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moonshine-nightlight · 1 year

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Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Twenty-Two

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale Chapter 22

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] Part Twenty-Two [Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

“Well now ladies,” the tallest man speaks, his voice low and condescending. He’s smug too, like the cat that got the mouse, as he steps forward twirling a dagger. “You don’t seem to have our prize stallion with you as we expected, but I’m certain his filly and granny will make perfect bait.”

You’re glad to have a wall at your back in some ways, but you’d feel better with a method of escape.

“I know not what your aim is,” Grandmother begins. You’re relieved to hear Grandmother speak. The way her strength had been failing, you were getting worried about how bad she might have been hurt. You also have no idea what to do next, the assassins fanned out in a semi-circle on the other side of the desk you two are behind. Her voice is rough, but strong, as she continues, “but I assure you: it will fail!”

“Know not?” the one on the right says, her voice more bored than anything. Her head tilts with the question, but she keeps her spear pointed at your corner. She’s got a scarf tied tight about her mouth and hair, leaving only eyes free. She’s clad in dark well-worn clothes that give free range of movement. There’s a bulk to them that suggests leather armor of some sort is under them. She stands with a sturdiness you can determine even with your minimal martial knowledge. She looks like it’d take an ox to move her where she doesn’t want to go.

“Clen just said what our aim is,” the one on the left says, his voice mocking. Grimly, you agree. They all but said you’re now hostages to them, leverage against Dale. You wonder what he might have done, likely not to them, but to those that hired them. These were rough folks, but skilled. Although, they did bungle their actual capture of Dale, nabbing you and Grandmother instead.

They’ve already adapted their plan and they still seem confident. The tall man—Clen—isn’t even out of breath as he holsters his crossbow. The fact that no one’s heard the commotion is really starting to worry you. That means they must have incapacitated those nearby. Anyone you could have alerted or called to help must either be away or somehow dealt with already.

Of all the worries you had about this wedding, somehow attackers targeting Dale or yourself had never crossed your mind. Clearly, you’d been thinking too small, you realize somewhat hysterically. It’s taking everything you have to keep yourself together, but you know you must.

You’re no fighter, certainly not outnumbered with someone to protect. All of your minimal lessons were with weapons you didn’t have, people you do not have around you, and primarily were geared towards escaping. They also tended to be in consideration of one opponent, not four highly trained ones.

“She’s got a bit of a bleed going from her head,” Clen replies. You feel ice slip into your veins and turn your head, trying to keep them in sight but also take a look at Grandmother. You don’t even remember pushing her into the chair behind this desk. She’s managing to seat herself confidently. Her posture makes it appear as though these are mere hooligans who’ve burst into her office unannounced. Only the thin trickle of blood down her cheek betrays her affectation.

You press one of your spare handkerchiefs into her hand, while readying another. “Please use it to stop the blood,” you whisper to her. “You must.”

Grandmother accepts the cloth from you, but you both keep your gazes fixed on the assassins, unable to look away from the threat.

“So I suppose we can’t blame her for not following the obvious,” Clen grins. His scarf covers his head too, but it has holes for his eyes and leaves his mouth visible. The other man is taller than the woman, but shorter than the other men, with only a scarf covering his mouth. You can’t see well in the light, but you think he’s got markings either cut into his short shorn hair or inked onto his scalp.

The final one hasn’t said anything. He’s the one who appeared suddenly in front of you to cut off your escape. He also has no covering on his face at all. His hair is black streaked through with gray and his eyes seem to glow, highlighting the blue of one and the green of the other. He looks the least physically strong, but you’ve a feeling he doesn’t fight that way—not to discount the short sword he does have in his hand.

Assassins, a word you can hardly believe you are thinking, also tend to come in two breeds: those who are extremely skilled fighters and thieves and those who are that and also dabble in demonics. That last one is definitely the latter. And even the others look like they might at least have had some Depth enhancement work done. Did someone know to send such types after Dale? Or were they merely counting on Northridge being vulnerable to such attackers? Maybe this group was just the best money could buy.

“We’re here for your little heir,” Clen says, enough theater pomp to his manner that you wonder if he was once a performer. “Our generous patrons want him trussed up and escorted back to them. Before we deal with him to their satisfaction. Bit frustrating he didn’t come back with you two as he had every past nights, but we’ve time to wait.”

“Even with this distance between us,” he smirks, waving an arm towards where you and Grandmother are wedged. “I know you agree that you’re well and truly cornered.”

