Rise of a Fallen Man (A Look in the Mirror #2)

Chapter 2

Salas

O tto, Lord Emil’s fencing teacher, launched forward in an attack. I deflected it, lunging forward in turn. He leaped aside, the cork on the tip of my blade brushing past his ribs on the left.

“Very good, Salas.” Otto panted, catching his breath.

I grinned, and he moved again, the corked tip of his sword poking in my chest with enough force to leave a bruise.

“And that’s how you win.” Otto smirked. “Don’t let flattery distract you, boy. Pretty words aren’t worth dying for.”

I stepped back, rubbing my chest.

“My turn!” Lord Emil rushed me, wielding his sword.

I stepped aside. Following the momentum, Emil lost his balance, tripped over his feet, and fell.

“Use it, Salas!” Otto shouted. “Use his mistake to win.”

I raised my sword, standing over Emil who sprawled in the grass of the riverbank behind the manor of his mother, Lady Lana.

The victory was right in front of me. One thrust, one touch of the cork on my sword to the chest of the young lord, and I’d be declared the winner of this training session. But Emil was a year younger than me and of a much slender build. My instinct was to protect him, not to hurt him.

With his reddish-blond curls spread on the grass, his large blue eyes filled with genuine fear, he reflected the green grass he lay on. Helpless and afraid, the sight of him disarmed me. This wasn’t the same as fighting Otto, the grown man of my own size.

My hand with the sword wavered.

Emil’s eyes glinted with excitement, spotting the opportunity.

“Got you!” He shoved his sword up and into my belly.

I hauled in pain, doubling over. He’d thrust so hard, it felt like a punch to my stomach, even as the cork prevented the blade from piercing my skin.

“I won!” Emil cheered, jumping to his feet. “I won! I won!”

“That’s your problem, Salas.” Otto took the sword from my hand. “You’re too kind. It’s not enough to be fast, strong, and skilled. A warrior must be ready to kill. You have to be ruthless if you want to succeed.”

A loud, slow clapping punctuated his words from a distance. We all turned at the sound. Lady Lana approached on horseback from down the stream. She’d draped the reins of her horse over the bow of her saddle, and was now clapping with her gloved hands.

“Mother! I won!” Emil hopped with glee. “Did you see it?”

“Well done, my son.”

Lady Lana threw her leg over the saddle, then hopped off the horse.

“Otto, take the horse back to the stables for me.” She tossed the reins to the teacher, then pulled her riding gloves off on her way to her son and me. “The boys and I will stay here for a bit. Right, boys?” She brushed by me, her shoulder touching my bicep. “I swear, Salas, every time I see you, you appear to have grown even taller.” She tilted her head back, looking up at me.

She was a short woman, plump, with soft curves to her face and body. Standing toe to toe with me, with her face turned up, her forehead was just below my collarbone. I’d be glad to stop growing. But at fourteen, they said I had quite a few more years to go.

“Not only taller but wider too.” She stroked with her finger across my chest, then down my arm. “Look at these muscles,” she murmured. “You’re practically bursting out of your shirts. I can’t buy new sizes fast enough for you.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. It wasn’t my fault I was bigger than most boys my age. Both my parents were tall and what they called “big-boned.” I felt bad for the lady spending money on the shirts that I kept outgrowing. But she didn’t seem angry or offended. Her voice was a thick, low murmur I hadn’t heard from a woman yet and didn’t know how to respond.

Her touch was light and pleasant. Too pleasant, I realized, as shivers rippled down my belly to my crotch. I couldn’t define the feeling, but I instinctively sensed it wasn’t proper, especially toward Lady Lana.

The last time I touched a woman—the only time, really, except when tending to my mother during her illness—was at Emil’s birthday ball three months ago. His dance teacher had spent weeks teaching Emil and me to dance. Emil took to it much faster than I did. After weeks of daily practice, I’d only mastered the waltz well enough to do it at the ball in front of everyone.

Several unmarried young women had been invited to the ball. All were a little older than me. I got to dance with three of them. The memories of touching their waists and hands as we danced still haunted me at night, bringing all kinds of shameful thoughts and feelings.

