The Devil's Duchess

A deafening roar erupted, mingling with a torrent of profanities. Blood dripped steadily from Lyra’s lips. She was a beautiful woman of twenty-one, her body now lashed to the gallows.

“Die, witch!” a voice shrieked, and a shower of pebbles struck her flesh for the countless time.

“You devil of a woman!” another voice screamed, every bit as vicious.

Lyra’s vision swam. A ghost of a smile touched her lips. Through the haze, she could just make out the distant figure of her beloved husband, Duke Rex Raimonds, watching his wife—was it pity in his eyes, or satisfaction? She could not tell. What Lyra knew with absolute certainty was that her husband was no human, but a monster.

A monster as vile as Rosaura, the Dowager Duchess of Lanchasire, Rex Raimonds’s mother. It was she who had orchestrated this—the reason Lyra’s body now hung from the post, clad in nothing but a thin scrap of cloth.

Lyra and Rex had been wed for six years. She had been only fifteen, he twenty-five. In this seventeenth-century world, a girl who remained unmarried past her sixteenth year was deemed a disgrace to her family. Men, however, were free to choose when they wed; they were free to pursue careers, proper education, even to explore the world.

The year was 1692, in the English region of Lancashire. Rumours painted Lyra Lensford, wife of a respected duke, as a cursed, barren woman—and far worse than that, a murderer.

To many, Lyra was no dutiful duchess to be emulated. She was a noblewoman utterly devoid of decency and manners.

She had openly defied her husband’s commands before the gentry, caused upheaval at every assembly, and—in the greatest impropriety of all—had once demanded her husband take her to bed.

Of course, it was easy to pronounce Lyra barren; the fault, after all, always lay with the woman. But the truth was something else entirely. Duke Raimonds had not once, in six long years, wished to touch his wife’s body.

Lyra grimaced, pain laced with bitter irony, as she saw with perfect clarity her husband and his mother watching her torment at the hands of the mob.

“You orphaned witch, perish!” A large rock struck Lyra’s temple with a sickening thud, splitting the skin to reveal a gaping wound. Blood streamed down her cheek.

“Die! Die! Die!” they chanted in unison, thrusting their torch flames closer.

Lyra merely grimaced. “Fools…” she breathed, barely audible.

“Tell the truth! You are the one who killed him, aren’t you?!” a man’s voice thundered, met with savage cheers from a crowd thirsting for justice.

“Come on, burn her now! This madwoman is clearly possessed by a demon!”

A bitter laugh broke from Lyra’s lips, a mockery of the madness around her. “What sane person would believe such an accusation? Ha!”

“Die! Before more misfortune befalls our town because of your wickedness!”

Stone after stone flew at her, accompanied by heart-wrenching curses. More kerosene splashed around her feet. A torch was cast, and flames erupted, greeted by jubilant howls.

Lyra swept her gaze through the crowd, now blurring with smoke and tears, searching desperately for the man who ought to have been standing at her side.

But there was no one. He had abandoned her. Again.

Had he not, at least once, made a promise?

Even if he did not love her, he should have kept his word. Just this once, before the world devoured her body and every last shred of her self-respect.

Flames leapt into her eyes. Her body was already broken, her coughing beyond meaning. The blaze surged higher, and through the inferno she glimpsed a shadow drawing near—the face of the person she hated most in all her life: her husband.

“Y-you… you came too.”

“Hold on,” he whispered, his voice barely reaching her. He crouched low, shielding her from the burning debris, his fingers working frantically to untangle the rough ropes that bound her.

“Why? Why… are you… helping me?” Lyra whispered between broken breaths.

“Why?” Rex repeated, as if weighing the answer. “So that you may know what it means to owe a debt of gratitude.”

Through her agony, Lyra snorted, then coughed violently until blood seeped from the corner of her mouth.

“I would rather die… than be indebted to a man like you,” she hissed from the very depths of her heart.

Rex did not answer. He simply gathered Lyra into his arms and lifted her with aching gentleness.

But the pain had already spread through every fibre of her being until she could bear it no longer. Tears spilled down her face, though she fought with all her remaining strength to hold them back. Her eyes began to close, and at the very edge of her life, Lyra glimpsed the end. So this is what death feels like, she thought. She had died at the stake, condemned as a witch.

And the truth was… even at the very end, she had still been unwanted by anyone.

That was the end of Lyra’s story.

Her breath stilled. Her eyes shut completely. Everything went dark.

