Concubine for the Duke

Premise: You are a Baron's daughter. When the old Duke dies your father leads a rebellion of nobility against the Duke's young son who inherits his father's title, lands and responsibilities. Despite being outnumbered the young Duke easily puts down the rebellion, executing the nobles who rose against him and confiscating their lands and property. Scared of the Duke's vengeance, your mother throws herself from the highest tower of your family's castle. Your brother had died in the rebellion. You are the last person left in your family. Your cousins were all embroiled in the rebellion. You have no one left in the world to help you.

When the Duke arrives he strips you of your title, your lands and property and tells you to quit his land. Having expected to be executed, you are surprised at his mercy. He is strikingly beautiful, but cold, a man used to sitting in judgement and making hard decisions. You thank him and leave. Before you get out the door he bids you to wait. He comes over and looks you over, assessing you with his cold, calculating eyes. After a moment he offers you the position of concubine. His first concubine.

PM if interested.

The mace was coming down at John's head. A half dozen options flowedf through his head. He picked what he thought wass the best option and went with it.

Observe.

Orient.

Decide.

Act.

That's what his father had taught him a decade ago, when John was eight. Those are the decisions a man makes in every step of combat. Make those decisions faster than your opponent and you will win everytime.

That had been the first time John had gone off to war. He had been a page, a servant to a knight. Being the son of a Duke, John was born into the warrior class. He was destined to fight, to protect his land, to swear fealty to his king and serve God and country. He'd been trained since birth. Peasant children had time to play. John had learned to fight as he learned to walk. His father was a relentless instructor. Lessons in governance came soon after. History, philosophy, art, mathematics, and languages. So many languages. All day in the courtyard and fields, strengthening his body, all night in the library, strengthening his mind. John had to be ready to serve, he was 15th in line for succession to the royal throne.

No, with his father dead, John was now sixth in line for the throne. That was a grim prospect.

The mace came down, but John wasn't there. He had chosen to side-step the swing, and capitalize on the opening his opponent had given him. He stepped forward and thrust his sword between his opponent's helmet and breastplate. A small space, but John had been fighting one war or another for the last ten years. He hit his target, and the man gave a jerk and fell to the ground, taking John's sword with him.

John didn't bother trying to get the weapon free. He picked up his opponent's mace and scanned the area around him.

Observe.

One of his plate clad enemies had been watching the young Duke's fight. That man pushed his opponent away, let out a battle cry and charged at John, raising his two-handed sword above his head. Not a good idea. Full plate reduced dexterity considerably. The protection it gave was worth the trade off, but one had to keep their limitations in mind.

Orient.

John started walking toward the charging man, shield on his right arm, mace on his left. As they came into range, John timed his footsteps, making sure his left foot was where it needed to be as he brought up his shield.

Decide.

The charging man brought his sword down on John's shield. John kicked off the ground with his right foot, using his left as a pivot. The force of the blow on his shield and the kick from his right leg spun John as he moved forward, allowing him to bring the head of the mace into the back of the charging man's knee.

Act.

The man droppped, his momentum skidding him forward a good ten feet. John finished his turn, almost casually, and followed after him at a slow, determined. pace. Just as the man was starting to get up John reached him and brought the mace downn on the man's head. The man started to move and John hit him again and again, until he stopped moving.

John turned away from his enemy to find his next opponent. He wouldn't know until after the battle that he had just killed the Baron who was leading this fool's rebellion, or that it was the Baron's son who's neck John had thrust his sword into.

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He was cold. Everyone told John that. Cold and calculating. Every decision he made was impartial, without emotion, and final. How he dealt with the leaders of the rebellion was just as cold. They begged. They pleaded. Mercy. Please, mercy. John's ears weren't deaf. He heard their pleas. But louder, much louder, rang the voices of the men they killed when they stormed his castle. The innocents who had been killed, or worse, so these men could grab at a little more power. They had betrayed their oaths of fealty. John had no mercy for them. Every one of the nobles who had raised a hand against him were executed.

John carried out the executions himself. In public. With an axe.

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Next came the reclaiming of the land. He was retaking the land of everyone who had risen up in rebellion against him. A week ago he had buried his father. Immediately after that he had ridden to the capital to swear a Duke's oath of fealty to the king. The messenger had found him there with news of the rebellion. He left his own party to crush this rebellion. Then came the battles. The executions. Now this.

All John had wanted to do was mourn his father and make ready to serve his people. An oath of fealty went two ways, and John took that oath very seriously.

