by Vivian Arend
They were keenly intelligent, prone to bouts of rage, but they also desired to be surrounded by the finer things in life.
“Excuse me if I don’t believe you.” She finally found her tongue.
The castle echoed with a quiet like she’d not known since arriving. And only in this stillness did she realize she’d not really been alone, because the presence of others had always been about. She sensed no life here at all.
“Why did you challenge your father?” If he sent her back to her room for impertinence then so be it, it wasn’t as though she wished his company.
But instead of driving her away as he had earlier in the gardens, he nodded. “Read the book—you can see he was mad.”
“But don’t all demone wish to enslave and rule? Isn’t that the way of your kind?”
His lip curled. “Don’t all succubus wish to rape?”
She gasped as if slapped.
“Do not be so quick to make snap judgments, Carrot, the action does not become you.”
Shame crept up her neck with hot fingers. “Touché,” she reluctantly drawled. Whether she’d meant to or not, she’d offended him. “Then let me ask a different way. From what I’ve read, you, more than any of your brothers, seem different. Why?”
His grin was conceited and alluring at the same time. She coughed, making a pretense of patting a flyaway curl that did not exist.
“Because I am an abomination to my kind.”
“No. Dalia and Giles both speak very highly of you. I doubt that—”
Lip raised, he snarled, and fangs exposed, he set her heart racing . “Do not listen to the prattle of servants!”
And just as she thought he meant to banish her as he had this morning, he took two steady breaths and then a giant step back from her. She stood with her back pressed to a door, staring at him wide-eyed.
“Forgive me again. I fear you bring out the worst in me. Good night.”
And then he was gone and when she turned, she realized she was back at her room. This time she wasn’t angry or annoyed. It was sympathy and tinge of sadness for a man she feared she’d never understand that laced her bones.
CHAPTER TEN
Rumpel roared as he stomped down to Euralis’ dungeon. Fire leapt to life and the black crow cocked its head.
“Do not look at me.” He pointed at it, pacing back and forth. “I will not have your judgment.”
Beady eyes blinked.
“I can do this. And I will. I vow it.” With those final words, he traced from that room. Because it wasn’t the boy he wished to see.
He’d gone there to reinforce his will, but seeing the eyes and knowing the child looked at him as little more than a stranger hadn’t strengthened him at all.
Back at the room he’d found her in last night, her scent of nightshade still lingered faintly. He’d designed this room to her specifications.
Not the siren’s, but his wife’s. He’d fashioned a room of wood, of soft roses and creams, everything as she’d loved it. But now all he could see, all he could remember, wasn’t glowing ruby eyes that glimmered with love but crystal-blue ones that lit a fire in his dark, shriveled heart.
“Damn it all to hell!” he roared, and where the furnishings were once gone, now they were back.
Caratina had picked each piece out so lovingly, from the bone-china vases on pedestals to the pale blue and-mauve chaises. Returning to his true form, that of Demone Prince, he went crazy.
Blinded with fury, with desire so sharp it bordered on madness, he slashed and tore the chairs into strips of fabric and piles of fluff. Then when that wasn’t enough, he picked up the vases and tossed them into the fire, into the walls, hearing them break into a thousand tiny pieces.
“Sir!” Giles’s voice boomed.
Whirling, still manic with rage, he snarled. “Get out of here, Giles.” His voice thundered with the roll of power. “Unless you wish to spar with me, then go!”
His manservant never took his eyes off him as he methodically shrugged out of his tailcoat.
“Giles.” He growled a warning because with the mood he was in, he felt ready to kill something.
“Sir, you loved and lost. It is not wrong to find something again.”
He snarled again, curling his fingers into fists. “Do not speak to me of such matters.”
Ignoring his master’s obvious threat, Giles took his time rolling the dark sleeves of his shirt up his elbows. “Mistress Caratina would never have wanted this for you.”
In a flash, Rumpel was upon Giles. The first crack of his fist into the man’s face felt satisfying, but not nearly as satisfying as hearing the bone crunch and seeing the blood spurt from his nose. “Never speak to me of her!”
