6. Traven
Once all the guests had departed, the grand and imposing mansion felt utterly hollow. The local villagers hired only for the jumping watching period had all left, leaving the estate as vast and gloomy as ever.
Kylie stood at the foot of the stairs, gazing up at the second floor where the elegant arched staircase swept gracefully upward. Her father, Count Traven, awaited her in the private chamber deep within.
It had happened countless times since her mother's deathbed days, when she wavered between life and death, yet it always felt as strange as the first time.
Meredis, who had been watching from afar as Kylie stared darkly up the stairs, approached. In the dark shadow cast by the staircase, Meredis looked unusually small. As a child, Kylie had seen her as towering and immense, but now she appeared just a touch shorter than average height. Up close, Meredis's petite, slender frame bore neatly pinned-up hair streaked with white strands of age. Her deep brown eyes held the same cool kindness they always had.
"Miss."
"Yes."
Meredis fixed her expressionless face on Kylie.
"The Count is waiting. Please go up..."
Kylie offered no reply to Meredis, who trailed off. Her words were always right, after all. Meredis was intelligent, wise, and capable. Since her mother's passing, she had handled every household matter flawlessly, training competent servants who could manage even the finest details of banquets without a lady of the house. Meredis educated the staff herself, hired the head chef, passed on new recipes, and instructed the gardeners on the types and quantities of flowers for the dining table and drawing room. She compiled guest lists, selected attendees, and sent social correspondence on behalf of the count's family. She managed everything with skill.
Yet she hadn't started as housekeeper. Back when Kylie's mother, Countess Traven, was alive, Meredis had been Kylie's governess. Younger and more rigid then, Kylie had feared and resisted her until her bedridden mother imposed harsh punishment, forcing her to at least answer Meredis's questions. Mother had always urged her to heed Meredis, a trustworthy soul.
Time passed. During Kylie's turbulent adolescence, with raging appetites—whether from growth or bingeing and purging—she discovered herself one day clutching her belly in her room, blood trickling between her thighs. The first to find her was Meredis.
"Miss. What happened?"
Meredis asked in her usual stiff tone. Kylie had gained weight rapidly then, sleeping more and even dozing off during lessons with Meredis. That day, too, she had come to fetch Kylie, who was holed up in her room instead of attending class. But seeing the terror on Kylie's face as she sat bleeding, Meredis sensed something gravely wrong.
"Blood... the blood won't stop..."
The blood running down her thighs was far more than a girl's monthly flow. Composing herself, Meredis asked calmly, masking her shock.
"You must tell me. When was your last period?"
"F-five months ago."
From Kylie's words, Meredis understood instantly. A new life had grown inside the young girl, but for some reason, it had given up on living. Her body was now preparing to expel the corpse. The father? Who could have done this to a girl always under her governess's watch? One of the knights? Meredis shook her head inwardly. The Traven family, known as the Emperor's swords, did include sword training, but Kylie showed no interest. Under Meredis's supervision, her lessons consisted of feebly swinging a wooden sword a few times at the knight's command.
"First, the doctor..."
Meredis stammered, then faltered in confusion. Kylie was the count's daughter, barely thirteen. If word of a miscarriage spread in high society, the family's reputation would plummet, and Kylie's future in the empire would be confined to the depths of an Isildur Church convent—where unwed noble ladies of various scandals whiled away their lives. In a society where a bride's virginity weighed as heavy as her dowry, who would propose to a woman with a history of miscarriage?
"The blood... it's still coming... and my lower back hurts. Like my whole body's being wrung out. Help me, Meredis."
Kylie, trembling in panic at the carpet soaked in blood, muttered as contractions began to push out the dead fetus.
Meredis locked the door first. No one could know. Inside the sealed room, the two handled it together.
Kylie gazed at Meredis from the foot of the stairs and let out a short sigh. Afterward, she learned her body could no longer bear children. The count had ejaculated inside her dozens, hundreds of times, yet no pregnancy followed.