I remembered Father’s words about Lady Lana possibly finding me a wife. Back then, the idea of marriage was nothing but words. After the birthday ball, however, I wondered if my future wife could be one of the girls I’d danced with.

I didn’t even remember their faces and had barely exchanged a handful of words with any of them, trying so hard not to mess up the steps or accidentally step with my giant shoes on their delicate satin sleepers. Ultimately, I decided it wouldn’t be the worst thing in life to have a girl like that to take me as her husband.

It’d be nice to find a friend in my wife, someone to care for and who’d care about me. I hoped her family would like me and that my father could come live with us, too. He’d been gone from the estate, working on some far-away farm on Lady Lana’s orders.

I had no idea how my marriage was supposed to be arranged. But I didn’t believe it involved Lady Lana touching me the way she was right now while practically purring into my ear.

“We should go,” I croaked, backing away from her hands.

“What’s your hurry?” She smiled, unbuttoning her dress. “Let’s swim a little. You’re covered in sweat.” She wrinkled her nose.

“But...”

I darted a glance around in search of an escape. I couldn’t tell exactly what was wrong about her taking her dress off in front of me or asking me to go swimming with her. It was a hot day. I had worked up a sweat while practicing swordsmanship with Otto and Emil. A swim would be great. But it still felt wrong.

“What’s the matter?” she teased. “It’s not like you’re scared or ashamed. You’re not reflecting .”

I wasn’t scared. Confused mostly. I also didn’t want to offend the woman who’d let me live in her house for the past two years.

Emil jogged back from Otto, who led the horse away and took our weapons with him.

“Yes, let’s go swimming!” Emil pulled off his boots.

With him being here, the tension paralyzing my limbs eased a little.

“Come on, Salas.” Lady Lana gestured for me to follow her into the river. “You can keep your clothes on. I’m not taking off my undershirt either. See? It’s all as proper as could be.”

Wearing only his shirt and underpants, Emil ran past us and into the water. His mother followed him, gingerly holding up the hem of her long undershirt. I took off my waistcoat, boots, and pants, then joined them in the stream.

The water felt chilly but refreshing against my flushed skin. I splashed around with Emil, playing tag in the water with him. Then, we competed to see who could hold his breath the longest.

Lady Lana slowly swam around in circles, floating on her back, with her face up to the sun. She whelped suddenly and splashed, looking like she was about to go under.

“Mother?” Emil made a move to go after her. But she was closer to the middle of the river, too far for him to swim safely.

“Wait here.” I stopped him. “I’ll get her.”

I was a much stronger swimmer than Emil and reached the lady in a few long strokes.

“Lady Lana?”

She wasn’t fighting the stream anymore, treading it confidently with a smile on her lips.

“What happened?” I blew the water out of my face, tossing my wet hair back.

“I think I got bit by a leech,” she cooed, as if talking about something sweet and pleasant.

“Ew, a leech!” Emil screamed and rushed out of the water, wildly splashing around.

I wished I could join him. There was nothing pleasant about leeches. But I couldn’t leave the lady all alone here, even if she didn’t look like she was in trouble.

“Where?” I looked over her arms and shoulders. “I don’t see any leeches on you.”

“On my leg? Maybe?” she said playfully.

I believed she was lying, but of course I couldn’t tell her that to her face. Turning around and swimming away would be rude too.

“Let’s get out of the water,” I suggested. “We can see it better then.”

“Great idea, Salas. Only I don’t think I can swim that far.” She batted her eyelashes at me.

“I’ll help you.”

I took her arm and put it around my neck, helping her swim. The moment my feet reached the bottom, however, Lady Lana flexed her arm around my neck, then floated forward and into my arms.

“You’re so strong.” She bent her legs, pressing herself to my chest, as if I were carrying her in front of me.

I kept walking, pushing her ahead of me and toward the riverbank.

The water sluiced around us. Lady Lana giggled, raising her shoulder. Her leaving her shirt on accomplished nothing, I realized. The thin fabric had turned nearly transparent in the water. The stream pushed it off her shoulder. The lacy edge got caught on the bud of her nipple, otherwise it would have slid off completely, exposing her breast.

She noticed me looking and sighed with a half-moan, not bothering to adjust the shirt or cover up.

