by Vivian Arend
“All things considered, and I know you lost much, but you saved much. I pledged my soul and my honor to you. Dalia, Zander, Merida—”
“Stop, just stop.” He held up a hand.
But Giles would not be dissuaded from his course. “What you did took great courage and faith. It went against every teaching, every doctrine of the demone, and I for one am grateful, as would Caratina be. She would not have wanted this life for you.”
“Oh please,” he snarled. “Easy for you to say when you lost nothing.”
The moment the words left his lips, Rumpel turned his face to the side. Because it wasn’t entirely true and they both knew it. Giles had lost much. And as hellish as Rumpel’s life now was, his man—at least in the eyes of demone—had lost so much more.
Giles went absolutely still and then he turned back to brushing the coat, using long, methodical strokes. The man had been captain of the royal guard, the most feared and skilled fighter in all Delerium. He hadn’t gotten to be that by being quick to anger, but by being cold, calculating, and intelligently ruthless.
“Forgive me.” Rumpel forced seldom-used words out and then snorted. “Challenged by the Black Death. I find you to be just as terrifying today as you were then, my friend.”
Lips giving a slight, almost imperceptible twitch, Giles said, “I’ve not heard that moniker used in some time. Doesn’t even seem fitting with who I am today. And it’s because of you, sir. I think you should reconsider your use for that girl.”
Scrubbing his jaw, Rumpel exhaled deeply before saying, “Would you? If you had to do it over again, knowing what you know now?”
“My decision,” Giles said, lifting his chin, “would be the same. I see how she looks at you when she believes no one’s looking, how she studies you, tries to learn more about you. She’s not scared of you either. She’d make a fitting match.”
Rumpel shook his head sadly, the weight of his decisions feeling as though they might crush him. “I was born to rule a world of fire and darkness, and now here I sit, brokering meaningless deals, looking for a cure, a lonely old prince fit for nothing.”
“You are alone because it is your choice. You do not need to live as you do, but I support your decision no matter what it might be. Regardless of what we were born to do, we can be whoever we choose. Caratina understood that to be true, it is why you listened to her. Because in your heart you believed there was more to life than to rule a world of nothing but ashes and war.”
“The warrior’s turned philosopher. I don’t think the look suits you.” Rumpel smirked.
Giving the jacket a final stroke, Giles lifted it up and walked over to him, helping him to shrug it on.
“Dinner will be served in ten minutes, sir.”
Just as Giles made to leave, Rumpel held up a hand. “Have you seen to Euralis today? Any changes?”
Clasping his hands behind his back, the servant shook his head. “In truth, master, the boy is not well. He’s refused his last two meals—he will not eat unless from your hand.”
And in his burning red eyes glowed a spark of sympathy, and neither of them finished the thought. That Euralis did not have long for this world, or any other, which made any possibility of releasing Shayera pure fancy.
“Is she failing, sir?”
“That remains to be seen, Giles. It remains to be seen,” he said softly again and for his benefit only as his servant was already gone.
“Ask me anything you’d like.” He toyed with the rim of his crystal goblet as they awaited the first course.
Shayera looked lovelier today than she had even this morning. His heart clenched at the sight of her. She was dressed in a champagne-colored, satin strapless gown with a heart-shaped corset that looked as if it’d been crafted by a master tailor just for her. It highlighted the pearlescent ivory hue of her flesh, made it almost gleam in the dim candle glow. Her breasts were plumped up and made his mouth water for another taste of her rose-tipped nipples.
Her normally wild mane of curls had been tamed and was now twisted up into an intricate knot at the back of her head, and she wore a diamond-encrusted tiara that gleamed with the light of a thousand rainbows whenever the light touched it. He’d told Dalia how to dress her this night, but he might have outdone himself this time.
“You look good enough to eat,” he couldn’t help saying.
Her eyes widened and she was spared having to respond when the first course materialized before them. A creamy green soup glistened from inside a white china bowl.