Today he rode to the baron's land with half his army in tow. He had men, loyal men, going to smaller fiefdoms to reclaim them. If there was going to be trouble, a rebellion or a seige, it would be here at the mastermind's castle.

John rode at the front of his battle line, a knight in full plate, astride a magnificent charger. Standing, he was taller than any other man in his army, now that his father was gone. At eighteen, John was a large man, over six feet tall, and nearly three feet wide at the shoulder. He was muscled from years of training and combat. He could leap onto the back of a horse while wearing full plate, if he had to. Normally he simply used the stirrups. His helmet was off, attached to the saddle, next to his sword, and in easy reach. His long golden tresses flowed in the wind, bouncing with each step of his horse. His icy blue eyes scanned the area in front of him, alert for traps and ambushes.

He raised a hand, bringing his column to a halt. He was well outside of trebuchet range, but in view of the castle. Anyone could see his coat of arms displayed on his flags, and someone on the wall or in a tower would even be able to identify him.

"Send out a herald, announce our presence and tell the residents we are here to take back what is rightfully mine."

Helena had been prepared for many things in life, but that was the life her family had planned for her. Married, as she'd been engaged five times since birth, to someone who could increase their vast war chest and lands, providing sons to cement those new ties, being a dutiful daughter and obedient wife. Being the only daughter of her titled parents she'd been a useful tool but now with her father and brother's dead on the battle field, her cousins dead or scattered, her latest fiance dead, and her mother gone she had no tools of her own. The family name was disgraced and her mother's family an ocean away and worthless except their title.

Helena was alone.

Her father the Baron had amassed great power, adding even to what his own father had gained. With the marriage to a beautiful foreign princess, if one from the lesser and non-ruling line who'd long over spent their gold, he'd gained even more respect and land. By the time his three sons had come along he'd managed to make a name for himself. Helena was the youngest, and having a girl wasn't so bad it was decided when she was pretty and had brothers who would inherit. Her father had made sure she'd had the very best tutors to teach her the desirable arts of a future upper class wife. Embroidery, harp playing, harpsichord, multiple languages from her mother's native Norwegian to French, Italian...dancing, the latest and classical styles, how to dress, how to behave.

She'd been engaged at least five times she knew of. Once upon her first birthday, to a fellow toddler of a land rich and lesser titled family. Her father didn't inform her of all the times since it was simply business and she had no place in that world. It was a good way to bond two families that was easily severed for now. The latest fiance was from a greater family then theirs even who'd been all to happy to except the promised dowry for their youngest sons hand and title. She'd actually met the man briefly, a decade older then her but not horrible looking.

Now his entire family was wiped from the earth by the new Duke. Her father's foolish plan to take control following the old Duke's death had failed miserably. Reports had been coming in by letter and messenger for days u til the final scroll had sent her mother over the edge.

The servants had all but abandoned them. The guards that were left had divided. Half had left, a quarter stayed out of loyalty, and the others stayed long enough to loot what they could and use any lingering staff as they desired. At least before her mother had jumped from the highest tower. she'd had two of their most loyal guards station outside Helena's door and instructed the girl to lock it and stay inside. It had been the most heavily door ed room but had granted the unfortunate view of her mother's final descent.

It had been almost four days since then. One of her guards had abandoned finally, the last an elderly guard who'd been with them since he'd been a boy playing with her long dead grandfather. When the Herald came to relay the message she'd already been staring out at the Duke's coat of arms and the army before what had once been home. It didn't take much coaxing to convince her to leave the room. She knew if she didn't her death was all the more likely. Perhaps, she hoped, the young duke would show mercy. She hadn't known of the coup until her father had left for his foolish battle after all.

Helena dressed quickly as she could without her usual ladies in waiting to assist - she'd sent the poor girls home when it had become clear what fate awaited them, though pointless as it was when most of their families were gone too- and brushed her hair nearly before braiding it. She took after her mother's looks - pale as fresh cream skin, hair more blond them the first husks of wheat, and light blue eyes hooded with thick lashes. She was quite petite as well standing around 5'1" in stocking foot, like most women in her father's family, and she had his nose. The distinctivenose of her family, smaller on her tthankfully but narrow, arched slightly, regal. She was tiny all around, her waist small enough she never had bothered with a full formal corset outside of dress balls, small dainty hands from time spent learning and locked away rather then work. She'd turned eighteen days before the rebellion but often people wondered at her being younger for her dainty size, if not for her chest being so pleasingly high and full. Once Helena had dressed in a gown her mother had always favored on her she followed the old guard and the remaining staff outside to await their fate.