I stared straight ahead, painfully aware of blood rushing to my crotch and my cock swelling embarrassingly hard. It’d been happening often enough for me not to freak out now. But never before had it been as a reaction to Lady Lana, especially while she was right there, giving me a knowing smile.

“I think I can touch the ground here.” She dropped her legs down.

Her thigh bumped into my straining cock, sending a fresh shot of heat through it.

“Ooh.” She slid her hand under the water to stroke me briefly. “Impressive. Even the chill doesn’t affect you.”

I just stood there, rooted in place, as she sauntered past me and toward the riverbank. Her hips swayed, water sluicing down her curves. Her wet shirt clung to her skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. And I stared, hating myself for it.

She winked at me over her shoulder before picking up her dress and strolling after Emil, who had run back to the manor.

I was not supposed to feel this way toward Lady Lana. She took me in as my benefactor. Until now, I’d felt nothing but respect and gratitude toward her.

All my life, I’d been striving to do the right thing, the way my parents, my teachers, and the priestess of Yarnus, the God of Purity, had taught me. And it all was undone now by one stroke of Lady Lana’s hand.

This was sinful. Wrong. Leaving me feeling filthy and filled with guilt. Clearly, something must be wrong with me if I had this kind of reaction to the woman who had practically replaced a mother for me.

I stayed in the water until my teeth chattered from the cold and my cock shriveled and drooped. Then I climbed out of the river, put my clothes on, and headed back to the manor, knowing that nothing would ever be the same. The pure, innocent part of me, the part that was the most treasured in a man in this world, stayed in the river, forever lost in its stream.

“WHERE IS HE?” LADY Lana shrieked in the hallway.

Emil dropped the book he was reading while sitting in the window seat in my room. I put down my pencil and looked up from the picture of a sword I drew while laying on my belly on the floor rug.

The lady’s footsteps came closer, her heels clicking against the wood floors of the hallway.

Emil held his breath. The question “You or me?” floated in his wide-open eyes. The timid wave of reflection momentarily made him disappear. And for a second, I foolishly wished it was me whom his mother was looking for. I could take her wrath and punishment better than Emil. He was such a sickly, fragile kid.

The door to my room slammed open, and the lady marched in.

“There you are!” She glared at her son, a white sheet clutched in her hands, a riding crop gripped under her arm. “Care to explain, Lord Emil? What is this?” She tossed the sheet to his feet.

Trying to make as little noise as possible, I rose from the floor and shoved my drawing out of the way.

Emil turned almost as white as the sheet she was pointing at accusingly. The fabric of it was slightly discolored in the middle. It looked like the spot had been starched, then scrambled, crusting over in the creases as it dried.

“You spilled your seed!” the lady shrieked, her face turning red to the roots of her reddish-blonde hair. “How dare you?” She moved on to him, holding the riding crop in front of her like a weapon.

“No, Mother...” Emil shrank back into the window seat. “I didn’t. I...”

“Then what is it?” she demanded.

“It wasn’t me.” His eyes roamed in panic before stopping on me. “It was Salas.”

“What?” I blinked, momentarily lost for words.

“Salas?” Lady Lana turned to me slowly, like a snake searching for the best moment to strike.

Emil’s eyes shifted from wall to wall across the room. “Yes. He...um, took a nap in my bed while I was in my music lesson. He did it.”

“I didn’t come to your room today,” I protested.

By now, I’d spilled plenty of my seed, but only in my own bed and only at night in my sleep when I couldn’t help it. Unfortunately, some dreams ended with a sharp shot of pleasure followed by a release. They left me sweaty in the morning and my thighs slicked and sticky. There was no way of stopping these dreams. Gods knew I’d tried.

The difference between Emil and me was that I wasn’t a lord and had no valet. I changed my own sheets and cleaned them myself as needed, with no one knowing.

“He did it!” Emil’s conviction increased as his lie grew more elaborate. “I found him there after the lesson.”

Lord Ciric, the lady’s husband, appeared at the threshold of the room, probably alerted by the screams of his wife and son.

“What’s going on? Why is this noise?”

“Leave, Ciric,” his wife hissed at him through her teeth. “This does not concern you.”

“Why not? It’s about my son, isn’t it? What did he do?” His gaze dropped to the sheet with the crusty stain on the floor. An understanding spread on his face. “Lana, leave the boys alone. Please.”

