Taking the new drawing with him, he left the library for his
bedchamber. While walking along the hallway to his room he heard, “Christian,”
in a voice he did not recognize. He spun around, but no one was there. Could he
be so tired and emotionally drained he was hearing things?
Continuing onward, the voice came again, “Christian Sparks,
Earl of Krestly Castle.”
Again he jerked around. Again no one stood there. Then he
noticed the mirror above the hall table. It was the oldest piece of furniture
in this demesne, and most likely an original piece because the frame was much
more ornate than any of the other mirrors. Roses and leaves were carved into
the surface of the frame which had also been gilded with gold. It was elegant
even though the finish had crackled and flaked away in places. But as he
focused onto his own reflection, the image changed, and looking back at him
from behind the glass was a man and woman. The portrait slid from his
fingertips—not only did he feel weak with shock as he realized he faced a king
and queen, but the woman resembled Contessa so much, he gasped and was at a
loss for words as well as breath.
Chapter
27
Threats
A rocking motion drew her out of what felt like an unnatural
slumber. Her eyelids fluttered open and her gaze was met with a pair of
smirking hazel eyes.
Contessa swung upright and away from the prince, peering
blearily around the carriage she was in, noting that her wrists were bound with
an unseen magic. She could hear horses trotting along beside them, and the
sound of the wheels rolling along rocky terrain. Wondering where he was taking
her, she leaned forward to look out the window. She did not recognize the land
well enough to know where they were or how long she’d slept for them to travel
there. They could be anywhere in England or Scotland at that point. And even if
she could escape Dominic, she would not get past the many guards surrounding
them.
A hand grasped her shoulder and she was jerked backward
against a solid chest. “Sweet, Tessa.” He stroked her hair. The caress caused
her stomach to roil. “You have not changed.”
“Neither have you.” She hoped he took that like the insult
she meant it to be.
When she tried to pull away, he forced her to stay by
tightening his hold around her waist. “I was quite distressed when I thought
you’d died.”
“I’m certain you were.” She remembered now. He only wanted
to marry her for her parent’s land and wealth, had threatened war if they did
not comply. “Where are my mother and father?”
He sighed, as though the conversation bored him, and plucked
lint from his white trousers. “They’re locked away within the mist. They cannot
escape it.”
They were alive! Her vision blurred with joy. But, “Why are
they imprisoned?”
“Because they fought our engagement.”
She gasped. “Even after?”
A leer of pure sinful amusement twisted his mouth. “Yes,
even after I marked you as mine. The fools.”
They had not betrayed her, or sold her to this horrible
prince! But they had suffered for their choice. She then understood why she
wore a wedding gown the day she’d died. Because not only had she allowed
Dominic to take her from Christian to protect him, she’d also consented to a
wedding she did not want to save her mother and father. Even so, she still did
not know how things had ended with her death.
“Oh,” he whined, “must you weep?”
How could she not? Her sensibilities were being tossed up
and down in a crazy whirlwind of emotions. Someone had murdered her—she did not
believe the nonsense about throwing herself down the stairs to escape him, for
that would not aid her parents. So who had done it if he had not?
And now that she knew her parents lived, she wanted
desperately to see them. “But if I wed you will you let them go?”
“Hmm,” he mumbled thoughtfully.
“Please, I must see them. Should they not be at the
wedding?”
“Perhaps.”
He shifted on the seat, gathered her chin with his fingers
and coaxed her to make eye contact. She could not tell if he looked at her with
compassion or pity, but with jerky, angry motions, he gathered a handkerchief
from his pocket swiped at her tears and then shoved the cloth into her hand.
Contessa secretly wished to return the crest-embroidered
linen soiled.
