The Duchess' Mother Ch. 01

(Author's note: Thank you for clicking this story, pleasure to have you here! This is the first part of a longer series I'm working on, so naturally there's a bit of character development and slowburn/buildup. There's plenty going on, don't worry, but know that it'll escalate quite quickly in subsequent chapters. That said, I really hope you enjoy!)

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 1

"Uh, hey. Hi. It's me. Adrienne, remember?"

She didn't respond.

"Right. Of course you do." I'd been here countless times over the past week. Silently scolding myself for somehow managing to fuck up my first sentence spoken since pulling myself from bed, I asked. "So... H-how are you? Or, how have you been?"

Still she just looked at me, lips curled into that same, slight smile she always wore. At least she smiled, though. Most people frowned whenever I made a fool of myself. A few would smirk, but only this one kindly face before me didn't make me feel like the embarrassment I certainly was.

I kneaded my fingers. "I've been okay. Still, uh, figuring things out. Still, um... you know. Looking."

This time her silence felt pointed. Not judgmental, but curious.

"Honestly, I'm not feeling too hopeful anymore. These people, those men, they just--" I cut myself off and breathed before the spiraling could begin. I had yet to fall apart in front of her; she was probably the only one I could say that about. Everyone else in this palace knew well what I looked like at my worst, but not her. Not that she'd have judged me. Shaking out my hands, I muttered, "Fucking Hells... What am I doing?"

Practicing. Just practicing. Despite the ache in my chest and between my legs, I told myself again, I was just practicing. If I said it enough times, maybe it would eventually sound believable.

"Sorry, I'm-- I'm not good at this sort of thing." I reached out to gingerly wrap my fingers around hers. Her hands were as cold as ever. "You don't mind, though. I know that."

I tried to imagine what thoughts might be swimming around behind that sweet smile of hers. Maybe she found my nerves endearing. Maybe she found them pathetic, in which case she did a fantastic job of hiding it. Or maybe she felt the same way I did, terrified of making a mistake. Whichever it was, I was still just grateful to have found someone so patient with me. Maybe that was the more pathetic part.

Enough talking, Adrienne. Enough thinking. Just do it.

I stepped closer, slid my hand holding hers up the arm to cup her cheek, wet my lips, breathed, doubted, breathed again, then leaned in.

The moment our lips touched, my body's tension fled like an exorcized demon. I clung to her for dear life while my knees turned to jelly, bringing my free hand to her other cheek and sliding both down to graze her neck. I could have sworn I heard the faintest moan spill from those still-smiling lips. Just an overactive imagination on my part, I knew that, but it felt so real. And gods, did it make me wet.

Not daring to break the kiss, I groped blindly for her outstretched hand at my side. When my hand finally closed around her wrist, I pulled away just long enough to gasp for air, hike up my gown, and shimmy free from the drawers that stood between myself and the finger-fucking I so desperately wanted. It wouldn't--couldn't--wait another second, caution be damned. The second those cold digits slid inside, I was feral. My hips moved of their own accord, bucking, gyrating, probably damn-near breaking the poor woman's hand but I didn't care. I needed this.

While I melted, she remained rock-steady. As always. We had our roles, after all. She stands there, I take what nobody else will ever give me. Easy.

Risky, too. The fact that we always had to meet right in the middle of the hallway would probably never stop being terrifying. Something about it, though... Something about fucking like animals where anyone could find us. Something about the squelch of a needy pussy echoing off stone walls and marble floors. About my mouth stealing a kiss it shouldn't, or about my hands caressing a pair of tits they were never meant to. The choked noises escaping my throat every time I sank deeper onto those perfect fingers of hers. Something about all of it, which wiped my brain of any rational thought besides the burning need to touch and be touched.

And there was something about her. I bit my lip, cupped her cheeks, and slowed my hips, savoring each and every inch she had to give me. What had started as convenience was now something else entirely. It wouldn't matter how many times I told myself it was just for practice. No wonder the men lining up outside my court were less appealing by the day. Why bother? She was perfect. Beautiful. Stony, but predictable. What could they possibly offer that she couldn't?

Cum, I supposed. Cum sounded fun. Not worth courting one of those oafs, but I'd admit to being curious.