“So sit still and wait like good bait,” the man on his left says, his eyes and voice conveying the smirk he must be wearing, “danglin’ on the hook, for the lordling to arrive.” You think you like him the least. His eyes seem cruel and his daggers very sharp.

“You can yell all you want then,” the woman says, seemingly convinced that you’ll stay put. She’s pulled her spear back to her and is polishing it with her sleeve. “But don’t bother now. Some’at mysterious struck the guards this wing of the house. What was it again, Lasky?”

“Food poisoning something bad, I heard,” the man on the left, who must be Lasky, says. His eyes seem to linger on you in particular, despite Grandmother doing the talking, even now when answering the woman. You wish you had more than a dull dinner knife on you because the idea of that one in particular anywhere near you makes your skin crawl

“My lot are in the cellar,” the woman returns with a shrug, “got stuck somehow.”

“And Two won’t tell what he did to his,” Clen jerks his head at the silent, unmasked man. He’s the one you’ve already decided is the most dangerous. You’re certain he’s by far the most mixed up in demonics. Even beyond the superstition of people with two different colored eyes. His disinterest in hiding his identity, the shadow movement he displayed, his silence and lack of blinking all point towards possession to you. He unnerves you far more than Dale did, even in the beginning. There’s a carelessness to him, something unbound and unrestrained. You don’t want to think on what he could do, if he wanted to. Your only comfort is the fact that he seems largely uninterested in doing anything but leaning against the wall and waiting.

“You will not succeed in this plan,” Grandmother says, clearly fed up with their antics. You’re happy she has it in her to feel annoyed instead of just scared, with the edge of anger like you. “You would do best to try to make your escape now while you still have the opportunity.”

“She’s got brass ones to be threatenin’ us right now,” Lasky says with a laugh that Clen joins in on.

“You’ve no idea what we’re capable of,” Clen says to Grandmother once he’s stopped. “If only your grandson hadn’t angered quite so many people with the money to spare. Mayhap then they’d have hired those lesser than us to accomplish their bidding.”

“He really shouldn’t have cheated that one Lord at cards,” Lasky adds and you can hear Grandmother let out an outraged huff. You bite your lip to hold back unexpected, ironic laughter at the idea that this is just more of same. Original Dale, being careless and leaving others to suffer for his mistakes. “I think he paid more than half our fee by himself.

“My Dale is no cheater,” Grandmother retorts hotly, as if that mattered at all. “If they had a real case, they would follow the proper channels. They would not send thugs after him.”

“Well, our patrons disagree,” Clen replies. He doesn’t slide his sword back into its sheath, but stretches with it still in hand. His shirt rides up to reveal red ink markings that confirm to you he’s got some sort of demonic enhancements.

“Although the knight is a hypocrite,” the woman scoffs. “Complaining about someone else cheating.”

“Who cares? He’s the one paying us extra for—” Lasky starts to say before Two gives him a look. It’s not even particularly menacing, just filled with intent. Clen gets tense for all he doesn’t look at Two, but the woman gives Lasky a glare fit to set him on fire. Lasky shuts up.

She stalks over to him, pointing her spear at him with a thunderous expression on her face.

Lasky turns from Two, who’s gone back to looking out through the open doorway to the courtyard, to face her. “Not your place, Vi—don’t try and speak on things you don’t—”

“Don’t need to understand to know you’d best keep your mouth shut, you ninny,” Vi hisses. “I made an exception, working with you lot, and I’ll not be regretting it.”

“Is this the time?” Clen sounds exasperated and turns to get between them. The resulting argument is quiet enough that it devolves to unrecognizable words and sounds.

Your eyes automatically dart to the door and then to the courtyard, but you know you’d never out run them, let alone be able to with Grandmother in tow. And if they think they’ll be discovered, well, Grandmother would lose her value as a hostage. Besides, your eyes trip past Two while looking. He’s switched back to staring at you.

“Keep calm,” Grandmother whispers in your ear, seemingly wanting to take advantage of the argument. You’re grateful she seems coherent, if tired, but her voice is less strong in your ear than when she was yelling at Clen.

“Your maid and my own will likely have already realized we’re missing,” she reminds you. You’d completely forgotten about sending hers ahead and no doubt yours will be up in your rooms with your late night nibbles soon, both wondering where you two are. “No doubt they will find some guards. Or it will be noticed some guards are missing from their posts. Either way, they will backtrack our route. It is only a waiting game. Just don’t let those ratbags get close.”

