They spent a long time in Velois before returning to Jean’s estate. Vero did not mind; she missed her homeland. Dora and herself passed through only briefly as they raced to beat the snows to the slayer fortress the previous year. Now they had time to linger.

  She loved camping beside the grape vines, seeing whole hillsides lit brilliant gold by mustard fields, and hearing the songs of her native birds again. For whatever troubles lay behind them, in the present they had plentiful wine and the food was excellent. Vero thought she ought to be very happy, and in many, even in most ways, she was.

  It became her habit to make love four- or five-times day. She no longer even enjoyed it much, it was only something to keep herself occupied so that she did not go mad. Only the fornication and the hunting kept her in a stable state of mind, and how freely available the wine was.

  She and Jean went out hunting anything that could be found to hunt. They shot pheasants, fished trout, hawked for rabbits, speared a boar, and ate a hell of a lot of meat. She also fucked, whenever she was able. If it was with Jean or Dora, she did not care.

  Jean was most vigorous immediately in the morning, and when Vero pondered why she was not enjoying all the lovemaking she insisted on, she thought that these bouts of lovemaking were usually when she came the closest to really being happy.

  If there was something to hunt, she would go out first thing in the morning. If there was no hunting to be found, then she would spend time alone with Dora and they would make love after breakfast. She did not tell Jean.

  Vero liked taking dinner alone with Jean at mid-day, and she always did her best to coax him back into bed with her again. Before supper Vero always spent a little time with Dora, even if they had already been together earlier in the day. They made love again in the afternoon, but that was more for Dora’s benefit than her own.

  Every night Vero and Jean went to bed together, and she could never sleep unless she had been well fucked, so they always fornicated one last time. The relentless nature of it was beginning to exhaust her, and she only enjoyed herself less and less as time went on.

  The moment she tried to stop though, or even slow her pace, her nerves began to act up on her. She became so nervous and restless that she could not ever just sit still, and it was only too plain to her where the cure to her affliction lay.

  The shades have found you. They found you in that dungeon, and they’ve had a grasp on you ever since. You lingered there too long. Now they have you, and they’ll never let you go.

  But Vero refused to let her nerves get the better of her. She had seen and experienced many things so horrible most people could not imagine, it made no sense that she should go completely to pieces just because she was now safe and near someone she loved. She simply refused to go to pieces.

  Instead, she hunted, ate large quantities of meat, drank plenty of wine, and fucked. So long as she was constantly occupied, there was never any danger of nerves getting the better of her and making her go to pieces, so she remained constantly occupied and everything was fine.

  After their slow progress through Velois, they eventually reached the city of Fer, which was the capital of the Iron Marches- known to her own people as the Fer-Mark. It was a large city, not a uniquely massive metropolis like the Imperial City or Whitegate, but a very large city.

  In most ways, it was indistinguishable from the other large cities she had visited, in Vero’s own mind. They each varied in local style and building material, but all bore the artificial straight lines and the overpowering smell of civilization, which made them individually less distinct to her. She remembered most counties she passed through by the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes of their countrysides. Men’s dwellings all became alike.

  Several generations ago, it was only a cramped and overcrowded castle town. According to Jean, it was his grandfather who first allowed the city to expand beyond the walls, transitioning his castle into a city citadel, and the administrative center for a growing civil service. Most of the buildings in the outer city were new construction, although there were also pockets of old houses, in places where small villages had been swallowed up by the enveloping urban mass.

  They paused for a time to distribute the rest of their plentiful remaining game meat and other alms among the poor, then went directly to the keep. The merchants all wanted a word with Jean as he passed about their private businesses, but he told them to wait, and they left looking despondent at their rejection.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  The Marquise was waiting for them, along with the Lady Catherine and her new husband, the Comte de Argo. For a moment, Vero wondered if she was not dreaming, it was all so exactly like the first time Jean brought her to his home.

  Not really his home. The house where he lived when he was in the city. His wife’s residence. His father's home. Jean’s true home was the hunting lodge where they once spent their happiest days together.

  Vero moved to curtsy, but the Marquise intercepted her with an embrace.

  “Veronique! It’s good to see you well. Jean and I were so worried when we received word that you and your companions were being held by that vile man!”

  Vero’s first response was to stiffen at the sudden intimacy, but she eased into the Marquise’s hold and felt light kisses against her cheeks.

  “I thank the gods he was able to reach you before it was too late,” the Marquise told her.

  “I- Luna’s grace was with us. I thank-you for your concern, my Lady.”