“Leave them alone?” She walked menacingly slow to the cord of the bell by the door. “Of course that’d be your advice. Useless, like always. Do you even care about the reputation of my name or the marriage prospects of your son?”

She yanked on the cord with so much anger that I wondered how she didn’t rip it off.

I’d been told not to use the bell. The servants brought me food when instructed to do so by the mistress of the house. The rest I did on my own. But when Lady Lana rang it, a footman appeared almost immediately.

“Take Lord Ciric to his rooms,” she ordered. “He needs some rest.”

“I’m not tired,” the lord protested.

“Are you raising your voice on me?”

“No I’m not,” he spoke so quickly, he almost stuttered, tripping over the words.

She propped a hand on her hip, tapping her boot with her riding crop.

“It sounds very much like you are, husband. A rest would do your temper good. I’ll order to bring you some tea with the sleeping potion for you.”

Lord Ciric ran his hands through his light brown hair, his fingers trembling slightly.

“No. Not the sleeping potion, please. I’m not angry,” he said slowly, measuring every word. “I’m speaking reasonably.”

“And now you’re agitated. See?” she shrieked, poking with her riding crop at him like with a sword. “Do you need another trip to the water caves, Ciric? The witches there are so good at dealing with the male temper. They’ll calm your volatile nature in no time.”

His face paled, then turned mahogany brown, blending in with the wooden panels of the room in the reflection of fear.

“No, Lana, please don’t do that again,” he begged. “Don’t send me to the caves.”

“It’s for your own good, darling. The treatments proved beneficial for your frazzled nerves the last time. You were so quiet and docile when you returned from the caves. And now, look at you again. You can’t even follow a simple instruction.” She folded her arms across her chest, the riding crop dangling in her fingers. “Let the man take you to your rooms, Ciric. It’s too stressful for you to stay here. I’ll handle all problems with our son, including this one.”

Lord Ciric was bigger than his wife. She wouldn’t be able to physically overpower him. But she didn’t need to do it herself. She paid men to handle him for her. A second footman showed up. The two servants then led the lord away as he gritted his teeth. Defiance burned in his eyes, but he didn’t dare let it out.

“You.” She turned to her son again after her husband’s departure. “Take this sheet down to the kitchen and wash it yourself. I want you to do it in front of all the servants. Let the shame stop you from ever doing something like that again. Then you spend the rest of the day praying to Yarnus to grant you the virtue that you so clearly lack.”

With a sniffle, Emil grabbed the sheet and ran—angry, scared, but relieved to get away, no doubt.

I sidestepped Lady Lana on my way to the exit, but she shot her arm out, stopping me with her riding crop.

“So, is that true, Salas? Did you climb into my son’s bed to take a nap? Did you touch yourself while you day-dreamed? What was that dream? Tell me. Who did you dream about while you stroked your cock?”

“I didn’t, my lady. I never went to Emil’s room today. Ask the servants. We’ve been here since lunch.”

Only I had a feeling she didn’t care about the truth. She lived in her own fantasy, the one where I was in bed with my cock in my hand.

Pressing the end of the riding crop to my chest, she circled me on her way to the door, then closed and locked it. Her hand went to the buttons in front of her dress.

Alarm shot through my body with both chills and heat.

I swallowed hard. “My lady. I need to go. Please.”

The riding crop swished through the air, searing my cheek with a burning slap. I gasped, cupping my cheek, heat flaming under my palm.

“You do what I say,” she snapped. “And I say that you stay.”

“No.” I whipped toward the door.

She grabbed my hair, yanking back my head. Pain jolted my instinct of self-defense. Swinging a fist, I spun to punch her and...froze.

She was a woman. So much smaller than me. Soft and vulnerable. She belonged to the house where I lived. She was a part of the family that my guts demanded I protect. My fist was almost as big as her head. If I hit, I’d injure her, badly.

Everything inside me rebelled against hurting anyone, especially someone who looked like her, even if she had hurt me first.

She pulled me down by my hair until her hot breath hit my temple.

“You do as I say, Salas, like everyone else does around here. Your life is mine. As is the life of your father. It’s up to me to make it hard or easy for him. And it all depends on how well you’ll please me.”