She knew she couldn't escape it. She only hoped death was quick.

The herald returned with good news, of sorts. There would not be a rebellion or a siege. That was good news. Very good news. It barely outshone the bad news. The baroness had thrown herself off the tallest tower, the peasants had looted the castle and the new baroness had been locked in a room with a posted guard for her own protection.

John had hoped the political infrastructure had remained; ideally he would depose the baroness, put the steward in charge temporarily and take his time finding the proper replacement. Well, it was still better than a protracted siege and then having to rebuild the infrastructure.

Possibilities flowed through John's head as he rode his charger down to the castle, leading his army. The steward would have to be rounded up and punished. Imprisoned probably, though execution would be required if he was part of the looting. He should have retained order. John would have to find a replacement. A local burgomaster preferably, a sheriff in a pinch. No, they don't call them burgomasters here. Dimarchos? Magister? Mayor? Was that the word? Probably. Administrating a barony required experience. Promoting a baronet or viscount was the normal procedure, but everyone local had been embroiled in the rebellion. This was going to be a mess, there was no way around that.

As the king always said, competency was secondary to loyalty. This rebellion had proven that out a thousand times over.

John issued orders as he rode, sending his knights out to find the steward, the local mayors, and sheriffs and bring them all to the castle. The next few days would be filled with interviews, conferences and snap decisions on who he can trust and who he can't trust. He sent out heralds to the rest of forces, those who were reclaiming land throughout his duchy. He would be holding court here at the baron's castle for the next few months as he rebuilt the political infrastructure.

John sighed as he rode through the open main gates, helmet off, hair blowing in the wind. He was calculating his next steps when he saw them standing in the middle of the ransacked courtyard. There was less than half a dozen people left. The guard had his attention first. He was wearing chain and brandishing a polearm. The grey in his hair denoted he was old, but to John that just signified he was veteran. That he was the only guardsman still here spoke to his loyalty. Until John ascertained who he was loyal to the man screamed danger.

There were a few peasants, and then there was the girl. She was in a fitted dress, made from goldthread and oriental silk with jewels sewn into it. From this distance he couldn't ascertain the value of the dress, but it was probably worth more than a butcher or blacksmith made in five or ten years. His mother had a few made of similar fabrics, as did the queen. This was a rich barony. That it was fitted meant that this wasn't a peasant dressed up as the young baroness in some attempt at subterfuge. A peasant couldn't fit in that dress.

She was skinny. Very skinny. Peasants had more muscle mass, a result from working all day. Her skin was alabaster white, again, another thing peasants couldn't do, they were in the sun all day and were, subsequently, tanned. Her waist was waspishly thin. Everything about her was thin, except for her bust that was quite... nice.

John felt his body responding to her. He could feel his pulse raising and his armor was getting uncomfortably tight in his greaves. Riding a horse wasn't helping. John shifted in the saddle.

He brought the charger about thirty feet from them and dismounted. He wanted to keep some distance between himself and that polearm the guard had. He turned and faced them.

"I am John, nephew of the king, duke of these lands and your feudal lord. You are the Lady Helena, baroness presumptive. Kneel before me."

The peasants dropped to their knees immediately. How the guard and the baroness reacted would determine his reaction. Observe. Orient. Decide. Act. John didn't relish killing more people, but he would if he had to. With an army of soldiers behind them they probably wouldn't do anything stupid. Then again, if they were going to make a final stand, this would be it.

Helena eyed this new Duke wiith growing nerves. Her mother had tried to hide what had been going on from her, but she knew enough. This was the man who her father and brothers had diedfighting, who her cousins had died at the hands of or were on the run from, who her latest fiance had perished fighting. He was as imposing as she'd heard, taller then her father had been even and as broad as her eldest brother had been. Young, unlike the old Duke she'd met once. He couldn't be much older then herself, yet he was so much more imposing.

Gerad, the guard who'd stayed behind to ensure her safety from the looters and peasants, had ensured she stood a few feet behind him. He'd been faithfully loyal to her family, growing up alongside the older generation, watching over her and her brothers. Particularly loyal to her mother, even more then her father who she knew he thought was brash and disloyal, he'd sworn to her mother he'd watch Helena until his dying breath. He knew the right thing to do would be to simply kill the girl. She'd been sheltered and used to living a life that wouldn't be likely, he'd thought it better to simply smother her in her sleep but he'd sworn an oath to never harm a hair of their family's.

