Текст книги "Bound to the shadow prince"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Chapter

Eleven

Hours later, Balon leaves, promising to return in two weeks once more. He professes his love for me and reassures me that he will ask the gods for guidance, and I’m left with that to tide me over. When he’s gone, I get to my feet and pick up my blanket and pillow, folding it and placing it atop one of the many scattered empty trunks I’ve left near the doors. I’ve been here almost a month now.

I feel just as trapped as that first day.

But I have a hope now, however small.

It’s this hope that makes me restless and full of energy. I grab a plank of wood from one of the trunks and my guttering candle, which has melted down to a nub, and head for the kitchens. Maybe I’ll make myself more potion since I’m not ready to sleep. My mind is racing with everything Balon has told me this night. My sister has a son. The war has started and we are winning. He is going to pray to the gods to ask for a sign.

I wonder if I should pray, too. I consider this as I descend the stairs to the kitchens. The fire is out, and I move my candle close by, tossing the hunk of wooden board into the fireplace for future use. I’ve never been devout, and it feels as if it would be insincere if I tried, but tomorrow, I decide, I will devote myself to the goddess and beg her to let me free. I clasp my hands to my chest and bow my head. “Please, please please,” I whisper. “Please, goddess. You don’t want me here.”

A dirty lock of hair slips over my cheek, reminding me that it’s been a while since I’ve washed it. I finger my hair thoughtfully. Bathing has been difficult. For the first week or two, I struggled with getting myself dressed, medicated and fed. There’s been no energy for anything else. I’m settling in now, though, and I’ve been giving myself quick sponge baths with cold water but it’s not the same as a nice, warm bath.

And I’m not ready to go to bed yet.

Excited at the prospect of a warm bath, even if it means a lot of work, I haul the tub out into the center of the kitchen and start pumping water into one of the pots to boil. I hang it over the fire and then eye my tinderbox. It’s nearly empty.

Maybe a cold bath, then, before my candle dies on me entirely.

I pour the water into the tub, then continue to fill it with pot after pot of water. It must be warm outside, because the water itself feels like a tepid bath. It’s surprising, given that the tower stays cool at all times. Because of the darkness and the stone insulating us from the sun? Not that speculating on the weather does me any good. I run my hand through the water, then tug at the laces of my dress, loosening them enough that the entire thing will slide off my shoulders. It pools onto the stone floor and next to go is my sweaty chemise. I kick off my slippers and get into the water, sinking low into the tub. It doesn’t quite cover my breasts and the water is definitely cool and my soap is upstairs, but it makes me feel a little more human again to bathe. I relax and drag handfuls of water over my skin.

“What do you think you’re doing?” a voice says.

Chapter

Twelve

Perhaps it’s only because I’m already on edge that I don’t jump at the sound of that growling, furious voice. Perhaps part of me suspected that he’d emerge out of the shadows the moment I got naked. It seems like something he’d do, just to try and rattle me. Whatever the reason, I remain calm, dragging another handful of water over my breasts. They thrust out of the water, uncovered and bare, and I wish I’d made my bath a little deeper, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. My heart flutters in my chest but I put on my courtier’s mask and give him a lazy, indolent look. “Bathing. What does it look like?”

The shadows blink at me, nothing but a pair of shining, narrowed green eyes in the darkness. I can just make out the outline of a hulking form, but he’s deliberately avoiding my candlelight, the bastard.

And he doesn’t respond to my question.

I lift one leg from the water, arching my toes. I’ve never bathed alone in the past, thanks to many, many servants always being around. In fact, I’ve even bathed with a lover before. Never the enemy, though. That’s a new one for me, and yet I’m not afraid. If he’s trying to intimidate me, he’s failing. I’ve got nothing left to lose. “Did you come here to watch me bathe? Should I put on a show?”

The Fellian growls, the sound vaguely irritated. “I came here to talk to you.”

“Did you?” I lower my leg and sink into the bath, making the water lap at my breasts. I’m not built tall and willowy like Erynne, where the delicate court fashions fit her perfectly. I’m rounded and plump everywhere, but I do have very nice, full breasts. In this, I feel confident. “I think you’re lying.” I drag a finger down through my cleavage. “You could have talked to me when I went upstairs. Surely you can hear me when I go up the stairs. It’s not as if I’m ever quiet or subtle about it. So I have to think that this was deliberate on your part. You wanted to surprise the lady in her bath.”