Whilst she suspected he meant her harm, he wasn’t always
horrible toward her. It was something that puzzled her. Before he had taken her
from Krestly Castle he’d bound all of her limbs which had been a dreadful
feeling, but whilst in this carriage, he’d left all but her wrists unbound. At
first it seemed like a kind thing to do, but as she thought about it, she grew
to comprehended that perhaps she too had fey powers, and he was simply
protecting himself from that. As the realization struck her, she looked at her
wrists, gave them a tug, and then she saw it…. As though the magic were a
living thing, it twisted and slithered in and around her wrists like a black
serpent.
Watching it move, she became sick to her stomach because
whatever the spell was, it was horribly repulsive and she wanted to scrape it
from her flesh. Panic seized her. “Get it off!” Tessa shouted, before shoving
her hands beneath his nose.
Dominic cocked an eyebrow at her, and pushed her arms away.
Anger flared to life in his gaze. “Do not ever tell me what to do.” Promise of
injury stood behind the words.
Desperate to get the slime off her skin, she tried another
tactic. Softening her tone, she said, “Please, Dominic. I’m sorry. But this
spell…it distresses me. Please. I will be ill otherwise.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back against
the cushion. “You’re remembering, aren’t you? You could not see that before.”
“Yes.”
“Then you know why I cannot remove it.”
“Please. This magic is making me nauseated.” She blinked
rapidly, fighting the tears that would only anger him further. “I promise I
will not run away. I give you my word. I swear it.” Secretly she berated
herself for vowing what was likely a lie.
After letting loose a big exasperated sigh, Dominic placed
one hand over her wrists. She watched with sick curiosity as the magic oozed
its way back into his fingers.
“Thank you.” Tessa bit her lip and massaged the tormented
skin. Momentarily she felt hope blossom. He had not confessed to killing her
and she had to wonder— what if he had not done it? It seemed he did have a soft
spot for her hidden somewhere, however deep, inside that blackened soul of his.
She would use this to her advantage…. But then another thought occurred to her
and fear returned. Perhaps he cared for her in some odd way,
unless
, of
course, the only reason he released her was because he was imagining the mess she
would make if she emptied the contents of her stomach in his fine carriage.
And this was the way a prince would travel. The interior was
upholstered with lush velvet in a rich brown. The cushions were plenty soft,
making the many fringe-trimmed pillows unnecessary, even the hinges and handles
shone with gold leafing. It was pure luxury and not the practical contraption
Christian had. Whilst it too was finely made, it was not overdone like this.
“I wonder how it was you lost your memory,” Dominic mused aloud,
snatching her from her private thoughts. But it seemed he pondered more to
himself than actually inquiring of her.
She could not offer an answer she herself did not have, so
said nothing.
“And how did you get to that castle, I wonder? It is close
to your parent’s home, but—”
“My parents lived nearby?” she asked, shocked.
He studied her for a beat or two. “You truly do not remember
your own home?”
She shook her head, and other curiosities troubled her. “How
did you find me?”
“I’ve not been able to sense you since after your
death…until recently, when you’ve been—and this is the strange part—flickering
back and forth back into my awareness.”
“What?”
The carriage rocked suddenly to a halt, and Dominic kept her
from tumbling to the floor.
He rebound her wrists and snatched her about the waist.
“We’re here. Are you ready to wear another wedding gown?”
Not for him, she wasn’t.
Sea air filled her nostrils as Dominic lifted her from the
carriage. Memories of his home assailed her. He lived in France, his castle stood
right on the edge of a cliff looking out over the ocean. She could hear the
water pounding the shore below the edge of the jagged rocks, could see the
gothic structure soaring into the sky on either side of her. Perched upon the
surface, looking at her from almost every angle was carved rock depicting
gargoyles and other beastly faces attempting to frighten any intruder away. She
felt like an intruder, more than willing to flee their piercing eyes.
Contessa tripped on the staircase Dominic dragged her up. The
double doors swung open to a gaping entrance of more pillars, stonework and
paintings. He pulled her down the length of a long gallery with portraits of
him, his parents and his little brother displayed along the west side of it.
Most of it was familiar to her. She had been here before, centuries ago.