He regretted it, standing as her only protection facing this new Duke and his army.

The remaining peasants knelt instantly, but Helena paused. Gerad frowned, looking back at her. "Curtsy, my lady, as you ought." Gerad knew she had frozen at the unexpected order that a lady should kneel. "Lady Helena, baroness presumptive of these great lands, duchess of her former mothers estates, is a true lady and an innocent to her father's crimes." Gerad said, polite but firm.He hoped by showing the girl was innocent and a lady he'd spare her a grisly death. Perhaps he'd be able to secret her to her mother's foreign lands, or find a lesser noble for a quick marriage. At the least, he hoped they made their deaths swift. "Your excellence." Helena said softy, curtsying swiftly and politely.

The guard instructed her to obey. That was good. They were submitting. John felt something inside him relax. Not completely, he was never completely relaxed. A sixth of the kingdom was his responsibility now, and he was acutely aware that rebellion was a very real possibility. But at least, in this moment, he had one less thing to worry about.

She didn't kneel. That was unacceptable. Her loyalty was in question and obedience was the only way to prove herself.

Part of him felt for the girl. She didn't look ready to face the world. She probably had never left the castle without a heavy guard. And now she was a baroness of a rebellious barony facing her feudal lord. She was definitely was unprepared. If she was prepared, she would have knelt.

"I didn't say curtsy. Your father was a treacherous rebel whose ambition betrayed King and country. Are you? Helena."

John let the tension hang in the air for a moment, and then turned his gaze toward the guard. "You too soldier. Lay down the pike and kneel."

He crossed his arms and waited.

"Lady Helena is not her father, your excellency. She knew not of his rebelion, and is loyal to King and Country. You'd order a lady to kneel on the ground before you, simply to prove a point?" Gerad was displeased greatly, first the insult to his charge and now for her to be addressed without her title. It was too casual, too intimate, and went against his beliefs. One didn't speak to his charge like that. His hand gripped the pike. Perhaps he'd manage to wound the cad before being killed...

Helena had flushed at the comment about her father, and being called by her first name. She knew Gerad well and knew he was about to do something foolish. Her dainty hand touched his tense arm, shaking her head. "It's alright. know it's improper but I can't have anymore bloodshed,and over something so silly. This is about Father, I understand that." She said gently, worried Gerad would do somethinf foolish. Then where would she be? She had no idea wbat life would be like now. Gerad frowned, but obeyed. He however halted her from kneeling and placed his jacket down. "A gentleman never would have a lady kneel in the dirt, even if to make a point." He muttered before placing his pike down finally close at hand and kneeling as well.

John watched the little tete-a-tete, growing less bemused as it went on. It was obvious where the guardsman's loyalty lay. Commendable. Not that any of that was betrayed on John's face. He stood as inscrutable as ever.

After a moment of their obsequience John nodded. "Rise."

John turned and gestured to three knights who dismounted and stepped forward, standing behind John. "Sir William. The guardsman here will take you to the armory. I want a full accounting of the weaponry; what was here before the rebellion, what was taken with them, what was looted, and what is left. If we're going to have to crush an armed mob I want to know by the end of the day."

"Right away your excellence," Sir William replied. He stepped over to Gerad, helping the old guard to his feet. "Lead the way, Soldier."

"Sir Liam, take some men and find the stables," John commanded, "Horses will have been taken. I want them back."

Sir Liam nodded. "Yes, Duke. I will find all horses with either the royal brand or the Baron's brand. I will bring the horses and anyone who has taken possession of them here for your royal judgement."

John nodded his approval and Liam walked back to his men, gathering a group together.

"Sir Jaques." The last of the three knights stepped forward. "You're in command of the army. Set up a watch. Archers on the parapets. Bivouac in the courtyard. Get our cooks to the castle kitchens. Make sure we eat tonight."

"Qui, qui," Sir Jaques replied. The frenchman turned to the army and shouted, his french accent not quite disappearing, "You heard your lord, you apes! Bring in the wagons, I want a tight formation! Custlers! Get the horses to the stables! Archers! On the walls! Get those gates closed and bolted! Sergeants! Mind your men!"

Sir Jaques turned to the remaining servants, no longer shouting, but the epitome of savoir faire. "Come now," he said with a smile, "You will show me the kitchen, qui? Tonight I will show you the wonders of the french cooking."