Okay, fine, it wasn't practice. That didn't mean I wasn't learning. One thing she'd taught me was just how much I appreciate that lovely, comforting feeling of being held. Nothing besides the embrace of someone far more grounded than myself could bring me half-so-close to the feeling I'd chased for so long. I took a final, agonizingly slow plunge, not stopping until my clit could grind against her palm and my body was left truly engulfed by her care. One thrust, then another. A kiss on her lips, her jaw. I shuddered into the crook of her neck. Hands on her hips, her waist. A puddle at our feet. So close. So close... Was-- Was today the day...?

"Addie?"

Shit. No, apparently.

"Are you here, darling?"

Shit, shit,shit. The voice came from just around the corner.

"Hello-o-o-o! Adrienne?"

I wrangled a breath and withdrew from my lover, mortified to see her hand, arm, and legs utterly soaked. Instinct brought me to my knees, but a second of trying to lick her clean was enough to know I didn't have time, today. What an idiot I was! In a fucking hallway? In the middle of the godsdamned day--what was I thinking? Lingering on the cusp of an orgasm so cruelly denied clouded my head, but I used my gown to clean her as best and as quickly as possible. 'Quickly' took precedence. I pulled back just as the last face I wanted to see in that moment rounded the corner.

"Addie, where are-- Ah, finally!"

I swallowed, side-stepped to hide at least some of the mess I'd made. "H-hey, mom."

She donned a much, much too familiar smile, slowing her stride and exhaling in relief. "You're late! Did you forget?"

"Forget...?"

"It's noon. Past noon."

I cursed myself as I smoothed my gown and hair, trying to figure out exactly how I'd gotten distracted enough to miss my own court. "Are you--"

"Quite sure," she interjected, smile growing. As her eyes traveled over and behind me, however, her expression changed. Confusion? Hers was a hard face to read, especially when I'd spent far too much time looking at just one version of it. "What are you doing here?"

"Just, uh... just walking. I'm trying to get out more."

My mother looked up at the ceiling, then at the either wall. "We're in a hallway, love. Indoors."

I silently scolded myself again.

She frowned, asking, "Have you been running?"

"Hm?" I wiped my forehead and tucked a few strands of red, sweat-mussed hair behind my ears. Trying my best not to sound so awfully winded, "Oh, um, yeah. Yes. I'm trying to get more exercise too."

Her brow raised. She scanned me again, until her gaze landed on the one place I hoped it wouldn't. She snorted softly. "I hate this damned thing."

Somehow that made me feel the tiniest bit better. It didn't quell the sick, roiling feeling in my gut or the desperate need still throbbing in my groin, though. I stepped aside, turning to look at the statue. Its hand was still wet.

"I mean, it doesn't even look like me. Does it?" she asked.

It did. It looked exactly like her. I just shrugged and stared at the floor.

"Hmph." She crossed her arms. "Well, we're late. We can ogle this dreadful thing later."

"Eager to ogle a cartload of dreadful men, instead?" I mumbled.

"You've a few petitioners first, actually."

"Thenthe cartload of dreadful men?"

My mother suppressed a laugh. I knew she agreed, but she turned and gestured for me to follow nonetheless.

~~~

~~~

"Duchess?"

I blinked, rousing myself from the same intoxicating daydream for the fourth time in a single afternoon. I'd never been interrupted before. While 'practicing', I mean; courtiers interrupted me quite often. At least now I was relatively certain what the cruelest and most inhumane punishment a person could ever receive was: cutting an orgasm short at the closest I'd ever come to one. Worse, being forced to sit at the head of a court full of strangers mere minutes later. Worse still, sitting near a perfect (albeit living) replica of the 'woman' giving me that orgasm.

A replica who was also my mother.

Well, she came first, I guess. I was the one fucking a replica. Hells below, I was fucking a statue ofmy own mother. What was wrong with me?

"Duchess?" the old man repeated.

Five times, now. Probably a record. I rubbed my eyes, trying my damndest not to glance in her direction. "Sorry, Seneschal Hawley. You were saying?"

"Are you ready to receive the next petitioner?"

"Oh. Sure. I guess."

"Right. Next! Raylan of..." The seneschal trailed off, muttering beneath his breath. He brought the scroll close enough to brush the tip of his pointy nose, squinted, then shouted, "Benthagen! Raylan of Benthagen! Step forward, Raylan of--"

"Er, Bedsthafen, actually." A shabby looking man stepped forward. By his jacket, hat, and the suntanned shade of his weather-beaten skin, one could guess him a fisherman. And, well, the fishing rod. He clutched it with his left hand and the tip bounced with each nervous step.