However, there were many more paintings, which she’d not seen, taking up space
that had been draped with tapestries before. She was able to watch the
progression as his mother and father aged and his brother grew. Then, and it
seemed quite sudden, the portraits of his parents ceased, prompting a question,
“Where are your mother and father?”
“Dead.” And he grinned.
Why had she ever thought he may have had a soft side before?
So, she realized, to gain all they had, he’d murdered them too. Dominic was no
longer the prince, but the king. She now knew what was going to happen next.
She knew he meant to murder her, most likely on the wedding night, so he could
then eliminate her family, and therefore gain all they had. She must not have
realized in the past that he would kill her anyway, or she may not have been
willing to become his bride. She had to find a way out of here. Tessa felt
suddenly overwhelmed with the hopelessness of her situation, for her parents
would not be able to aid her, and Christian would never be able to find them.
And even if he did, he would not succeed in fighting a magical man, king or
prince. She was clearly on her own, and quite possibly, in more danger than
she’d realized before.
After taking her up a number of narrow, spiraling
staircases, he shoved her into a bedchamber. The walls were rounded, signaling
that this was a corner tower. She looked toward the window and figured it was
also quite high, because of the number of stairs they’d climbed and she could
not see the tops of trees.
“The maids will bring supper to you,” was all he said before
turning on his heel, muttering a spell that released her wrists, and leaving.
She heard the scrape of metal against metal as he then locked the door.
Contessa felt a shudder coil around her spine and bring
gooseflesh to her neck. She cupped a palm over her mouth to cover a silent
scream. The walls crawled with the same magic that had held her before. She
could feel it sapping away any fey magic she might be able to wield. Whatever
magic Dominic used, it was a dark, evil kind of magic, and it repulsed every
inch of her being, right down to her quaking soul. This is where he was going
to keep her? Would she ever figure out how to get past that twisted
incantation? Would she ever be able to escape?
Another scraping noise was heard, and then the door opened.
Contessa jumped. A stern-looking woman entered carrying a silver platter with a
domed lid covering what she figured to be food. Her gray hair was slicked back
into a tight chignon. Her black dress was stiff, except for the ruffled trim
around the white apron she wore.
Tessa’s gaze shifted to the equally unkind-looking girl
following her, who carried service for tea. She wore the same black dress and
apron, but her hair was more loosely knotted at the back of her nape.
After offering a curt curtsey, the woman said, “Your supper,
Your Royal Highness.”
Backing away, Tessa’s legs bumped against the bed in the
chamber and, losing her balance, she dropped onto the mattress. The two closed
in, one smirking as though she looked forward to performing acts of torture
upon her person, and the other’s eyes glinted with the same kinds of horrors.
What had she gotten herself into? She would find no ally here. As she
considered it, she supposed anyone serving Dominic Renard could become that
scornful and bitter just being forced to work for such a man. Who knew what the
punishment would be if they did not please him....
“Eat,” said the older woman, setting the tray upon the bed
beside her.
“Enjoy the tea, Your Royal Highness,” said the other, still
grinning wickedly. She set her tray next to the first. They left promptly after
that.
Tessa could smell the food, and that part was pleasing. She
lifted the lid which revealed a hot meal of pork filet mignon with onions, and
gratin potatoes. In a small, glass dish beside that was chocolate mousse. She
put the cover back as her stomach churned and reached for the tea instead. Even
if it smelled nice and looked appetizing, she could not stomach any of it.
She poured herself a cup of tea, and the aroma of mint rose
to her nose. There was no sugar to sweeten it to her spoiled tastes. Pouting,
Tessa drank anyway, deciding Dominic would not likely poison her yet.
A routine, such as that continued from then on. The two
servants fed her meals and tea, always with threatening expressions written
upon their plain faces, always bringing elegant, tasty food. After that first
supper, Contessa had decided to eat if only to keep up her strength for an
escape, constantly praying and hoping to discover a way to get past the
disturbing inkiness creeping along every inch of the walls.