John waited for the servants to leave with Sir Jaques before he spoke to Helena. The duke closed the distance between them until he was standing less than a foot away, towering over her. With her dress being so shapely, John had an impeccable view of her cleavage. It took him a moment to get his libido under enough control that he trusted his voice. When he spoke it was in a low growl.

"Take me to the treasury."

Gerad was clearly displeased to be separated from the girl he'd sworn to protect, but not foolish enough to do anything. While this young Duke had been far from a gentleman he had to hope it was a misguided power display and leave Lady Helena to his care.

Helena knew little of the armory had been stolen, she'd overheard Gerad and the other guard before he fled. They'd taken much to the battle, and the marauding peasants had been more interested in trinkets. A few swords, some lances, the more decorative items. Most of what remained wasn't flashy but quite useful. Helena knew the horses were gone, including her beloved mare Rosebud and the steed she'd been gifted on her last birthday. It was why they hadn't fled. It wasn't a safe journey on foot.

Helena had a slight tremor as he came to stand over her, towering like a giant. He was so much taller and broader it would have been intimidating even if she had been standing. With Gerad gone, it especially made her nervous. She'd been sheltered all her life. Nobody had ever growled at her, and she'd certainly never been spoken to or treated like this. It was rare enough she'd ever been alone anyway, between her ladies in waiting and guards. Helena carefully stood up, bending to pick up Gerad's jacket to return to him, standing as bravely as she could before this strange, terrifying man. "Yes, your excellency. This way." Few had access, Helena had a key that her mother had given her. She knew it hadn't been breached, the castle was so old few even could find the location and many were fooled by the trinkets laying about.

Helena headed toward the castle doors, waiting for him to follow. Their path would take them down to the lowest levels, below the ground. "There are...there are spiders, along the way." Even on the face of his terror, her resounding fear of the creatures didn't cease. "It's below the cellers, part of the old castle before this one even. My great-great-great grandfather built it." She spoke nervously, shy as she led him toward an alcove with a thick door, leading to a dark, damp staircase with torches burned out lining the way.

Helena smelled like a roadside flower. In this wreck of a courtyard, after a day of riding, John smelled of horse and sweat. The contrast was pleasing. So was the view. Whatever her father's politics, Helena was a comely lass, and being this close to her was definitely having an effect on John. Her face was quite... pleasant, even though she was not smiling. Standing a few inches from her, John had to look almost directly down to address her, and that put her cleavage directly in his line of sight. That was a large part of the effect.

John was a warrior. He spent his time in the company of men, either in battle or at play. He falconed, he hunted, he raced horses. Oh, he had a few chances to rut with a peasant or two, but he had been engaged to an Austrian princess since he was four. Having a few bastards around was not a selling point for an heir presumptive when marrying a King's daughter. Last year's war between Austria and France had ended the engagement. Things had changed since then. John was more than a mere heir, he was now Duke, with his main lands being in France and the British Isles. He was a battle-tested warrior whose name struck fear in his enemies. The Queen had intimated that she was personally looking for a suitable match for him. The King had outright told him to sire a few bastards so there would be no question of his virility.

Of course, the King hadn't said that in the Queen's presence.

John; cold, calculating John, was beginning to think Helena would be well suited for those purposes. She wasn't going to be a baroness for much longer. These fools had rebelled against him and by proxy, against the crown. If he didn't strip their entire families of title and property, at a minimum, the King would take John's head, and rightly so. Treason was neither tolerated nor encouraged.

John followed Helena to the treasury. Watching her from behind turned out to be pleasurable as well. There was a sway to her hips that was almost hypnotic.

They came to the old alcove and Helena warned him about the spiders in a trembling voice. John scoffed.

"Calm yourself. I have found that spiders, snakes and even badgers, have a hard time biting through a steel gauntlet." John had a way of bringing comfort while still inspiring fear.

They came to the stairway and John found the tinder box. He lit the first torch, and only the first torch. "Waste not, want not," he muttered as he stepped in front of Helena and proceeded down the stairs.

He allowed her to direct him and eventually they made it to the two large doors of the treasury. John turned and put his hand out.

"Give me the key."

Helena nodded nervously. She was already quite scared of this impossible man. The coldness of his eyes alone would be enough to inspire a good deal of fear in anyone, let alone a woman like her. She'd been groomed entirely for a life as a lady. Her father had hopes for better and better matches, hence why she was still unwed at eightteen. He'd hoped to marry her to a better station even and had ensured she had all the skills and attributes. What she didn't have was much experience with intimidating people.