“I agree,” you say, glad your voice sounds steady. You try to pivot your body to keep them in the corner of your eye, for at least a few minutes. You desperately want to take a closer look at Grandmother’s injury. “How are you feeling?”

“I will be fine,” Grandmother insists, but she moves as you do, sitting more heavily in the chair with each passing second. You’re able to finally see that the arrow did graze her head. “Just rather…”

Her eyelids flutter rapidly and you hurry to brace her, barely able to keep from making a noise of surprise that might draw the kidnappers’ attention. Her hand falls to her side taking the handkerchief with it, stained red. The resulting cut is bleeding sluggishly into her hair and down her cheek. Since your spare is already in your hand, you’re quick to press it to the wound. You tug a ribbon free from your hair so you can try to fix the cloth in place.

You know the best you can hope for is to set her up in the least dangerous position that also leaves you free to protect her. Who knows what ideas these criminals might get without her conscious to be intimidating? With one less person to make a fuss?

You’ve just gotten it to stay when the sound of Lasky’s voice causes you to whip around.

“Aw, did she fall asleep?” he asks. His continually mocking tone sets your teeth on edge. The three who’d been involved in the argument are back to their original fanned out positions, best to limit your escape. He takes a step closer and you can’t help but press closer to the chair, needing something solid at your back. Needing to remember that now there’s only you there to defend Grandmother. You need to keep it together.

“Don’t feel lonely, I’ll keep you entertained, lady,” he says, stepping even closer. “I am certain I can keep your attention. I venture I could make you forget all about the pompous heir. His fault for letting his little betrothed walk back without him, isn’t it?”

Fear and anger rage inside you at his implications, at his approach. If only you were someone else, someone with the right training. Near everyone you know would be better in this situation than you: schoolmates, siblings. That sparks a memory and you glance down. This was the corset gifted to you by your oldest sister, who wasn’t a knight, but was never unarmed.

“Lasky,” Vi warns. “The granny’s already fainted.”

“I won’t hurt her,” Lasky says, glancing at Vi. “Well, not enough she would not still be useful.”

You hastily take advantage of that split second, fingers fumbling with the tie at the top of your corset. You slid a finger into the hole and drew out a flat, wickedly sharp dagger. Designed as a set with a sheath to act as a typical busk. It is on the thicker side than most busks, but still comfortable in its place down the center of your corset. While in its sheath it performs its job of lending stiffness to the corset. Out of its sheath, the blade is wicked sharp.

You had lessons on using it, but you’d never truly expected to need to apply them. That training was none of the forms and rules of typical martial training. Self-defense is about taking advantage of any vulnerability, leveraging whatever you had at your disposal to get away. It was all dirty tactics and cheap shots. You hold the dagger in front of yourself. The weight of the metal is slight, but steadying. You feel safer with something in hand to protect yourself with.

When Lasky turns back to you, his eyes immediately land on your new blade. “You think you can win a fight with that?” he sneers at it. “It’s hardly more than a letter opener.”

“No,” you reply truthfully, before you tighten your grip. You swallow, realizing you haven’t had to speak yet. You try to pull even an ounce of the steel Grandmother had in her voice into your own. “However, I think I can blind you in at least one eye or take a few of your fingers before you killed me.” Your voice is quieter, with less command than Grandmother’s, but it’s steady, which is more than you’d hoped for.“And I doubt you want that.”

“I told you these noble bitches were cold,” Clen says, but he doesn’t sound upset. Of all of them, he’s been almost cheerful the whole time. “Do not touch her until we have him—she is more tempting bait than the old woman. He’s probably just waiting for her to drop dead as it is. You know how these heirs are.”

Lasky hasn’t retreated, but he’s stopped advancing. You hope he can see how sharp the blade is. You hope he’s thinking about your words. How he will win the fight, but that you are more than capable of making him regret it. More than capable of leaving a lasting mark. That’s how they train the nobility who do not go into the military. Your virtue, your bloodline, are your most valuable possession. It is drilled into any noble, especially those who aren’t heirs, that you must ensure no one besmirches it.

“Would one of you lend me some aid?” Lasky complains.

“The plan was not to take prisoners,” Clen points out, still sound amused more than anything. He’s not even looking at Lasky anymore, instead he’s checking his gear. Obviously, the fight with Dale or whatever guards might come are his main focus. It worries you that they have such time and anticipation when Dale does not. However, it also is a comfort because that means he’s not paying you as much mind. “I would prefer to keep my hands free.”