Her mentioning of my father further paralyzed me. She saw the effect of her words on me and smiled, letting go of my hair.

“Now, be a good boy, and we’ll be friends. You want to be my friend, Salas, don’t you?”

She slid her dress off her shoulders. There was no undershirt this time. Her breasts spilled from her bodice. The tips tightened into buds in front of my eyes. I didn’t know a woman’s body did that. I had no idea what that meant, but I just couldn’t stop staring as my mind raced.

Even if I brought myself to hurt her, there’d be consequences. An assault on a woman was a crime punishable by death. I’d be executed. I didn’t know exactly what she’d do to my father after that, but I knew it wouldn’t be good.

But there was more to my feelings than fear of death. As she shoved her dress down her hips, then took her underwear with it, I couldn’t take my eyes off her naked body. Some dark, sinful part of me wanted to stay and see what would happen next.

“It’s wrong,” I muttered, licking my dry lips.

She came flash to me, naked, save for the milky-white stockings held up by the pink ribbons over her knees. The stockings were so thin, they looked like mist sprayed over her legs.

“How can it be wrong when it feels so right?” She gripped my cock through my pants. To my mortification, it grew harder in her hand.

“I must save myself for my wife, my lady.” My words came out hollow, as if from someone else’s mouth. My body no longer felt like my own either.

“Oh, but a wife needs to be pleasured,” she murmured. “Let me show you how.” Stroking me with one hand, she took my hand with the other and pressed my palm to her breast. Her body felt soft and inviting. My fingers curled around the pillowy sphere as if on their own. “You’re such a handsome boy, Salas. If you make me feel good, I’ll let you have some pleasure too.”

Maybe I should’ve pushed her away after all. Maybe I should’ve chosen the execution over degradation and shame. I would’ve given half of my life to be able to flee that room. But I also wanted her to keep touching me. And I wished to touch her back.

“Good boy.” She slid her hand into my pants. Her cool fingers wrapped around my heat.

Instead of fighting her grip, I leaned into it. The throbbing ache in my cock grew stronger, and everything else fell into the background.

Without fully realizing it then, I fell that night. And I kept plummeting further down ever since.

THE MIRROR STOOD ON the floor, propped against my bed. I sat on my knees in front of it, naked. Red welts from Lady Lana’s nails and her riding crop decorated my chest and shoulders.

She rarely hit hard enough to break the skin, but always strived to inflict enough pain and shame to make me reflec t. She loved watching the ripples of reflection quiver through my body. For her, it was as much a goal of all our encounters as her climax.

Over the past few months, she’d visited my room much more frequently than her own husband’s. To make me comply, she used both the proverbial stick and carrot. The “stick” was quite literally her riding crop, as well as the threats to hurt my father. The “carrot” was the possibility of my orgasm that she dangled in front of me as the ultimate reward, occasionally granting it to me.

I couldn’t fight her. But I never stopped searching for ways to deny her, if not the access to my body, then at least the pleasure of seeing my shame and my fear.

I lifted the riding crop I’d stolen from the stables. Keeping my eyes on the face of my reflection in the mirror, I swung the crop and hit myself on the back. Hard.

My skin flared with searing pain. The boy in the mirror winced, baring his teeth like a cornered dog. I raised the crop again and paused, allowing him to take a good look at it, then brought it back again, ready for another strike.

A barely perceptible wave moved across my face in the mirror as I brought the crop closer to strike. I braced for the blow. As the sting burned my back, however, the wave faded and disappeared.

It wasn’t the blow or the pain that scared me the most, I realized, but the anticipation of it. If I learned to wait for it without trepidation, there’d be no reflection . If I resigned to the inevitable, I could combat fear.

Acceptance became my weapon against shame.

There was no point in striving to be good anymore. What Lady Lana did with me at night was wicked. Rotten. Bad. It made me wicked too. I had let the sin tempt me, and I’d succumbed to it. There was no coming back now. No saving me. Bad boys didn’t deserve good things. Those who had forsaken decency had no right to feel ashamed.

Without fear or shame, there was no reflection .

Lady Lana had taken my innocence, but there was one thing I could and would deny her—the pleasure of seeing my weakness displayed to her.