He'd never really prepared her for the harshness of court, which could be just as brutal as a battlefield. Perhaps he'd reasoned her gentle and quiet nature would allow her to escape any gossip. Or perhaps he'd assumed she'd simply be too busy producing heirs and running a home. This Duke was the first time somebody had treated her with anything but gentle deference.

Her mother was a lesser Norwegian princess, of a line far removed from the throne. Her father had been a power hungry Baron. And she'd been raised to be a wife, a mother, and a Lady.

Which was all to say he intimidated her quite a lot.

Helena obediently followed behind as she lead him further and further under the castle until they reached two huge, thick iron doors. She shyly bent, lifting her skirt a little and feeling embarrassed by every bit of her milky skin showing as she did, to retrieve the key from a length of gold necklace chain around her ankle and tucked in her shoe. She removed the key, placing it carefully in his hand.

"You have to turn it to the right, three times around, then once to the left." She told him, moving to step aside from the doors. "My father...did something very bad, I know. And all this of course now no longer belongs to my family. I only ask, there is a ring. It's been in my family for eons, my mother's family. I beg favor of you, that'd you might allow me to keep it. If I am to be allowed to live, I hope to find them. I haven't seen them in my life, but they'll know who I am with that as my proof." She spoke quickly, terrified. He very well could tell her he intended to kill her after all.

"Treason," John's voice rumbled as he turned the key three times to the right and once to the left. "Your father committed treason."

The lock let out a satisfying click and the doors opened. John brought the torch to bear and slightly smiled as light reflected back at him from the stacks of glittering gold and silver. He still had to take an accounting of the treasury, but this was a good sign. The barony had a decent port not far from the castle. A good deal of money flowed through the fiefdom and with this tax money John could rebuild the infrastructure quite nicely, perhaps even pave a few roads and maybe build some bridges.

He scanned the room and found what he was looking for: the ledger. John opened the book, flipping through the pages to the final entry. He walked around the room, glancing at the shelves, then at the book, taking a quick inventory.

"All of the traitors and most of their families will be put to death, of course," John answered her unasked question without looking away from his inventory. "I do not care to spill the blood of the innocent. Unlesss they had a direct hand in the uprising, the women and children will be spared. They will be stripped of title, all their possessions confiscated and turned out on the streets."

Satisfied with his impromptu inventory, John put the book down and handed the torch to Helena. "Go find the ring." It occurred to him as he gave her the torch that the ring might be on her finger, or up in her room instead of in the treasury vault.

Her mother was what, swedish? danish? some kind of scandinavian, he knew that. She couldn't afford sending a letter to them. Even if the old guard went with her they would probably never make it to her mother's people.

That explained why her mother had jumped then. Her father's crimes meant that they'd no longer have title, have lands, have anything. She realized her idea she'd take some of her dowry to pay for the journey was a foolish idea. Helena wasn't sure how she'd ever make it now, even with the ring. Perhaps she ought to have jumped with her mother.

The treasury hadn't been breached. Depleted a bit from the cost of her father's treason, yes, but they'd still been one of the wealthiest families. "I am sorry, for my father's mistake. I do not understand, he loved the King and our country." Her innocence might spare her, but she'd spent the last few days crying her despair over her family's deathes.

The ring lay in a small antechamber, items of her mother's. She carefully took the ring from an ornate iron box, slipping it around a length of chain and tucking it around her neck. It was lovely, gold and delicate with a seal design formed of small precious gems and diamonds. "Thank you, your excellency." Just because he hadn't shown her respect of title, and now she knew why, she still did automatically.

Helena didn't know he'd been the one to kill her father, or that his ascension to power after his own father's death had set all this in motion.

"Your father showed his love for king and country by attempting to murder me." John's voice was low, and if he revealed any emotion it was contempt. "Why is easy to understand. He lusted for wealth and power. Instead of acquiring it honorably, he chose to betray his feudal lord."

John stopped leaning against the doorframe and stood. He took the torch from Helena.

"This rebellion was planned, months, if not years in advance. He wasn't merely capitalizing on my father's unexpected death. Your father brought far too large of an army, larger than my own, from far too many fiefs. This rebellion grew, like a cancer, and I will cut it out."

John ushered Helena out of the treasury, locking the doors behind them. He led her up the stairs. "You can't keep the ring Helena." He didn't slow down or turn to her, John just kept walking as he spoke. "Stripped of all possessions means all possessions. Even that dress you're wearing is now forfeit. We will find you a peasant's smock, or something suitable. You will be an example to any others who are foolish enough to plot against me."

