the way in which the boy covered the sides of his head with his cloak's hood. Blood traveling up his neck and onto his cheek, Richard's heart plunged at the sudden uncertainty -- had his ears been cut in the attack? Had he missed it when pulling him from the fire?

"Your ears ... Are they alright?" Richard asked, reaching out to brush the hood aside for a better look, but the boy flinched away with a scowling wince, pulling the fabric taught to keep his ears hidden. Richard eased away from him with caution, not wanting to cause any more friction, his hand remained raised in surrender.

"My ears are fine," the boy snapped, voice laced with resentment.

There was a lingering tension as Richard looked the boy over with growing concern. Had all his injuries been from this attack? The lad looked as though he was no more than twelve, despite the array of scarring he could make out on his body.

"I only wish to help," Richard offered in gentle earnest.

"Oh aye?" the boy dared challenge, stinging eyes snapping up to the paladin's in a wet glare. "Like you helped them?" Richard winced, eyes drawn to the boy's ears through the fabric of the hood. His glare deepened; his hood snatched away a moment later in a bold reveal.

"Like you helped those murderers?!" he ruptured as he pushed himself from the cushioned carriage seat in a fit of rage - the rage he wanted to show the men Richard had spared.

Lunging at his waist, the boy managed to pry a dagger from Richard's side, only to have both his wrists restrained when pulling back to unsheathe its blade.

"Go on, then!" the boy wailed, writhing in the man's grip. "Finish what they started!" he wept, desperately trying to turn the dagger on himself in his awkward grasp.

Met with silence, the boy lashed out against Richard's forcibly grounding strength, much like a child's tantrum would against their parents' resolve. It went on for a handful of minutes before the boy let himself wilt in sobbing exhaustion, the dagger clattering to the floor of the carriage as he slumped to his knees to wallow in his weakness.

"Please ..." he crumbled, heavy head lifting just enough to meet Richard's pained and darkened gaze. When met with more silence, the boy's glare returned in earnest, feeling judged for even this plea. Again, he pushed at his wrists in frustration. "Damn you," he spat in a sob, head low. "Damn you and your god!"

Richard's jaw clenched, yanking the boy back to his feet before his grip left his wrists to move to his shoulders, fingertips digging into the tattered fabric of his cloak. The difference in strength behind the grip immediately drew the boy's attention, the familiar sting of fear sapping his own strength as his head shot back up to meet the paladin's stern, yet remorseful gaze.

"My goddess ..." Richard began, warmth offered in his eyes as they held the boy's. "She's blessed me with family of my own."

The boy watched with a quickened heartbeat as Richard reached toward himself, assumingly for his other dagger. But when his body tensed in the moment of consideration for the one he'd dropped, he felt the remaining grip on his shoulder tighten. Richard's gaze firmed, but kept their warmth, puzzling the boy as he instead gingerly presented the small gold-chained locket hanging around his neck.

"She has blessed me with a family of my own," he went on, pinching the locket open to reveal an oval-shaped photo on either side.

Two young girls of seemingly high standing, based on their appearance. The half-elf's breath caught in his throat when seeing the subtle poke of the younger girl's ears through her elaborate hair style. Too odd to pass for human, too subtle for the acknowledgment of an elf. He found himself reaching for the locket when Richard withdrew it, wanting to look at it for longer - wanting to believe she was real - wanting to protect her from the same fate he'd just witnessed, and had almost met himself.

"A family I would give my life to protect," Richard quietly assured as he tucked the locket back behind the safety of his engraved breast plate. "And that my goddess would see have justice if I were to fail." His eyes were solemn, searching as they held the boy's. "But only, justice." Richard could only hope that an orphan entitled to such wrath could understand the limits being asked of him.

The boy was silent, his brows syncing as his stinging eyes seemingly bore through the holy crest engraved on the paladin's breast plate, trying to get back to the girl in the locket. He grappled with the sudden storm of emotions within him - his rage sinking to the bottom of his stomach like a heavy stone, while something else reached for the choppy surface. It was only when his heart was distracted that his mind still enough to recognize the crest on the man's breast plate.

A Paladin of The Heart House.

"I am their shield -- their mother, their heart. If you can learn to wield that blade instead of your pain ... you might yet learn to be their sword," he offered -- an apprenticeship.

A home.

Eyes wide and bruised jaw clenched, the stone in his stomach worked into a churn as his shoulders slumped, shame and desperation throbbing at the back of his throat. Crumbling to his knees before the paladin, the boy clutched at the carriage floor, body shaking as his tears feel freely.

"Charles ... My name is Charles."

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