It’s strange, but I actually feel…safe? The conversation with Balon earlier made me realize that if this Fellian was as monstrous as he’s supposed to be, I’d have already been assaulted. He’s bigger than me and no doubt stronger. If he was going to attack me, he probably already would have. He might be interested in seeing my tits, but I can handle a peeper. A peeper only looks his fill.

Frankly, I’m bored enough to let him look.

“I’m not here to play your games,” the green-eyed shadow tells me.

Sure you’re not. I shrug and cup another handful of water over my breasts. Why is it that I feel in control of my situation and in my element for the first time since I’ve arrived to this hellish tower? Is it because he’s a man and I know how to manipulate men? Or have I truly lost my wits?

Both, I decide.

I continue to bathe myself, rubbing my limbs with the cool water. When I glance up, the shadowy form is still there. “For someone who claims he doesn’t want to play my games, you aren’t doing a very good job of convincing me.”

“You said I am not a man,” he all but snarls at me. “When you spoke to your friend, you implied I was not a man. You think I am a demon? A monster? A malevolent creature who will suck your soul out if you meet my gaze?” His tone changes to insulting and dismissive. “Like the rest of your backwards kingdom?”

“I confess I don’t know what you are,” I admit cheerfully. “Seeing as you’re always hiding in the shadows and looming. What am I supposed to think?”

“I think you’re an immodest, immoral creature.”

“Says the creature interrupting my bath,” I retort. “How many times have I interrupted yours?”

He snarls at me, his clothing rustling with an angry flap, and for a moment, I’m afraid. Whoever this Fellian is, he has a temper. And yet, he’s still here. Perhaps I’m not as safe as I thought. Goosebumps prickle over my skin and I rub them away with a brisk motion of my hand. He watches that motion, too, and when I look over, those green eyes are still watching me from the shadows.

I arch a brow in his direction. Well?

The eyes narrow and I get the impression that he’s angry at me. “We are a people of the shadows,” he finally says, tone stiff.

“Well, I am not,” I say, sitting up in the tub. It makes my wet breasts bounce and sway, and his gaze dips to them again. Truly, all men are the same wherever one goes. “So come into the candlelight if you’re going to talk to me,” I say. “Or else go away.”

I truly expect him to disappear. For those eyes to just wink out and vanish and to leave me alone with my bath.

Instead, the Fellian’s gaze hardens, his eyes gleaming bright, and he takes a step forward. Then another.

And he comes fully into the flickering light of my candle.

I swallow hard at the sight of him.

I’ve never seen a Fellian for myself. I know their kingdom exists on the edges of ours, and that there was once a thriving trade agreement back in the days when the Vestalin line was upon the throne. I’ve heard that the kingdom of Darkfell is mostly underground, inside hollow mountains and winding caves. I’ve also heard that they are devils, so hideous and unholy to look upon that they avoid the Absent God’s light. I always thought those were foolish rumors, but as the stranger steps forward, I realize that not all of the stories told are lies.

He does look like a monster.

The green eyes glittering in his face are the only hint of color, and even those are almost drowned by the black sclera that surround them. The Fellian seems to be made entirely of grays and blacks. His skin is nothing but deep gray muscle, and his features are not entirely human. His oversized hands are tipped with thick, deadly claws and his feet are bare, tipped with the same claws and formed awkwardly, a bit like an eagle’s. His knees bend backward, his thighs heavy and obscured by the leather kilt at his hips—the only piece of clothing he wears. He crosses his arms over his chest and glares down at me, and his upper body is far more massive than any human knight’s.

Not even his face is truly human. His features are hard planes, his nose large and prominent and jutting down from his heavy brow like a blade. His jaw is heavy, too, his mouth wide. If he was a sculpture, I’d say he’d been carved with a heavy, angry hand and instead of using soft marble, he went for unforgiving granite.

There’s no hair upon his head, either. Instead, rising from his scalp where his hair should be, dozens of curving horns arch back, like a mane blowing back from his face into an unseen wind. Something ripples behind him, heavy and dark, and the sound of fabric rustles again…except I realize now that it’s not fabric at all.

He’s not human. Not even close.

“Behold,” he says flatly. “Your enemy.”

