Rumpel's Prize

by Marie Hall

  “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 w
ith 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 always 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.

  She had two choices: lock herself up in her room and only come out for the next and final test, or let him go and learn to be friends.

  Tomorrow she’d decide the answer to that riddle. But tonight she was here because she wanted some joy, some hope that at the end of all this there was light.

  Swirling the water in the bowl with her pinky, she inhaled and then waited for an image to appear. Again, like last time, it was nothing but darkness.

  “Maybe there is no hope for me at the end of this,” she whispered. “Maybe I die.”

  But then the gray speck she’d seen the first time reappeared, but instead of it being formless, there was a shape. A small shape.

  Frowning, she lowered her head until her nose almost scraped the water. It was moving toward her, growing larger, more defined and distinctive. Her hope that maybe she’d see an image of her mother, father, or Briley quickly dissipated in the mystery of just what this was.

  Two legs.

  No, four.

  She frowned. “Four legs?”

  But then it bent over, no longer walking upright.

  Hair.

  Long and shaggy.

  It was grayish black.

  A snout.

  Fangs.

  “A dog?” she whispered, feeling the slightest twinge of disappointment that her life must be dreadfully boring if the only joy she’d find was in a dog.

  But then it tossed its head back and an ear-splitting howl rushed through the room. Clapping her hands to her ears, she jerked so hard away from the bowl that her leg kicked out, sloshing some of the water. The howling instantly stopped. But it hadn’t been the howling that had her heart in her throat.

  “Mistress!” Dalia’s voice cried out as she materialized beside a now-shaking Shayera. “Miss, what’s wrong? What is it?” Kneeling, the maid latched on to her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake.

  Turning, Shayera dropped her forehead into the girl’s chest, taking whatever comfort she could. “It had red eyes, Dalia. Red. Eyes.”

  She jerked back, staring at her red-eyed friend. The only people Shayera knew with such ruby-colored irises were demone.

  “What had red eyes, miss?”

  “The wolf,” she half sobbed, half stuttered. “Dalia, please”—she clutched her maid’s hands—“you have to tell me. Is Rumpelstiltskin a wolf?”

  “A wolf?” Rumpel blinked at a visibly shaking Dalia. When she’d burst into his room, he’d been readying for bed and was only wearing his breeches.

  She covered her eyes, twisting and turning every which way. “I’m sorry, master, I’m…” She swallowed. “Blimey.”

  Shaking his head, he marched to her and shook her roughly. Any other time, she’d have suffered for her impertinence, but this was of far too much importance for him to care. “A wolf, you say? That’s what she said precisely? Tell me, Dalia, in detail,” he spit out, pulse racing as Dalia relayed what Shayera had told her.

  Blinking, he cracked his knuckles. “Then I was right. She is the one.”

  “But she’s failed every test, master.”

  Jerking around, he growled, “Only I decide that. What did you tell her, maid? Answer me!” He strode into her space. “What did you tell her of it?”

  Shaking her head so wildly it caused hair to tumble out of her bun, her eyes grew to the size of saucers. “I said nothing. Nothing. Only told the mistress that you’ve dogs in the castle and led her to believe that is what she saw.”

  “She saw this in the scrying bowl?”

  “Aye, master.” She hung her head, twisting her fingers together.

  “Yes.” He scrubbed his jaw, pacing back and forth as he fairly burst with excitement. “Yes, that will do, Dalia. You may leave now.”

  “But, sir…” Squeezing her eyes shut, she thinned her lips before saying, “Perhaps what she saw isn’t a foretelling at all of why she was brought here. Perhaps the bowl is saying something else.”

  “You may go,” he said again, quietly but with command.

  And when she faded and the scent of her sulfur was gone, Rumpel went to see Euralis.

  The torches flared to life the moment he stepped through. The bird gazed at him from behind its steel cage.

  “Boy,” he whispered, noting the molted feathers littering the bottom of the cage. The bird was covered in sores, some of them scabbed, most of them wet and raw-looking.

  Euralis did not shift as he normally would.

  Looking around, he noticed the floors had been recently scrubbed, but he smelled no blood, saw no gristle hanging from the bird’s beak.

  “Have you fed, child?”

  The bird cocked its head. Apart from the sores and the fallen feathers, he looked robust. Rumpel had fed him every morning, but if it was true what Giles said, that he would no longer eat unless from Rumpel’s own hand, he figured he’d need to increase his feedings to include the night as well.

  Calling forth a large hunk of raw pork, he slipped it through the cage. Euralis exhibited slight curiosity and pecked at it a few times, but the boy did not change and he did not eat.

  “She has seen a vision and I can only hope that her vision is ours. I will fix this, Euralis, I vow it.”

  The bird cocked its head and then turned around.

  With a heavy, suddenly burdened heart Rumpel turned back for his room. Why could the world not just be black and white, why must there always be shades of gray to muck it all up?

  ~*~

  His tongue was wet and hot, lapping between her thighs and filling Shayera with a coilin
g kind of heat that made her feel ready to combust.

  Moaning, she fisted the sheets in her hand, arching her back as her fingers joined in. He played her body like a maestro, plucking at the very strings of her soul and making her sing in praise.

  “Cry out my name,” he demanded and she was slave to his every whim.

  “Rumpel,” she moaned, rubbing her finger faster against her sensitive center.

  “Again,” he shouted, suckling her now, pulling her nub into his mouth and making her scream in agony and pleasure.

  “Rumpel! Rumpel! Rumpel!”

  Jerking, she gasped, clutched at her chest, and stared at the ceiling as her heart raced and her skin glistened with a sheen of sweat. The room was dark, the flame in the hearth low, and she was all alone.

  It’d been a dream.

  The heat of shame traveled up her neck and then settled in her cheeks. Who all had heard her scream that way? Her energy spiked through the room, leaked from her pores. Rumpel had awakened her and now she didn’t know how to contain it, her need for him. For his touch.

  Mouth pulling down, horribly embarrassed that the man himself might have heard her, she rolled over and shoved her face into the fluffy down pillow. A hot, pitiful tear leaked from the corner of her left eye.

  This was misery and in that moment she hated that she’d ever allowed him to touch her. Grabbing a pillow, she hugged it to her chest and pretended it was Briley, cooing to it and rocking, rubbing her fingers along the top of it, and finally, finally she was able to fall back asleep.

  Three weeks had passed since that night and every night the dreams came, each night more potent and real than the one before. In the mornings, she was exhausted and loathe to even leave her room.

  “C’mon, miss, it’s a fair, fine morning. The birds are out and the world smells of sunshine. Won’t you go outside? Please?” Dalia threaded her fingers together.