In an instant Giles was not his manservant but the captain of the royal guard, the man of legend and fury, a seasoned warrior. Rumpel’s blood hummed because this was exactly what he’d needed.
With a growl, Giles shot to his feet and landed a blow to Rumpel’s gut that took the breath from him. Smearing the blood from his nose with the back of his hand, he sneered down at his prince. “Do not tell me you’ve grown soft in your old age, Prince.”
With a laugh, Rumpel rolled to the side and hopped to his feet, and the two were upon each other. Evenly matched, they traded blow after blow. An arcing fist smashed into Rumpel’s temple, knocking him senseless for a moment. Stumbling, seeing stars, he dropped his head and charged into Giles like a stampeding rhino, dragging his servant to the ground.
The rush of air expelling from Giles’s lips told Rumpel he’d landed a solid blow. But he was too dizzy to stand, and draping a hand over his eyes, he laughed, a great, booming sound that quickly turned to a groan as he grabbed his ribs.
“You’ve the devil about you still, Giles,” he quipped.
Obedient servant once more, his man sat up and rubbed his sternum. “You hit like a gnat.” He spat out a glob of blood.
And then they were both laughing. After a minute, feeling immensely better and not quite so dizzy, Rumpel sat up and looked around at the chaos he’d caused.
When it dawned on him what he’d done, what he’d destroyed, his laughter turned to a sigh. “I’m a mess.”
“You’re desperate, sir, there’s a difference.”
Riffling his fingers through his hair and feeling a knot beginning to swell on the back of his skull, he shook his head. “She would be ashamed.”
“I doubt that, sir.”
Momentary insanity fled, Rumpel made his way to his knees. Giles was already shrugging on his coat and brushing his mussed hair back.
“Shall I call the maids?”
“Aye.” He glanced at the shattered evidence of a life he’d one lived and loved and lost, then turned on his heel and walked away. Caratina was gone, never to return, but he still had a job to do.
The problem was, he was letting the siren affect him. He couldn’t have that. If she failed, she’d be gone. Period.
Wiping at the blood on his swollen lip, he made plans for her second test.
“Master, have you considered that perhaps the girl is not here for Euralis at all?”
Clenching his jaw, Rumpel said, “You are a friend, Giles. I will accord you mercy where I wouldn’t with anyone else. Do not ever speak such blasphemy to me again.”
Bowing low, Giles nodded. “Sir.”
Days rolled into a week, a week into two, and now here she was the day before the next test. Shayera paced the length of the room that now felt so much like home to her. Ever since that night in the library, things had settled down into something more comfortable.
Rumpel no longer made passes at her; in fact, he was extremely formal. He kept his distance, not cold, but no longer teasing and tempting her.
Stopping before the large bay window, she stared out at the brilliant sunrise. Now that she knew how to control the landscape she saw around the castle, she’d settled on a scene of rolling green hills and swaying purple heather.
It reminded her a little of home.
> Touching the cool pane of glass, she rested her forehead against it and sighed. She was restless and twitchy. It would be a terrible lie to say she didn’t miss his teasing even a little, the way he’d make her feel breathless and twitchy.
It was nice not to feel the pain of unfulfilled desire, but the emptiness of nothing might even be worse. Most of her nights were spent reading the tomes, and apart from learning, in great detail, about the rise of the great demone war, she’d learned nothing really new of the man.
But the history was fascinating, so she continued. She neared the end of the second tome and hoped that maybe somewhere in the next three she’d learn something of the man himself.
To say her fascination with him only grew as the days moved on would be a terrible understatement. Anytime Dalia was near, she was tempted to grill the poor maid about what her master liked, who he’d been when he lived in Delerium, was he always like this or had coming to Kingdom changed him somehow… There were so many questions that constantly burned at her.
Growling, she shoved away from the window. Her skin felt too tight this morning, itchy. Scratching herself, she grimaced as the tingling rush of trying to contain her charms made her ache.