“Are those wings?” I ask, leaning over the edge of the tub and my breasts plumping against the metal side. Here I thought he’d had a cloak and all this time he had strange, leathery-looking wings. “Are you part bat?”

The snarl he directs my way is utterly scathing. “Why would I be a bat?”

“You have leathery wings and you live in a cave. “Shouldn’t that make you a bat?” I taunt.

He focuses his angry gaze at me. “You live in the sunlight and walk on the ground. Does that make you a pig?”

My jaw drops. I splash at him, indignant, but he simply steps aside. “That was insufferably rude.”

“Don’t ask stupid questions and you won’t get rude answers.”

I’m no longer having fun with this. Glaring at him, I sink back into the bath again. “Go away so I can finish my bath in peace.”

“I heard you talking to your lover.”

I don’t look in his direction. Instead, I just shrug. “So what if you did? It’s not against the rules. He’s not entering the tower and I don’t seem to be leaving it,” I say, my tone bitter. If Balon were braver, maybe I’d be taking a bath in an inn somewhere on land instead of a cold half-bath in a dark kitchen. The thought is a depressing one. Balon is a sweet man, but he’s still young and not nearly foolish enough to suit my needs. If he were more impulsive, he’d have already broken me out and damned the consequences. Instead, he shows up to tell me about his horses and how his latest hunting trip went.

I’m just a different sort of entertainment for him, I realize. The thought is a depressing one. When Balon gets bored of coming to visit me, he’ll just disappear…and I’ll still be here. Waiting.

“I won’t let you escape,” the Fellian says. “Not until the Golden Moon is gone once more.”

“Or until your people fall in the war,” I say brightly. “Which I shall hope and pray for every day.” I give him a tight smile. “You did know there was a war coming to your doorstep, yes? By now King Lionel and his knights have probably conquered your mountain…or whatever grimy little cave you’ve crawled out of.”

He huffs, and I realize he’s amused. “If he told you they’re winning the war, he’s lying to you.”

I glance over at him, dismissive. I’m getting cold, my nipples tight in the chill, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of covering my breasts. I rest my arms on the edge of the tub and comment, “Balon has no need to lie.”

“You think not?” Again, amusement. “As a reminder, female, if you try to leave, I will stop you.”

I eye him. “Are you going to stand here all night and ogle my breasts while making threats? Or can I finish my bath?”

The Fellian bares his teeth at me—fangs, of course they’re fangs—and then melts away into shadow. It takes me a moment to realize that when his eyes close, he’s not returning. I sit up, shocked. That was magic of some kind. He didn’t move his legs or his wings. He simply disappeared into the darkness. If that’s possible, how is anyone supposed to fight a Fellian?

As if agreeing with my thoughts, my candle gutters out and I’m left in the darkness.

Well, dragon shite.

Chapter

Thirteen

Time passes faster than I expect it to, and slower than I want. Each day seems to be made up of making fires, cooking, taking my medicine, recovering from my medicine, and cleaning. Gods, so much cleaning. Why must everything get dirty once it is used? My clothes smell of sweat. The dishes are endless. The bedding is no longer fresh. And my hair is still dirty. All of this takes a lot of work and strength and time that I do not have. I make a list inside Riza’s recipe book of all the things I need to clean, and by the time I mark one off, three more have taken their place.

How do peasants get anything done without a staff to clean up after them? It truly boggles the mind.

I wash clothes. I wash bedding and lay it out to dry. I hang my sodden linens flat on every surface possible, but they take forever to dry. I could light a fire, but I’ve already burned through all the wood of several of my trunks and it is not even winter. I have to remind Balon to tell them that I need much more wood for next winter, I fret.

And I’m almost out of candles. I burn each one down to a stub and I’m judicious with using them, but I’m still reaching the last of my supply and I don’t know how to make more. Riza’s instructions do not cover candle-making and I grow more anxious every time I light one of my tapers.

Do I burn my candles and save my firewood? Or do I burn the firewood and save my candles?

Or do I do neither and sit in the dark? I have no idea.

My food supplies seem to be lasting, at least. I’ve taken to eating less simply because it’s too much effort to cook and clean up. That’s going to help me stretch them, but I still don’t have nearly as much in the larder as the Fellian does.