  The Marquise kissed her again, and whispered into her ear. “Are you well, Veronique? Truly?”

  “I am terribly weary from our journey here, my Lady.”

  The Marquise moved to an arm’s length, but still held Vero by the shoulders. When she spoke again, it was at a public volume. “Of course, you all must be weary. Allow me to take you to apartments where you may rest. Jean, your council has asked to see you the moment you arrived.”

  Jean was guided away from her quickly, much as Vero expected, and the Marquise took her by the arm. Vero let herself be led, and Dora, Ramiro, Conner, and Heward followed them. However, Vero noticed that Pentarch split away from them to follow Jean.

  As far as Vero could tell, nothing had changed in the Iron Keep. The halls were as familiar to her as any place had been since she was first forced to leave her own home, some decade past. The chambers they came to were small, but also private, rooms. Each of them contained a window, two chests, and two cots for sleeping. On the other side of the hall from the bed rooms there was a guest solarium and a garderobe. All her companions would be staying there together.

  They left the others and continued towards the room Vero remembered so well. The room she once shared with Antoinette. Vero had not expected to feel the pain of that old wound suddenly become so raw.

  “Is something wrong, Veronique?” The Marquise brushed her cheek.

  “…No…”

  Nothing except for the shades lurking behind every curtain and every tapestry. Waiting, knowing you cannot hide from them. Except in another’s arms.

  Vero wanted the Marquise to kiss her, the way she did in the bath together years ago. She also knew she could not pull the Marquise into a kiss directly, the way she did when she felt the urge come on her with Dora. Vero only gave her glances, the way she did with Jean.

  The Marquise did kiss her, but only for a moment. “I shouldn’t.”

  Vero was already falling onto the bed, and pulling the Marquise with her. “I won’t tell anyone. I never did. Not ever Jean.”

  “There’s someone special to me.”

  “Is Jean not special to me? What does one thing have to do with another?”

  “My confessor, Sarah. She’s very dear to me.” The Marquise lay next to her and played with Vero’s hair. “I knew her in school, and we’ve reunited since I recommended her to serve as the chaplain on Jean’s privy council. We’ve made certain commitments to one another. Since then, I’ve had to find doweries and tolerant husbands for nearly all my maids.”

  “Nearly all?”

  “Well, I must have some servants. And some of my girls have a complete phobia about men, it would be cruel to force them out. They simply keep other sleeping quarters with one another now.”

  Vero rested her head onto the Marquise’s bosom. “It must be difficult to find husbands with that much tolerance. I suppose the dowery helps.”

  “You’d be surprised. Afterall, what better way to ensure definite paternity? No matter what affairs a sapphiric carries on, her husband may always be assured that all children produced are truly his own.”

  “I never told anyone, not even Jean. Did you know that Antoinette once asked me what it was like to be kissed by a man, and that I showed her? I enjoyed kissing her like that, but I never thought much of it. Until I felt you kiss me that way. Once, when I was in the Imperium with my master, I kissed a girl while I was dressed as a boy. I don’t think I ever told Jean that either. But I never knew women could do the things with one another you showed me how to do.”

  The Marquise’s hands, which had begun with a gentle massage, started bolder explorations.

  “You’ve been with other women since we parted?” Her voice was hard with desire. Vero believed her seductions were working.

  “Yes, with prostitutes when I had the coin for it, and when I had occasion to meet a woman who had the look about her. I couldn’t stop thinking about the things you did for me. I wanted to feel them so badly again, you understand. When I met a woman who would give them to me, I took them.” Vero’s heart was beating; her breath was heavy. Her lips met the Marquise’s more than once. “When I was in the north, I met a nymph. In Whitegate, I met a woman named Dora. She travels with me as my wife now, when I pass for a man.”

  “Is she special to you?” the Marquise asked.

  Vero was silent for a moment. She realized she had made a mistake. “Yes, she is.”

  “Then you know we should not.”

  “She’s Virgil’s woman, just as I’m yours.”

  “You’re Jean’s woman. I know better than to compete with him for your affection.” Despite her words, the Marquise’s fingers were still very fresh.

  “I shouldn’t,” the Marquise said. Then she repeated it again, more definitely, “I shouldn’t.” And the hands stopped.

  Vero felt an aching loneliness inside, but she knew one more sexual tryst was never going to be enough to fill that void.

  She was determined to be very game, so the Marquise would not know how awfully she felt. “Is Mother Sarah very comely under her robes? She looks as though she must be, but you never can tell.”

  “Oh, yes,” said the Marquise. “She’s very beautiful indeed.”

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