“Miss.” Dalia’s gentle voice came from the corner.
Turning toward the girl, who was dressed as she usually was in her maid’s outfit, Shayera smiled. “Dalia!” she practically cried. “I’m going crazy.”
“Oh no, what’s the matter? Come here, sit.” She marched to the vanity and pulled out the seat, patting it.
Moving to sit, Shayera plopped down, shoulders drooping as she stared at her too-pale cheeks. Her hair was wild and untamed, a mass of riotous curls framing her heart-shaped face. The freckles stood out in bold relief, the skin under her eyes was a definite shade of purplish blue. “I look like a wreck.” She touched her cold cheek.
“Nows you mention it…” Dalia smiled sympathetically. “You do look a bit, umm…”
“It’s all right, you can say it. Awful.”
Grabbing a rope of Shayera’s hair, Dalia gave it a gentle tug. “You need to go out. You’ve a test tomorrow—getting yourself this worked up the day before is no good.”
Just then Dalia’s pinky scraped her collar and if Shayera had had better control of herself, she’d have been able to clamp down on her charm, but that slight touch caused her to flare.
The maid’s eyes went wide and she inhaled, not with fright, but with desire. Shayera saw the bloom of it shine through the red of her eyes.
“Oh, no!” She jerked away, keeping a safe distance from the girl and holding out her hand.
Dalia grappled with her confusion. She was hugging her pinky to her chest and blinking rapidly, as if warring with herself internally, knowing what she felt was a result of Shayera’s magic and not of her own making.
“Dalia, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m not feeling well today at all—maybe it’s best if you just kept your distance.”
Dalia shook her head hard enough to loosen a silky strand of gleaming ebony hair, and her voice shook as she said, “I… I should. Yes. Dear gods, miss, what you made me feel.” Her jaw was clamped and she breathed heavily, looking confused and even a little angry.
After twisting her hair into a knot and slipping on sandals, Shayera grabbed a shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. It wasn’t cold outside, and yet she felt a chill all the way down to her bones. Something was wrong with her body. She knew it but didn’t know how to control her emotions to stop this.
“I’m going outside, Dalia, if your master asks.”
With that, she was out the door and running toward the entrance to the garden. Now a month in, she’d learned the familiar routes pretty well and could manage finding her way without too much trouble.
The second she was outside, she took a deep breath of the sweet, rose-scented air. She preferred her garden to be rife with roses of varying shades and sizes. Some were as large as her face, others tiny enough to look big in a mouse’s paw.
Taking another deep breath, her frazzled nerves began to settle down. Kicking off her sandals, she walked barefoot to the placid lake tucked away behind a large knoll. Waiting for her on the bank was a rowboat. Pushing it into the water, she jumped in and finally, finally could breathe.
Dragonflies zipped across the surface, bubbles came up from the depths, and she smiled, wishing Briley was here. He loved to fish; this would be his version of heaven. Dragging her fingers along the smooth, cool surface as the warmth of the sun heated her chilled body, she was able to let the shawl drop.
On the days that the boredom got to be too much, she’d come out here and it helped. She could spend hours on the lake and usually did, often with one of the tomes in her lap. But today she’d forgotten her book.
And at first it was okay, but soon her busy mind kept thinking of Rumpel. Who he was, why he wanted her here, what her parents were doing now… On and on and on, and with a huff she realized that without a book to occupy her mind and help her not to obsess over things she had no answer for, she was just as restless as when she started.
Sighing, she’d grabbed the oars and begun rowing back to the shore, wondering if she’d even managed ten minutes, when she spotted something that made her breath catch.
A dark-skinned little boy dressed in white shorts and a white shirt, his unruly shock of black hair curling along the edges of his collar, was kneeling beside the water with what appeared to be a handmade boat in his grip. Her gasp made him look up and she knew the moment the flash of fear entered his eyes that he’d leave her.
“No, wait!” She held out her hand and paddled toward him with all the energy her excitement gave her. “Wait.”