I sat up as he approached the throne, putting on the most convincing smile I could muster. They deserved that much. Detestable as these court sessions were, it wasn't their fault. As he knelt, I asked, "How is Bedsthafen, Ser Raylan?"

In the corner of the room, Knight-Captain Trevelyan visibly bristled.

"S-Ser?" Raylan mumbled.

"Unless you'd prefer 'lady'," I replied.

He seemed confused, but stood taller. A bit of respect did wonders for a petitioner's confidence; a petitioner's confidence did wonders for my time. I'd happily sacrifice a title's prestige to skip all the stumbling and stammering, however vexed it might leave Trevelyan. Anything to end this sooner.

Raylan kneaded his rod's handle and swallowed. He said, "Ailing, Duchess Elhof. Bedsthafen is crumbling, and for myself faster than most. You see, I'm a fisherman."

"Indeed?" I asked flatly.

He nodded, briefly holding out his rod as if expecting it to speak up and confirm his claim.

"And?"

"Right, right. Apologies." Raylan cradled the rod against his chest. "It's the Burgomeister. He--"

Seneschal Hawley interjected, "Randolph Koche, Burgomeister of Benthagen, third son of Abel and Emma, married to--"

"I know my vassals, minister," I lied. Truthfully, I hadn't even heard of Bedsthafen (Benthagen?) before today. Or, had I? Trying to think whilst delirious with unmet need was new to me. "Let the man continue."

Hawley grumbled and gestured for Raylan to speak.

The fisherman bowed. "Thank you, my lady. But this Koche fellow is a damned fool. He's..." His face paled. "I'm sorry, I din't intend to speak ill of your vassals. Forgive me, please."

"Speak ill all you like, Ser Raylan. I'll have the tongue of any who spread your words beyond these walls."

Leaning against the wall nearby, Mom smirked. My heart stuttered.

"He's an imbecile!" Raylan suddenly cried, gesticulating wildly. "A baboon in coattails, that villain! He's drivin' my home--yourcity--into the dirt. I can't be the first to tell you this. And now, he's shutterin' the entire harbor!"

"Wait, wait, slow down," my mother said, straightening.

I knew that it made me look weak, but I always sighed in relief whenever she poked her nose into these sorts of things. Mom understood the inner workings of our demesne better than I could ever dream to. I nodded for her to continue without making eye contact. Lovely as release would surely be, I'd a feeling we might need a new throne if I looked for too long at that face right now.

My stomach clenched. Stop thinking, Adrienne. Stop.

She pushed off the wall and walked closer, saying,"Bedsthafenisa harbor. Shutter that and the city's just a glorified brothel."

Raylan's gaze darted between us, settling on her. "Tell that to 'im! Last month's storm rendered near every ship moored there unsailable."

Finally, something that sounded familiar. Storms had long ravaged our southern coast and last month saw one of the worst in a decade.

He turned to me again. "Duchess, we were promised support. We were promised that damage wrought by the region's storms would never be ours to fix. Hells, we'd never have settled in that gods-cursed city otherwise! Please. I ask only that you lend us the means to recover this once. We won't make the mistake of trustin' that cretin ever again."

And here it was--the hardest part. The part I was promised would get easier yet hasn't in the slightest. Every single one of the day's petitioners received the same response. Yesterday's too. And the day before, and the day before, and every day starting from the moment our vault had turned up empty and our fortune gone. We barely had the means to feed ourselves, let alone the countless others who depended upon us. I assumed they might begin to catch on after the first few days of polite refusals. Now we found ourselves in the ninth consecutive week of having to dash the hopes of people far more desperate than ourselves.

I wet my lips and steeled my heart, leaning forward. "Ser Raylan, I-- I've heard you. I understand. Seneschal Hawley here will, uh, personally oversee the dispatch of envoys to--"

"No, no, you don't get it! He's not withholdin' the funds, they don't exist! That slimy, rat-faced fuck drained the cities coffers within a month. Envoys can't do shit about that. There's nothin' left for us."

"I..."

"Please, my lady. Families are days from destitution."

Every damned time. Every damned time, my heart raced and my tongue dried. Every damned time, the rush of blood in my ears swallowed up their voices, leaving me nigh unresponsive in a throne that was supposed to make things easier. And every damned time, my mother gave me that look. She'd step in. I needed only to ask, but... Gods, asking for help was another thing that hadn't gotten a single bit easier. If anything, it was harder now. So many judging eyes filled this court. So many sneering courtiers and scheming vassals. So many vultures awaiting the moment I would stumble and the crown would fall from my head. So, so many. Too many. Too many...