Balon doesn’t return in two weeks, either. I’ve been making marks on the wall in my room each time I burn a candle fully. That’s as close as I can come to accounting a day, and when I’ve burned sixteen of them, I realize he’s forgotten me. Time crawls again, and I feel lonely.

The Fellian avoids me. I bathe several times in the kitchen, just to try to flush him out, but there’s no response.

I fear I’m going mad already and it hasn’t even been a season. How am I going to last a full year, much less seven of them?

It’s boredom that makes me reckless.

Boredom and sheer loneliness. I can only entertain myself for so long, after all. I’ve spent the last week lying in the darkness, singing songs to myself. Touching my knife and asking it all kinds of questions. Is Erynne’s baby well? Is she thinking of me? Is the war over yet?

Is Balon returning soon?

None of the answers are particularly satisfying. The world outside is forgetting about me as the months pass, and the realization no longer brings me comfort. I want Erynne to dwell on my imprisonment. I want the war to end. I want Balon to rush to the tower and pull down the bricks on the other side of the door to free me. I want him to declare his love for me and that we’ll run away to the distant mountains and damn the crops and the people that need the food.

I want a great many selfish things.

Thinking about the mountains gets me to thinking about the mysterious Fellian. He’s been avoiding me since that day in my bath. It’s painfully obvious. I hear him moving about when I lie down to sleep, and I’ve started counting the pieces of wood he has stacked on his side of the kitchen. He’s using some, because it’s been slowly disappearing. It’s the only sign that he’s still in the tower, because he’s quite good at hiding from me.

Lying in bed, I toy with my knife and consider how I can flush him out. “Is the Fellian nearby?” I ask the knife.

A shiver. Yes.

“In his quarters?”

Yes.

“Awake?”

Yes.

Hmm. I stroke the sheath, considering. “Does he think about me?”

Yes.

A wicked smile curves my lips. “Do I annoy him?”

A hesitation, and then an affirmative shiver.

Interesting. I ponder what that hesitation means. “Does he think about me in my bath?”

No hesitation that time. Yes.

“Does he think about my breasts?”

Yes.

I smirk into the darkness, feeling a bit childish at the line that my questions are taking, but who else am I going to entertain if not myself? “Does he touch himself to the thought of me?”

Yes.

Oh. How very delicious and fascinating. “More than once?”

Yes.

Interesting. I think about the big ugly brute. He’s definitely not attractive when compared to someone like Balon, who has the smooth, elegant good looks of a courtier. I would never touch the Fellian, but knowing that he’s fascinated with me gives me an edge of power. To think that he touches himself to the thought of me regularly.

I cannot say the same. I haven’t touched myself since I entered this tower. Doing so would just make me hungry for the touch of a lover and those needs will not be fulfilled anytime soon, so it’s best to ignore them entirely. But maybe my companion is ashamed of his needs. “Is the Fellian avoiding me?”

Yes.

So he doesn’t want to find a human attractive, then. That sours the gleeful joy I feel, just a touch. He’s a man. Any man confronted with a pair of nice, juicy tits in a bath would jerk his cock to the sight. I’m not special. Ah well. “Does he hate me, then?”

Yes.

I frown at that. “Has he thought about killing me?”

Yes.

A prickle of warning brushes over my skin. “Is he going to?”

No answer. That’s a no, then.

Unless he changes his mind, of course. Unless I annoy him so much that he sees no way out except to get rid of me.

As if the knife is following my thoughts, it shivers in affirmation.

Hmph. “Sometimes your answers are very annoying, you know that?”

Yes.

Chapter

Fourteen

Idream that Balon sails off to join the war with King Lionel, heading to the distant mountains. In my dream, he meets a pretty Fellian princess and marries her, and I never hear from him again. I sit in the tower, waiting and waiting, and Balon never returns.

Weren’t you to marry a princess? the Fellian woman asks Balon in my dream.

What princess? he replies, his smile wide. Shall I tell you about my new horse?

When I awaken, I’m covered in sweat, gasping, and in a foul mood. It takes a moment of staring into the darkness to realize it was just a dream, and I sit up, pushing my hair out of my face. It’s pitch black in my chamber as it always is, and I feel the oppressiveness of it today. Fumbling through the bedsheets, I look for my knife. When I find it, I grip it tight in my hand. “That was just a dream, wasn’t it?”