Just seeing the boy invigorated her, brought a smile to her face. She’d been so lonely. He stood still, waiting and watching, clearly unsure if he should just leave.
Waving cheerily, she jumped out of the boat as soon as she was able. Her dress came to her knees, and since she was barefoot, only her shins got wet, and they would dry soon enough.
As she splashed her way to him, her grin broadened. “And what is your name, boy? I am called Shayera.”
Up close, it was easy enough to see that he was no older than six, seven tops. His face was wide and honest-looking. He’d lost his baby fat but still had a cherubic expression about him that immediately endeared him to her. He reminded her of Briley in some ways.
“Kai,” he said in the high-pitched voice of youth before narrowing his eyes and hugging his ship to his chest. “I were told you’d be here.”
“Was told. And who told you? Dalia?” She automatically corrected him as she would Briley, then feeling bad instantly because she did not know him, but he didn’t seem upset by it.
“Was told,” he mumbled and then shrugged.
She figured that might be all she got out of him about that. “What’s that?” She pointed to the crudely hewn ship, its hull slathered with black tar.
“I built this. I call it Acorn.” He held it up to his eyes.
Her lips twitched as she tried not to laugh, but that was really too adorable. “Acorn. I like it. Is she seaworthy?”
His red eyes glowed and his smile covered half his face. “I don’t know yet. Me mam helped me finish it last night.”
“Ohh.” She winked. “A maiden voyage. How deliciously exciting.” She rubbed her hands together and knelt beside him. “Should we shove her in then?”
He giggled. “Yer very strange, aren’t cha?”
“Aren’t you, and yes, I’ve been told I’m the strangest of all.”
His laughter exposed the gap between his front two teeth. “Aren’t you, and okay then, I’ll let you play with me, but me da says it might work best if I took it to the stream.” He spun on his heel and trotted off a little ways, then turned and looked over his shoulder. “Well, aren’t ya comin’?”
His mannerisms were so much like Briley’s that she suffered a moment’s pang. Only two more months until she could see him.
Jogging to Kai’s side, she nodded. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
He grabbed her hand and the moment he did, her spiking energy pulsed, but instead of it affecting him as it had Dalia, he seemed happy as he beamed. “What were that?”
“Was that. And what did you feel?”
His grip tightened. “Was that. And like you gave me a whole-body hug. It was nice,” he admitted shyly.
Pulling him to her for a real hug, she patted his shoulder. “I’m so happy to hear you say that, Kai. Now come on, let’s play.”
And they did. For the next several hours, they bantered and spoke like pirates, taking the ship to the head of the stream and casting it off and then running to catch up with it before it reached the waterfall. Over and over, and each time Kai touched her, he absorbed a little more of her charm, but because of his age, it didn’t hurt him and her spirits started to rejuvenate.
By the time he waved to her and trotted off, claiming he’d soon perish of hunger, she thought her inner self fully restored. Feeling better than she had in days, she hummed as she walked back to the castle.
The sky was darkening and the best part was she realized that in all the time she and the boy had played, she’d never once thought of the test to come tomorrow. Dressing for dinner, she wondered if Rumpel would show up.
He’d been absent the past two nights. Tonight, like the other two, was no different. After eating a quiet dinner of tomato bisque and mulled wine, she quickly retired to her room. Without Rumpel to entertain her, there was no point in lingering.
Dalia did not return that night. Not that she blamed the girl. Sighing, she sat on the edge of her bed with nothing on but a pale champagne-colored nightshift, her bare toes peeking out. There was no way she’d be able to fall asleep right now and the thought of reading about more war made her feel nauseous.
She got up, then tiptoed out the room and down the halls, heading to the library. After a month she’d grown accustomed to the thought that servants hovered all around her, but so long as she couldn’t actually see them it was almost like they weren’t there.
Soon she was back inside the library, but this time she didn’t have to look through the catalog; she knew exactly where she was going—a good old-fashioned bodice ripper. True, she wasn’t much of a reader, but if she ever had to read, it was that or nothing.