"Have faith, Ser Raylan of Bedsthafen," Mom said softly.

At her voice, I exhaled. Hers was the only one that had ever been able to quell my fear. Normally her touch would do the same, but this time, as her hand grazed my shoulder my nerves only spiraled further.

She continued, "You may be shocked at just how predictably people like your Burgomeister behave. Allow us a chance to speak with him. And know this: you are not forgotten, nor will you ever be."

Every damned time, I wound up wondering whyIwas the one wearing the crown.

"That," the fisherman began, "sounds like a heap of horseshit."

I looked up at her. Surely she wouldn't appreciate such disrespect? But she just stood there, watching him with a gaze as unwavering as it was compassionate.

Raylan snorted and tugged at his gloves. "Got me believin' horseshit, I guess."

She nodded, squeezed my shoulder and stepped around the throne to shake the man's hand. "We appreciate your trust. And for what it's worth, I meant every word."

"Thank you, Miss Elhof. Er, Lady Elhof?" He again glanced between myself and the woman deserving of the throne beneath me, obviously unsure of which actually deserved his obsequience.

"Abigail is fine," she replied with a laugh.

I sank further into my seat, tuning out their voices. It would never not be embarrassing. The alternative was even more embarrassing, though, so I'd not say a word. Just as nobody needed to know that we were utterly devoid of wealth, nobody needed to know that their duchess was an anxious, tongue-tied mess. Unfortunately, one of those was able to be hidden behind two feet of steel. The other had to be dolled up and plopped in a chair in front of hundreds of people every day. They'd find out eventually. Then what?

"Addie?"

"Huh? What?" I blinked and glanced up to find my mother looking down at me. The court had nearly finished clearing out.

"You okay?"

"Mhmm." Pulling my legs up into the throne, I rested my chin between my knees. "Thank you. For, uh, dealing with that. I just..."

She waited patiently for me to finish. When I didn't, she leaned forward and combed her fingers through my hair again, making me shiver. "I know, darling. You did well today."

"At what? Crushing peoples' hopes?"

"Preservingtheir hope, Adrienne. I've seen many in your place that don't attempt to do what you do. Too many are eager to shoo others off. That you are different from them is proof enough of the fact that you deserve to sit where you sit."

She lay her hand atop mine. While she'd defused one bomb in my chest, her touch lit another. A cocktail of arousal, confusion, and disgust swirled about in my head, so I just smiled half-heartedly and stood on trembling legs. At least it was over.

"Forgetting something, Duchess Elhof?" the seneschal asked.

"W-what?"

"The suitors. What else?"

How far to the nearest three-story window? As if it mattered. My legs gave out instantly, anyway, sending my plummeting right back into that Hell-sent chair. I pulled them up once more and wrapped both arms around them.

Mom felt my forehead with the back of her hand; I slouched even deeper. She touched my hand again and said, "Must we? Surely we needn't do this every single day."

"Must we?Must we?" the seneschal hissed. He nearly continued, but hesitated. He shut his eyes, gripped the scroll to the point of tearing, and drew a breath through clenched teeth. "No. I suppose not. The fate of this court and all who dwell within or under it depends upon your daughter procuring a mate, but really, who cares for such things?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't say 'mate', Hawley."

"Partner? Spouse? Sperm donor?" His voice rose one word at a time, but again he caught and composed himself. "Ahem. Pardon my enthusiasm, but I really must suggest that you take this seriously. Both of you."

"Just send them in," I groaned. Even the suitors were preferable to hearing Hawley of all people talk about sex.

Much too quickly, the doors reopened and in stumbled the first. He was blonde, probably barely into his twenties. Not much younger than myself, to be fair, but his unkempt hair and soft features didn't do him any favors. Was the seneschal just scooping up farmboys off the road? He held an armful of colorful balls.

"Hello," I sighed. No point in feigning interest.

The young man swallowed and waved, dropping one of the balls and scrambling to scoop it up. When he stood again, he stammered, "Um, hi. My, uh, my name's Rudy."

"Do you have a last name, Rudy?"

"R-Rudy."

Beside me, the seneschal pinched the bridge of his nose. I cocked my head and asked, "Your name is Rudy Rudy?"

Rudy's eyes widened. "N-no, sorry. I'm sorry. It's, uh, it's Bauer. Rudy Bauer."

"Lovely. And what will you be doing today, Rudy Bauer?"

"Juggling, miss! I-I mean, my lady. Duchess."