Once matured by the ordeal, she discussed her future seriously with Meredis. Officially a virgin and lady of the central noble Traven house, rage toward her father—who had ruined her—boiled within her young frame. When she declared she wanted to kill him for revenge, Meredis nodded slowly with a skeptical look and persuaded her. In her cool tone, she said killing the count required matching his skill, and she must prepare to stand alone afterward. But if he changed his mind now, Kylie might spend her life locked in a convent, blind to the world. Meredis advised placating him until revenge was complete.
From then on, she devoted herself to sword and studies. During her academy years, reaching the realm where her blade emitted a blue aura like her father's, Kylie finally understood Meredis's expression that day. In a noble society where only men inherited titles, a woman's sole path was marriage to a titled husband. But she was neither virgin nor fertile. A noblewoman's prime duty was producing heirs. Living it, she saw the Traven name's immense prestige. To keep her status, her father had to remain hale and unmarried. Fortunately, since his wife's death, he was utterly enamored with Kylie. But his demands repulsed her.
Meredis inquired at Stunel and ordered substitutes to satisfy him in Kylie's stead. Expensive, but at her request, the count indulged anything. The Stunel replacements met all his needs, letting Kylie merely observe to escape the horror. Of course, for the final peak of pleasure, he sought Kylie herself.
Kylie ascended the stairs slowly. With Stunel's goods causing issues lately, she didn't know how long this would last. Thankfully, age had tempered his lust; he no longer demanded her constantly like when she was young, but every few months, he called. Having returned home after so long, she just needed to survive tonight.
*
Deep within the count's private quarters in the Traven estate lay his bedroom—the largest, befitting the master, divided into several independent spaces: reception room, bedroom, dressing room, bath, and the black room. Windowless and painted pitch black on all sides, the black room was bedroom-sized, dedicated solely to the count's pleasure.
Three walls held his tools of delight. One bore an X-shaped iron frame with shackles at each end. From the ceiling of another hung thick metal chains with dangling round rings for suspension. The last wall featured shelves neatly arrayed with every pleasure implement.
When Kylie opened the black room door, the count had his substitute, K, shackled to the X-frame, reveling in his private game. Bound nude in red ropes, K moaned, her face blindfolded with red cloth save for nose and crimson lips. Plunging fingers into her soaked navel below, the count twisted; each writhe made her rope-taut, swollen breasts jiggle. Reddened nipples clamped with metal pinched flashed under the ceiling lights as her chest shook.
"Left her alone a while, and this bitch loves it today. Soaked down there."
The count leered lewdly. Kylie stood behind him, arms crossed, watching silently.
"Kylie, fetch the whip."
Handing the red whip to the count, who had been relentlessly probing K's slick depths with elongated fingers, he took it with a sinister grin.
"I'll make it feel better than fingers."
Withdrawing his digits, he admired the glistening wetness gleefully. Then, pressing the slick fingers to K's lips, he commanded,
"Suck."
K extended her wet tongue, licking diligently. Blindfolded, her gaping red lips and scarlet tongue lapping the creamy fluid created an erotic haze.
Eyes murky with lust on K, the count raised the whip handle—thick as an adult woman's wrist—and thrust it into the pink, gaping flesh his fingers had vacated.
"Nngh..."
K twisted her hips, moaning around his fingers; her suspended white flesh quivered. The handle plunged deeper, chains rattling with each buck. Finally embedded, only the red lash dangled and swayed between her spread pale thighs.
"Heh heh heh..."
Tugging the nipple clamps, the count made K writhe; her pale nudity shook, the protruding whip handle coiling like a living serpent.
"Kylie, isn't it beautiful?"
The count beamed at the bound K, turning to her. Kylie nodded faintly.
"Reminds me of your mother. If she were there, it'd be a hundred times lovelier."
He scanned Kylie with turbid eyes.
"But I couldn't with her. Too precious. Same with you, my dear Kylie."
The count drew near. Kylie stiffened, staring up at the slightly taller man.
"That glare of yours is alluring. Those burning eyes, like you want to kill me."
Murmuring, he kissed her lips.
Thank you for reading ^^*