The Reluctant Lady of Tarse: Prologue
Milara Aderic sat rigidly in the dimly lit study, her father’s cold eyes boring into her as though she were nothing more than a pawn in his elaborate game. The heavy oak desk separating them felt less like a barrier and more like a stage for her sentencing. Her father, Womclar Aderic, the esteemed head of the Aderic family, leaned back in his chair, his expression impassive as he delivered her fate.
“Become Lucan von Tarse’s wife,” he repeated, as if it were a simple request rather than a decree that would uproot her already tenuous existence.
Milara tightened her grip on the folds of her dress. Years of neglect had left her no room to protest; she had learned that lesson well enough. She was the illegitimate daughter, the shadowy reminder of her father’s indiscretions. Her purpose in this family had always been transactional—and now, she was to be the bargaining chip.
“I heard he’s a mercenary,” she said, her voice steady but low, masking the whirlwind of thoughts in her mind. “An orphan, isn’t he? Lost his parents in the war?”
Her father’s lips curled in disdain. “Lucan von Tarse is precisely what he needs to be: useful. He’s the royal family’s hunting dog, and more importantly, expendable. His reputation might keep you safe for a time. No woman with proper standing would touch him, so this is your opportunity to make yourself useful.”
Useful. That word had followed Milara her entire life. She was to marry a man destined for the battlefield, likely to die in some forgotten skirmish. No noblewoman wanted the role of a widow before she even settled into her marriage. The plan was obvious: tether Milara to him in name, then let fate take its course. If she survived the war, she could disappear and never look back.
Milara exhaled slowly. “And if he returns?”
Womclar waved a dismissive hand. “He won’t.”
The wedding itself was a muted affair, as bleak and transactional as the arrangement itself. Milara wore a modest dress of pale ivory, chosen more for its practicality than beauty. There were no grand celebrations, no festive gatherings of family and friends. Instead, the ceremony took place in a small, drafty chapel with only a handful of witnesses: her father, his advisors, and Lucan von Tarse himself.
Milara’s first impression of her husband was not what she had expected. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his frame honed by years of battle. His dark hair was cropped short, and his steel-gray eyes were piercing, assessing her with an intensity that made her feel exposed. His face, though scarred, carried a rugged, almost noble handsomeness.
When he spoke his vows, his voice was low and steady, carrying a gravitas that sent a shiver down her spine. She could barely meet his gaze when it was her turn to repeat the words.
“I… I do,” she managed, her voice barely audible.
Lucan’s lips quirked in what might have been a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. When the ceremony concluded, he extended his hand to her, and she took it reluctantly, her palm cold against his calloused warmth.
The carriage ride back to their temporary residence was suffocating. Lucan sat across from her, his posture relaxed but his gaze unwavering. Milara stared out the window, feigning interest in the passing scenery.
“You seem… unhappy, wife,” Lucan said after a long silence, his tone almost teasing.
She turned to him, masking her unease with a polite smile. “It is not every day one is married to a stranger.”
Lucan chuckled softly, the sound low and gravelly. “Fair enough. But strangers we won’t remain for long.”
Milara forced her gaze back to the window, her mind racing. The sooner he left for the front lines, the sooner she could begin planning her escape. She didn’t need to form any bonds, didn’t need to care. This was a temporary arrangement, nothing more.
“I’ll be departing for the battlefield soon,” Lucan said, breaking the silence. “But rest assured, I will return.”
“Of course,” she replied, her tone neutral. “I wish you a safe journey.”
Lucan leaned forward, his eyes locking onto hers with startling intensity. “When I return,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “we’ll consummate this marriage properly.”
Milara’s stomach flipped, her polite smile faltering. “You… dream big, don’t you?” she said, her voice tinged with sarcasm.
Lucan’s grin widened, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Indeed I do, wife. Indeed I do.”
The next morning, Lucan departed with the royal army. Milara watched from the window as his figure disappeared into the horizon, her heart beating faster with every step he took away from her.
Finally alone, she exhaled in relief. “May you pass on peacefully,” she muttered under her breath. The thought was harsh, but she had no intention of staying tethered to this man or this arrangement. With Lucan gone, her path to freedom was clear.
But weeks turned into months, and the war dragged on. Milara’s plans remained half-formed as news from the front lines painted a bleak picture of endless bloodshed. She found herself in a state of uneasy limbo, unsure whether to feel relief or dread.
Then, one day, the news broke.
Lucan von Tarse Achieves an Unprecedented Great Victory and Becomes a Hero!
Milara stared at the announcement, her mind refusing to process the words. She read them again, and again, but the meaning remained surreal.
Hero Grand Duke Tarse! What do you most look forward to upon your return home?
Holding my beloved wife, Milara, in my arms.
Her hands trembled as she set the parchment down. No. This couldn’t be happening. Lucan was supposed to…
die.
A few weeks later, he stood before her, larger than life and grinning like a predator.
“I’m back, my wife,” he said, his voice dripping with warmth and satisfaction.
Before she could reply, he pulled her into his arms, his embrace firm and unyielding. Milara froze, her mind racing for an escape. But it was his next words that sent her spiraling.
“Shall we head to the bedroom now?”
“Pardon?” she choked, her voice barely a squeak.
Lucan’s lips brushed against her ear as he whispered, “Forgive me, but I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
Milara’s world tilted, and a single thought burned in her mind.
Is this bastard some sort of perverted lunatic?
Escape seemed less like an option and more like a necessity. The question was, could she outmaneuver him before her carefully constructed plans crumbled completely?
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