Yes.

I exhale in sharp relief. “Does Balon ever intend upon coming back?”

Yes.

Oh. I’ve been afraid to ask that question before now, simply because I’ve been afraid the answer would be an unpleasant one and it would send me into a fit of depression. “When?” I ask, and then shake my head. “Tonight?”

Yes.

I all but squeal with delight. Finally, someone to talk to. Something to look forward to. I jump to my feet in the darkness. “Do I have time for a bath? A real one?”

Yes.

Excellent.

I tuck the knife into my dress and race down to the kitchens, counting the steps in the darkness. I’m getting better at navigating in the pitch black, though it still feels oppressive. Right now, though, I’m choosing to dwell in the dark instead of the choice being taken from me. As long as I have a handful of candles, it’s my choice, I reason.

It takes hours to heat my bath, wash up, and then dry my hair by the fire. Since the water’s already warm, I wash a chemise, too, and wring it out by the fire. I’m a little perturbed at how little wood I have left. I’ve burned through all the trunks I’ve broken down and all I have left is the heavy sled and whatever I can find on the top floor. I’m almost out of tinder and I’ve been supplementing with fluff I pulled out of a pillow.

That’s a problem for tomorrow, I tell myself as I dress in a fresh chemise, my wet one hanging off a hook near the fireplace. I’ll have to save the rest for winter, which should be coming soon. After that, well, I’ll figure something out.

I comb my wet hair by the flickering fire and glance over at the Fellian’s supplies. His wood pile is enormous once more, and he’s gotten more from somewhere. Or maybe he’s hiding some in his rooms? It’s impossible for me to tell. Either way, I’m jealous. I know his side of the root cellar is still packed with food while mine dwindles. Does he even eat? Meanwhile I’ve been using up all my fuel to make my medicine and to heat my bath. Even now, I’m making a batch of medicine for just in case. I stir the small pot over the fire, the foul stink of the herbal concoction mixed with the dried organs permeating the room.

I wonder…

I get to my feet, flicking my long wet hair over my shoulder, and open the root cellar. The firelight casts shadows over the interior, making it barely visible, and I break down and light a nub of a candle I’ve been keeping for such an occasion. My light held high, I step down the short stone staircase and into the cellar.

He’s got so much food. Every single cheese wheel is untouched, even. I know, I’ve counted them a dozen times over. The container of nuts seems to be as full as ever, and the bags of vegetables look far fresher than my own. It hardly seems fair. I’ve never been tempted to steal his food before, but the realization that my own supplies are dwindling is making me anxious. I reach out and touch a decorated jar, wondering what the contents are.

Out of nowhere, a hand grabs my wrist and hauls it away. My candle stub goes flying and gutters out, and I let out a cry of surprise as I’m pinned against the shelf of food.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the Fellian growls at me. My wrist is held high over my head, and the Fellian looms over my pinned body. He’s absolutely enormous compared to my smaller form, and I’m acutely aware of his strength and size.

“I was just looking.”

He squeezes my wrist. “You think you can steal from me without me knowing? You think I am that foolish?”

My shock is ebbing, replaced with irritation. I jerk at my trapped wrist. “I wasn’t going to steal. I was just curious.” When he doesn’t release me, I retort, “My food is down here, too. How do I know you’re not stealing mine?”

“Your spells should tell you the truth of that.”

“My what?” I frown up at the glittering green eyes.

“Your warding spells. They will tell you if your food has been disturbed. You know this is not the case.”

I laugh. When his hand squeezes on my wrist again, I just laugh harder. “You think I have magic?” I sputter. “Seriously? Do you truly think I’d be wandering around in the darkness all the time if I had a whit of magic in my veins? The only thing I have is a blood curse, and it’s not going to assist me with anything.”

He’s silent, those green glowing eyes glaring down at me. “Your potions⁠—”

“I’m sick,” I tell him. “They’re medicine. But at least now I know you’re watching me.” I give him an arch smile. “See anything interesting, Fellian?”

He releases my wrist so quickly that I stagger. In the next moment, I’m alone again, surrounded by nothing but shadows. I rub my wrist, breathing hard, and it takes me a moment to realize that he wasn’t rough with me. I won’t have bruises. I stare out into the darkness, wondering if he’s watching me even now.