The Printed Fox: Hump Day Hook - Duchess of War (Sequel to "Of Hallowed Fiends")

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Hump Day Hook - Duchess of War (Sequel to "Of Hallowed Fiends")

Hello, everyone! This week's Hump Day Hook is from my WIP of Duchess of War, the sequel to Of Hallowed Fiends and Darkest Fortune. This is unedited, so please, have mercy.


She was awake all at once, but she didn't dare move.

Her eyes were wide open, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings with growing trepidation. She still did not move.

What was wrong here?

The deep red of the velvet bed curtains above her was disconcerting. She was warm and deep in plush softness. Where was the dank cold of her cell? She strained, but there was only a deep silence to hear.

Where was the lonely drip of stale water into a small puddle echoing down the stone corridor?

Her limbs were frozen in place, strewn about her as they had been in sleep. Only now she was awake, and she dared not move.

Where was she?

A sound beside her made her throat clench tight. She held her breath.

It had sounded like a deep sigh. She strained her eyes as far to the side as possible without moving her head. She could barely make out a lump beside her, a little bit away from her. The lump sighed again and shifted.

A slight snore.

Her stomach dropped through the bed and hit the floor.

The Duke!

Her stomach shot back into her body and dislodged her heart thudding frantically in her chest. She felt bile burning in the back of her throat.

Her husband.

In an instant, the previous night came back to her and she shut her eyes against the onslaught of images. It was no use, though. They were even more vivid against the backs of her eyelids, so she opened them wide again.

With the memories came the lingering soreness. She ached from head to toe. Her backside burned. She suddenly could not quite catch her breath but didn't dare so much as gasp.

She didn't want to wake him.

Let him sleep, she thought. Let him sleep and never wake. Like Brennan von Aikken when he slept a hundred years upon the knoll. Let him sleep a hundred years and wake to find me dead.

Fate would not be so kind, she knew. 

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