᯽ ᯽ ᯽ ᯽ ᯽ ᯽

A woman clutched a knife behind her back, retreating in terror. “Don’t come any closer!”

“You’re hiding something behind you, Luna?” a deep voice sneered, the footsteps drawing nearer. “I’ve told you again and again—never ask to break up with me.”

“You just want to take advantage of me! I’m tired of this! Let me go!” Luna screamed, wild with fear.

“Who is taking advantage of you? I am only asking for your help. Besides, you have no one else in this world but me.”

“Go away!” Luna shrieked again, stumbling backward until her spine pressed flat against the apartment wall.

Luna Larrington, a twenty-one-year-old girl, wore a tattered dress. She could scarcely believe that for the past year, she had actually been entangled with a madman named Arden.

The relationship should have ended two months ago, yet the more she struggled to break free, the more Arden lost all reason.

“I am asking you nicely, Luna.” He extended his hand. “Give it to me.”

Luna had nowhere left to retreat. Her back was flattened against the wall of the luxurious apartment. She glanced sideways through the window and saw the dazzling lights of the city far below. In that moment, she thought it might be better to die leaping from the thirty-first floor than to die at this man’s hands.

“Why? Do you want to jump?” Arden asked with a smirk, as if daring her.

“Stop it, Arden! I cannot comply with your demands any longer. It makes absolutely no sense!”

Arden’s footsteps halted just before her. “I am not asking for much, sweetheart. You only need to keep my guest company for one night. Just one night. After that, you will come back to me. Besides, he has already paid a fortune for tonight.”

A tightness seized Luna’s chest. “Now you are selling me?!” she whispered, her voice barely a thread of disbelief.

“I am not selling you, Luna, darling. I am merely… asking a small favour. You know I have mountains of debt to pay. And I have to support you. Do you imagine I can keep going like this? You must understand—you are nothing but a burden!”

Luna fought to contain her tears. “I never asked for your help! I never once asked you to support me!”

“Do you mean to boast about that pathetic little job of yours? You know, Luna, we are supposed to be married, are we not?”

Luna levelled the knife at Arden once more. “And starting this very moment… I want us to end this. Right here, Arden.”

Arden went still. Then fury erupted across his features. He lunged forward, seized her cheek in a brutal grip, and squeezed so hard her face was forced upward.

“Stop spouting nonsense!” he snarled. “You are mine, Luna! Mine! And you will obey my every word!”

Luna whimpered, struggling to wrench free, but she was too slow—Arden’s hand snatched her body the instant her guard slipped. He knew Luna could never truly fight him; she was just a weak girl.

“Argh! Let me go!” Luna screamed, and the knife she clutched clattered to the marble floor as Arden overpowered her.

“You stupid girl! Do you not know how to be grateful, hmm?!” Arden shoved Luna’s body until she crashed onto the bed, pinning her thin, slight frame beneath him.

“Please…” Luna tried to crawl away, but Arden’s body was far too strong.

“Say you love me!” He forced her jaw, his fingers pressing cruelly into her chin.

“Umm…” Luna shook her head and sealed her lips tight.

“SAY IT!!!” Arden roared, his voice nearly shattering her eardrums. “Say it, sweetheart… say that you love me!”

“P-please…” Luna was gasping for breath. “Please… let… me go…” She clawed desperately at his hand.

SMACK!!!

A hard slap landed on Luna’s cheek—once, twice, three times—and just before the fourth, Arden’s hand froze in mid-air as Luna forced words from her throat.

“Y-yes… I… I… I… love… you, Ar-den…”

SMACK!!!

The fourth blow landed. Arden then choked her neck and brought his face so close she could feel his breath. “Do you know what your mistake is?”

Luna beat at his hands, her legs kicking wildly, begging to be released. “Ugh!”

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT?!” Arden screamed, squeezing tighter still.

“Eerghh…” Luna groaned, her breath deserting her. No matter how fiercely she struggled, Arden’s body was stronger than hers now.

“Why didn’t you call me ‘honey,’ huh?! You dared to say ‘Arden’?! Just die! You are utterly useless!”

“Erghh…” Luna’s body could no longer mount a fight. The more she tried to pry his fingers away, the tighter his stranglehold became.

“If you want to leave me, that means you want to leave this world too, Luna!” Her vision started to blur. She could only faintly discern Arden’s satisfied smile. She did not know what madness had claimed his mind, but one thing was terrifyingly clear: Luna had very little time left.

“Goodbye, Luna!”

Luna exhaled for the final time, and then everything went dark.