She reached for a spoon, and as it clattered from her fingers, a flare of brightest pink washed up her sloping neck. It was cute how embarrassed she got by the littlest things.
She had such clean lines, such perfect dimensions. His eyes could feast on her for the rest of his life and he’d always find something new to admire.
“You fascinate me,” he drawled.
She dipped the spoon into the bowl and did not make eye contact with him as she took a delicate sip and then another. “This is good. Very delicious.”
“It’s asparagus cream soup, and you have not answered me.”
Crystal-blue eyes flared and she glared at him. “Friends, right? It’s what you said in the glen today. Then let us be friends and stop this.”
“Stop what?” He steepled his fingers. Gods she was lovely—a gossamer, ivory angel with fiery red curls that reminded him of the red of home.
“This!” She gestured between them. “The games, the teasing.”
“You think I’m teasing you?” He narrowed his eyes, his groin tightening as her breathing increased, causing her breasts to rise and fall rapidly. “Do you think I teased when I lapped at you like a bowl of cream this afternoon?”
“Ugh!”
She tossed herself back in the chair, giving him a petulant scowl he found impossibly adorable.
“This is what I get for coming here. I should have known the moment Dalia pulled out this wretched tiara.” Reaching up, she yanked it from her head and tossed it to the floor. It didn’t even make a sound as it bounced harmlessly off the thick carpet. Lifting a stern, thin brow, she glared with all the haughty fury of an enraged queen. “And I’m sorry,” she said and sniffed, “if I broke it.”
He laughed. “I’m not. I have twenty thousand more that could take its place.”
Tossing up her hands, she rolled her eyes. “It’s that easy for you, is it?” She snapped her fingers. “Whatever you want, in the palm of your hands, always. Snap. Snap. Snap. Well, I’m not going to be that for you. I may be a siren, but I’m not your whore. You said it is over, so kindly stop speaking to me in the most sexual ways possible in the hopes that I’ll lay myself down at your feet, ready to do your bidding, oh evil one.”
Body enflamed, pulse speeding like the battle drive of a thousand horses, he wanted to toss her down and damned his moment of gentlemanly withdrawal earlier in the garden as nothing more than a temporary bout of insanity. But he laughed instead.
“You drive me mad,” he whispered and she turned her face to the side.
Their bowls of soup disappeared, and she frowned at the salad that replaced it. She loved her soups and stews—he’d have to tell Cook to leave her a bowl of it in her bedroom later tonight. His Carrot didn’t eat as she always should.
She picked up a fork and stabbed it into the lettuce, taking a hearty bite. She spoke around her mouthful. “I know there’s a witty comeback in there, but I’m simply too angry to try. I’m not doing this anymore with you, Rumpelstiltskin, understand me well. I’ve…” She swallowed and lifted another large chunk of lettuce to her mouth, crunching into it before resuming. “I’ve come to the conclusion that we are simply incapable of sharing our bodies without it getting ugly.”
“I disagree.”
“Ha!” She snorted derisively. “You say that now, because you want to what?”
She masticated her food with all the delicacy of a grazing cow. The chit was trying to turn him off, but it wasn’t working. She
could do whatever vile thing she could come up with right now and he’d still want her. Her charms were flaring, spiking like sunbursts, brushing against his flesh so that he tingled all over.
But it was more than her charms and damn Giles for even implanting the suggestion in his head, for making him walk into this dining hall with thoughts of her—good, sexual, wonderful thoughts—burrowing like hot little incessant worms through his mind.
“Use me. Sex me up.” She popped the P. “Non, as my father would say. I respect myself too much for these games. Friends we shall be and that is all we shall be.”
He rubbed his chin. “Did you not like the taste of my cock in your mouth? How firm and rigid it was? Silky? Velvety, I believe was your exact wording.”
She gasped and choked on her salad, then began coughing.
Worried he might have gone too far, Rumpel was at her side in an instant, pounding between her shoulder blades.