“No rope,” Vi clarifies where she’s pushing some furniture to the side, making a clearer area for a fight. That makes sense given the reach of her weapon. It doesn’t help the dread pooling in your stomach. You wish they would simply tell Lasky he wasn’t allowed to touch you, that you’re too valuable a prisoner to risk. In the end, you’ll just have to settle for being a hair too much trouble to do more than leave you in the corner you’ve backed yourself into. Alone.

You want to check on Grandmother again. You want to see if she’s awoken or if the handkerchief is soaked through. But you can’t. You can’t afford to look away. Not with Lasky still where he is. Not with him still in the room. Not with him still conscious.

“Two doesn’t need rope,” Lasky says, but you think he’s pouting. Unable to believe how carelessly he’s saying these threats, you chance a glance at Two.

Two’s only indication he knows he’s being talked about is to cross his arms. He stares at you, still not blinking, but unlike Dale, his eyes don’t compel you to fall into them. His eyes make you want to look anywhere else. Given the threats currently facing you, you don’t feel too foolish for hastily looking away from him and back to Lasky.

“And I’m not spending the next however long trying to help you hold onto a squirming, crying girl for whatever purpose you’ve in mind,” Vi says, her voice hard. “Who knows when the heir might show up. And we can’t risk knocking her out with the granny unconscious.”

Lasky sighs, his eyes still betraying a grasping eagerness that you hate. He takes a step back regardless. “Fine, stay in that corner, but I’ll be back for you after we’ve dealt with your naughty fiance.”

You don’t take your eyes off of him, even as he retreats back to the others. You try to think of a plan, something else to do so that fear doesn’t overwhelm you like it’s threatening to. You keep the dagger upraised and pointed, but you try to push the chair back even further. You want to get it close enough to the closet. If you need to hide during the fight that will break out, you want the short distance possible to have to drag Grandmother and the chair.

As you slowly, slowly do move the chair, you keep your ears alert for any information they might let slip. You catch snatches of phrases which begin to paint a picture.

“…don’t want Two to tire himself with the girl when…” Clen says to Lasky, making you readjust your grip on your dagger. You raise the point since it had started to drift lower the longer you kept it aloft.

“…even want her? This payout…” Vi complains.

“…aren’t here,” Clen sounds exasperated even as he helps Lasky use a dagger to pry the jewels from a decorative statuette. “Those are back at their estate…take us….”

“It’s the knight, he’s the one who cares about that,” Lasky says. “It’s why he brought Two on. The heiress is the one who…”

“After. Once Northridge is secured, you can do what you want,” Vi says. “But you’re not risking my…”

You’re pretty sure the knight they keep referring to is Eastmont, who must have warned them Dale had some access to enhancement from the Depths. He seems to also want Dale’s research, which must be why they’re trying to capture him alive. It sounds like if they succeed, Lasky will still want to keep you a hostage—he continues to keep looking back at you. His gaze makes a visceral feeling of disgust well up within you at the way they drag over your body.

You try to think about who these other benefactors might be, a Lord and heiress are the only others they’ve mentioned. But before you think much further on it, Two straightens from his spot near the courtyard door, turning to face the door you came through instead.

The others instantly fall silent.

It takes a tense moment that seems to stretch on and on, until you finally hear what Two must have.

“…certain they only went to the courtyard for some air, my Lord,” a woman is saying and you find yourself barely breathing as you try to hear over your thundering heartbeat for the reply.

“It seems a long time for such a thing to take, especially so late at night.” It is Dale. The relief that floods you is almost dizzying and you sway where you stand. Quickly, you shake your head and adjust your footing. Everything is about to get very very chaotic and you need to be ready.

“You’ll forgive me for saying so, my Lord,” the woman replies, “but things take longer for those getting on in years.”

“I shall forgive you,” Dale’s voice is cheerfully teasing and just that sound is immensely comforting to you. “However, best pray Grandmother doesn’t hear you say such a thing.”

“I would never,” the woman says as they get even closer. “Here, I believe Mr Allen said this is likely the way they went.”

They’re so close and you’re torn. Is it selfish to be so grateful he’s joining you in this extremely dangerous situation? Should you call out to forewarn Dale or should you not send him racing in to his death? Will it help or hinder him for you to shout? What is the right course of action?

But time is slipping through your fingers. You make your decision and pray it’s the right choice.

“Dale!”

[Part Twenty-Three]

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