When they got to the top of the stairs John put the torch out and hung it back up. "I will not help you contact your mother's relatives. However, I will put the ring aside. Should you manage to get back to them, I will send it to you, in secret. No one will ever know I gave you any more leniency than sparing your life."

Helena knew her father lusted for power. Why else would he have constantly been using her and her dowry as a weapon to try and gain more power? Most of her childhood friends had already been married for a few years. Helena wished that she'd been able to find the same protection.

She was glad he didn't look at her when he spoke, his rudeness having the silver lining he missedas her tears began silently to wwe'll in her eyes and trace her pretty face.

Perhaps it'd been more naive then she'd thought, the idea they'd be able to find her mother's people. How were they going to do this, if she wasn't permitted anything? She'd hoped to use some of her dowry, figuring it wouldn't be included, but that was a foolish plan. And if he was going around the country calling her father a traitor it was unlikely people would help her. Especially if she was dressed in plain clothes they'd have no desire to help a regular girl.

She'd heard Gerad offer her mother the favor of killing both of them quickly and painlessly. Perhaps that was the best option for her now.

A small grain of hope remained though, that perhaps the old guard had a plan or way to find her mother's family.

"Thank you, your excellency." Helena murmured quietly, and at the top of the stairs with the light from the castle reached to unhook the chair holding the ring to hand it over. Hopefully he'd keep his word and even more hopefully, they'd manage the impossible.

"Thank you?" the Duke asked, surprised. "I tell you that I am stripping you of all your worldly possessions, your title and you thank me?"

John closed the distance between them, placed his gauntlet clad hand under her chin and lifted her face up to his. She had been crying. He moved his other hand to wipe away her tears but stopped. The cold metal was more likely to scape her than comfort her.

"You aren't ready to face this world at all, are you Helena? A pretty lady, kept in a tower, protected and bartered on your capacity to bare children."

John looked her up and down, with the cold stare of a man assessing cattle. Then he turned her around, continuing his evaluation until she was facing him again.

He stepped back, no emotion betrayed on his face. "That capacity may protect you yet. I find you acceptably pretty. I would have you as a concubine."

He gave her a moment to let the word sink in before he continued. "Our sons would be strong, our daughters fair. Any children would be bastards, of course, but they would be trained as knights and ladies. Minor nobility. But then, my two older brothers are bastards and they are generals in my army. I will likely be making them vassals; Peter will probably be the next baron here. He's the younger, but a better administrator. Unlike Thomas, I can spare him from the battlefield, and there will likely be another war come autumn."

John stopped talking, blinking, surprised at how much he had said. He rarely spoke aloud such thoughts or plans. "I apologize, I have digressed. If you take my offer, you should know, you will be well fucked. I will use you however I wish, wherever I wish, whenever I wish. You will make yourself willing and able. Like a common whore. But only for me. No other man will touch you, or I will kill them. You will be treated with respect. Not a lady, but more than a peasant. There will be a wife. The Queen is finding a proper match. You know the ways of royalty. There will likely be other concubines as well. That is the way of it."

Helena flushed at his comment on her thanks. She'd intended it on his allowance of leniency, the promise of him sending the ring. Even how impossible it felt that she'd be able to find her mother's family, to claim a place and title there.

He wasn't wrong about her ability to face the world. Perhaps it was naive of her to think she'd be able to do all this. If only the horses hadn't been taken she'd have left days ago and never meet this intimidating man. His cold stare made her shiver, eyes nervous as he circled her. She wasn't used to this treatment and he scared her so completely.

The offer shocked her. How could it not? She'd always been the one the Queen or her father were suggesting as a 'proper match'. No man had ever told her she'd be 'fucked'. She'd always known she'd be a wife and would have to bear children, but nobody had ever used such crass language. And his basted brother would now be taking her father's place, her title. She wouldn't be a lady anymore, but his whore. Not even a lady. The idea terrified her and shocked her back into silent tears. "A concubine..." She murmured, eyes wide on him.

Gerad rounded the corner with one of the Duke's guards, ready to report back the status of the armory. The nicer items stolen, but still quite stocked with useful weapons. The older ones that'd sell for less or weren't useful for melting down. Upon seeing Helena in tears and looking utterly shocked, the senior guard moved to her and produced a decorated square of clothe he carried for these purposes. A knight who served her mother and her foremost was used to providing comfort. His face clearly spoke of his utter displeasure that he'd found her in tears.