“Bugger off!” She was finally able to wheeze at him, slapping his hands away.
“Only if you come too.” He licked his front teeth and this time when she smacked him it was hard enough to sting. “Ow.” He jerked away from her, grabbing hold of his chest as if in desperate pain.
“You drive me crazy.” She jerked to her feet. Her hair had come unpinned during her coughing fit and she swished it out of her eyes. “I can’t do this with you, not tonight. All these quips and sexual innuendos, it’s too much, and I don’t like it.”
What was he doing? The moment he asked it, he realized she was right. The siren was getting to him. Her, the wine, the low lights…
Shaking his head, he took two large steps back. “You’re right. I’m.” He sighed. “You don’t deserve this.”
“What do you want from me, Rumpel?” Her blue eyes pleaded.
He shook his head because the answer eluded him, but then it was suddenly there on his tongue and he dared to show it to her. “I want to be wherever you are. When I’m not with you, I’m thinking of you.”
“Of my body?” She snorted and crossed her arms. “You don’t know me well at all, we hardly spend time together unless you’re doing… stuff to me, or commanding I leave your presence. You give and then you take it all away.”
Her voice warbled at the last bit and she grimaced, glaring over his shoulder at the fireplace.
“You’re right, I do. You bring out these violent passions in me, and as noble as I want to be with you, I don’t know how. These are uncharted waters for me.”
She sighed. “Do you think any of this is easy for me? I haven’t been alone with a man not of my own blood since age nine. I don’t know what to expect; all I know is when we’re together it’s the best part of my day and the worst. I don’t think that’s normal. Do you?”
Lifting a hand, he brushed it against her cheek and the witch’s curse immediately activated. He sucked in a breath at the leak in his power, at the tug of his soul, and quickly withdrew. But it’d been worth it to see the bloom in her cheeks and the way her fingers grazed the spot so tenderly.
“I am a monster, but for you I wish to be better. That is the only truth I know.”
“Will you really release me after the final test?” She took a step closer, bringing her scent of roses with her. “And I know you can’t lie, I read it in the tome. Lying is a poison to you, it is your Achilles heel.”
He’d taken a huge risk when he’d allowed her to find those books, because his entire history was written in them. Nothing happened without his prior consent and approval, so he could have denied her. But a part of him wanted her to know every facet that made him who he was. The good, the bad, and the ugly, even if that meant exposing what few weaknesses he had.
“I don’t want to.”
“Why? Because I’m a siren, and I’m a sexual challenge for you? Or is there more?”
He could have her any way he wanted to. Even now, with a few murmured endearments and a little cajoling, he could have her skirts up around her waist and have her begging him to end her torture, end her madness. She’d be begging him for more and more. He knew how to fan the flames of a siren’s unquenchable thirst.
“You are right, Shayera, I cannot lie. But I can evade, and this is a question I will not answer.”
“I am nothing to you, no challenge, just a woman. You are demone, women are nothing but chattel. That lack of empathy, of emotion, it is how you can be so cruel. Isn’t it?”
Her words were soft, but they pricked his dark soul.
“Yes.” He did not look away when he answered.
And for a second her face crumpled and he knew that for all her brave words, she’d hoped for more, that if he could promise her she was different, they could go back to what they’d shared in the garden this afternoon.
But he’d shown her his heart. He wanted her, badly. “I do not know what more you want from me. I tell you that I wish to be with you.”
“And yet you say in the very next breath that you’d hold me hostage. Three months, that’s all this was supposed to be. Three.” She held up her fingers. “Months. I don’t know what these tests are, or why you subject me to them, but if you’ve any honor left to you at all, you will release me.”
“I told you three tests, one per month. I gave you no more than that.”
Her nostrils flared and when she shook her head, there wasn’t anger or fury, but disappointment. “You truly are a devil. I need to go and you cannot follow.”
Jaw clenched, he wanted to grab her, yank her to him and drown out this madness in her flesh, her touch, hear her breathy moans ripple across his skin.
