Daughter of Regals by Stephen R. Donaldson

wall. With my hands, I
broke the impact; but it was strong enough to knock me to the floor.
    While the room reeled
and all my nerves burned with the pain in my face and chest, Count Thornden
came looming over me.
    Tall and bestial, he
spat an obscene insult at me. Candlelight reflected in the sheen of sweat on
his heavy forehead. I feared that he meant to kick me where I lay, yet I was
slow to realize the danger. How does he dare this? I asked through the shock of
my pain. Is he too stupid to fear my rescue by the guards of the manor?
    But the door to the
meeting-room had been unattended.
    Glaring down at me, he
snarled, “No, I will not do it.
    You are too plain and
puny for any man’s respect, my lady.” In his mouth, that my lady was
a worse insult than his obscenities. “And you have no Magic, my lady. Your
Ascension will fail. I have been advised to offer you marriage—so that we may
rule in alliance—but I will not demean myself by wedding such baggage.”
    “Fool,” I panted up at
him. Still I did not understand the danger. “Fool.”
    “Rather,” he rasped, “I
will render you unfit for any man or marriage. Then you will cleave to me in
simple fear and desperation, because no other will have you, and my kingship
will be accomplished at the cost of one small pleasure”—fury and hate were
lurid in his eyes—”my lady.”
    I was rising to my feet,
off-balance,, unable to dodge him. In one swift movement, he grasped the white
muslin at my shoulders and stripped it from me as if it were only gauze, as
meaningless as my pretensions to the rule of the Three Kingdoms.
    “Guards!” I shouted,
recoiling from him. Or tried to shout; my voice was little more than a croak. “Guards!”
    No guards came. The
tapestries in the chamber hung unruffled by the opening or closing of any door
which might have brought men with swords and pikes to my aid.
    Count Thornden grinned
his corrupt hunger at me. “Already I am king in effect if not in name. None
who consider themselves your friends dare oppose me. You are lost, my lady.”
    Brutally, he grabbed at
me.
    I eluded him by diving
under the table. I had none of the skills of a warrior, but I was well-trained
at physical sports. Hone the body to sharpen the mind. Mage Ryzel had taught
me. And he had betrayed me: no one else in the manor had authority to command
the guards from their duty. I rolled under and past the table. There I flipped
to my feet.
    But then I did not run
or cry out or seek to escape. Naked, I stood erect across from Thornden and
faced him. Anger and pain and betrayal had taken me beyond fear. I had done
Ryzel too much honor by thinking him in league with Queen Damia;
doubtless he feared her too much to ally himself with her. Instead, he had
chosen Thornden for his machinations—chosen to submit me to rape rather than
accept the risks of my Ascension. The bones of my cheek flamed as if they had
been splintered.
    “Resist me!” Thornden
snarled. “It increases the pleasure.” He began to stalk me around the fable.
    With all my strength, I
shouted. “NO!” and hammered both fists against the tabletop.
    I was only a woman—and
not especially strong. My blow did not so much as cause the candle flames to
waver. Yet the sheer unexpectedness of it stopped him.
    “You are a fool!” I
snapped, not caring how my voice shook. “if you harm me. further, the result
will be your doom, not mine.”
    For the moment, I had
surprised him into motionlessness. He took his pleasure from harming the weak
and fearful; he was not prepared for me. And while it lasted I took advantage
of his amazement.
    “First, my lord of
Nabal,” I said in a snarl to match his, “let us agree that you dare not kill
me. If you do so, you will forge an unbreakable alliance between Canna and
Lodan against you. In the name of survival—as well as of ambition—they will
have no choice but to do their uttermost together in an effort to punish my
slayer.”
    I did not allow him