"Duke," Sir William said, giving John a salute, "The armory remains largely intact. Comparing the inventory to what we recovered from the battlefield should account for a good portion of the losses. The looting seems to have focused on material wealth rather than arming a rebellion."

John's eyes had not left Helena and her guard through Sir William's report. The look on the soldier's face boded ill. John held up a hand, silencing Sir William. The Duke waited until all eyes were on him, even Helena's tear filled ones.

"For her family's rebellion, Helena is hereby stripped of all title and property. I do not believe her to have been part of this treason, so her life will be spared. She is a peasant, a free woman."

John's voice lowered in volume as he bent his head down and addressed the girl directly. "Your life is your own now Helena. What you do with it is none of my concern. Take my offer, or don't."

He straightened up and continued his edicts. "Guardsman, your service to the baron is done. We will check the ledger and see to your pay. If you wish to join my forces then you may swear fealty in the morning. If not, then I commend you for your service and wish you well."

"Sir William, well done, as always. Assign two men to protect Helena. She will report to me in the morning with a full accounting of her possessions and an answer to my offer."

John paused. "Unless you have an answer now?"

Helena finally looked up from dabbing her eyes with the cloth, wilting a little at his proclamation. She took hold of Gerad's as he offered it. Her choices were all quite bleak and she was more thena little overwhelmed. The impossible journey to her mother's distant family in a foreign land, learning how to survive as a peasant woman, or to be his whore. Helena shook her head no quietly. "I have no answer your excellency." Her voice was meek as she spoke.

"Thank you for your offer, I have sworn myself to serve this family and my loyalty shall be to my Lady until my dying breath." Gerad said, firm but just polite enough. Stripping her of her title hadn't been unexpected but he didn't enjoy seeing this young woman who he'd watch grow up in such pain. "What offer is this?" He asked finally.

John had not foreseen the old guard's response. Loyalty like that is rare. Protecting her even though she cannot pay him. Very rare.

"I commend you for your loyalty guardsman," John rumbled, "However, you should not address the peasant as a lady. Impersonating nobility is a capital offense. I would hate for Helena to lose her head after I have spared it."

John turned to Helena, the hints of a smile at the edges of his mouth. "Until the morning, Helena."

"Cancel the guards for the woman, Sir William, the old soldier can keep her safe. Come, we have an army to feed and a barony to set straight."

John and William left them there, without answering the guardsman's question. The offer was between Helena and John. If she wanted to seek advice from the old guard, that was her prerogative.

Gerad had served this family since he was a child, and while he might not have had the same loyalty to Helena's father or brother's he'd always been fond of her. Overly fond of her mother, perhaps, though he'd never acted upon that. Helena had always been polite and sweet, and he'd spent many hours when she was a little child entertaining her. The one thing her father and her had agreed on was not sending her to court to serve as a lady in waiting though for different reasons and it was something he regretted now. So while Gerad knew she couldn't pay him, he'd keep his promise to her mother.

Once they were gone, Gerad smiled encouragingly at her. "You may not be a Lady in the eyes of the world anymore, but you will always be the Lady I have pledged to serve. That vile Duke is right though, and calling you Lady in public will cause you quite a bit of trouble." Helena nodded, understanding but shaken still. It'd be weird to be addressed by name only but she'd adapt in time. "Alright then. Let's see about some food. Did he allow you the ring? And what's this about an offer?" Gerad asked as he lead her toward her chambers and inside. Helena started a new with a few tears which she dabbed away. "He said he'll send it if I manage to get there, but I can't have it before then. He was kind to not just simply say no though." She had the tendency to think good of most anyone. "He...the offer was..." Her cheeks flamed red as she took a seat, feeling a bit faint and embarrassed to tell Gerad. "He offered me to become his concubine. To bear him bastards. To be his..." She couldn't say it, but Gerad knew. His whore.

"Oh, my Lady, I'm sorry he acted that way. He's a vile man, don't let his words upset you. I'm going to help get you to your mother's family, alright? Don't cry, it'll be well." Gerad soothed until she calmed down. "It's so far Gerad, and I have no money. How can we go?" Gerad shook his head, gesturing to the contents of her room. "You do my Lady, and quite a lot. Instead of doing inventory we're going to take your personal things, I'll fetch your mother's seal to hopefully use as proof of lineage, and we'll take back two of the horses the Duke's men brought back. It will be hard yes, but I won't abandon you now to that disgusting man." Gerad had no doubt Helena would last about one minute as a peasant after all.