“You’ve not finished your food,” he said just as she made to leave the hall.
Blue eyes full of pain and remorse looked back at him. “I find I have no appetite anymore.”
“Do you have no other questions, Carrot?”
There would be no promises of fealty from him, no sonnets or ballads. Even if he could lie, he wouldn’t have done so to her. She deserved the truth.
“I have a thousand, if not more, but I do not think my heart can handle hearing the answers tonight.”
Only after she’d gone and the echoes of her footfalls faded away did he whisper, “I wish I’d never brought you here, Shayera Caron. You are too good a person for this.”
As much as he ached to be near her, even if only to watch her, he kept his distance. It was the least he could do.
Shayera paced the long lengths of her bedchamber, but it didn’t help, it didn’t ease the terrible knowledge that she was falling hard and fast for a man who was no good. Needing space and time, needing to not be in her head, she tossed her stupid gown off and put on a bronze silk nightgown.
She knew exactly where to go. Dalia had told her that she could find her joy by looking in that bowl of water, and that’s what she needed tonight, some joy. Because right now she felt miserable and on the verge of tears.
Running down the halls, knowing no one would stop her, she raced to the room and the moment she turned the knob, the hearth flared to life. The room was empty again, with just the bowl in its center. Beside it was a cloth napkin, upon it a bowl of the asparagus soup she’d loved so much, a yeasty bread roll, and a glass of red wine.
He’d known she’d come here, and the burning anger morphed into a warmth that spread from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet. Shutting the door quietly behind her, she crept toward the food and bowl with a sense of almost dread.
Mother loved her books, but most especially the classics. At night she’d read tales of strange and wondrous places to Shayera, tales of Earth and the folklore of the gods and goddesses.
Sitting back on her calves, she cocked her head and stared at the green-pea-looking soup with a mixture of revulsion and ravenous desire. It smelled so creamy and glistened with a sheen of oil on top. Her mouth watered at the smoky fragrance.
Dipping her finger into the water in the looking bowl, she licked her lips. Of all the tales Mother had read, Shayera’s favorites had alwa
ys been of the Greek gods. Especially the tale of Persephone and Hades and how by eating just six pomegranate seeds she’d been tricked into spending six months with him out of every year for the rest of her days. Just six seeds.
And here she was with an entire bowl of soup. Throat suddenly parched, hand shaking just slightly, she took the glass and sipped the wine.
It was delicious and sweet, cool on her tongue, as wonderful as everything else she’d had since being here. If Rumpel was tricking her, then she was a fool and there was a side of her that just didn’t care.
There were boys and men, and then there was him. A legend. A prince. A devil.
Closing her eyes, she swallowed the rest of the wine. He confused her, excited her, angered her, and all at the same time.
What would her family think? How would they feel knowing how conflicted their daughter was? At least he couldn’t lie. She had.
Over and over again tonight. She’d lied through her teeth, telling him that she did not wish his touch when she burned for it. He’d awakened a hunger, a fire, a siren’s need.
Her charms flowed through her body like a hot current and she let them. How would she go the next two months without his touch? How would she survive this?
Stomach twisting with the knifing pain of hunger, she didn’t pick up the spoon. Instead she grabbed the bowl and brought it to her lips, moaning in appreciation at its silky smoothness, its undertones of truffles and buttery richness. She didn’t stop until she’d finished it all and felt a little better. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then used the bread to sop up the rest and sighed with relief when her stomach bulged with the first hearty meal she’d eaten since coming here.
She was lonely. For her family. For a friend. For Rumpel.
If she called him, he would come. But then her word meant nothing. It was okay to feel, and she would not deny the truth to herself that she wanted Rumpel’s body on hers, wanted to explore every inch of him again and again and again, but Father had told her once never to believe what a man says, but rather what a man does.
Rumpel worshipped her, then he left her, and it was a pattern she didn’t want repeated anymore.